Plague Years (Book 3): This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine

by Rounds, Mark

  Madigan Army Medical Center, Joint Base Lewis–McChord, Tacoma WA

  Nergüi was thrashing ineffectually at his restraints but the ice pick in Amber’s brain would not go away. She slid slowly to the floor. As she started lose consciousness, she felt the deadman’s switch in her hand. She threw it as far from her as she could, knowing that Nergüi might just have the power to get her to do something against her will as soon as she stopped fighting it.

  “What have you done?!” shouted Nergüi in alarm. “Stop it this instant!”

  But it was too late. The drug was introduced into his IV. Nergüi had used his body hard so the drug worked very fast. In seconds the pressure in Amber’s head had decreased. She looked up at the control room to the physician getting up off the floor.

  “Damn it!” said the Doctor. “He’s going into cardiac arrest.”

  The door burst open and Chris followed by a medic who raced to Amber’s side.

  “I’m OK,” said Amber waving them off. “Don’t let that bastard die!”

  The EMT began CPR while Chris knelt down and cradled Amber. The doctor ran by carrying a defibrillator and paddles and began deploying them.

  “Were it up to me,” said Chris, “I’d let him die.”

  “Personally, I’d love to end him with a belt sander,” said Amber who had struggled up to a sitting position with her back to the wall, holding her head in her hands. “But he’s leverage. He also knows stuff. If there is some way to get at that information in his head, it would be worth it.”

  “He’s as dangerous as a cobra,” said Chris, sitting down beside Amber.

  “Even cobra venom is valuable,” said Amber wryly. “But right now, get me out of here. I know I’ve got a hell of a debrief coming and I have to pee something fierce!”

  July 12th, Saturday, 3:25 pm PDT

  Infected Containment Area, Joint Base Lewis–McChord, Tacoma WA.

  General Bossell drove himself in his Humvee to the gate of the Containment Facility. He could see troops deployed around the gate house and a Captain with a radio who appeared to be directing things.

  “You Wilsaw?” asked Bossell as soon as he was out of the Humvee.

  “Yes sir,” said Wilsaw coming to attention and popping a salute.

  “What’s the situation here?” asked Bossell who returned the salute and then gestured towards the containment area.

  “Sir,” said Wilsaw relaxing only slightly as he began to speak. “While the medical teams were in the containment area providing medication, a riot broke out. We can’t determine at this point what the cause was. The Infected simultaneously rushed the front gate and mobbed the medical teams.”

  “Were those teams armed?” asked Bossell.

  “Yes sir,” said Wilsaw. “Current SOP is for all persons in the containment area to be armed, but it was all sidearms sir.”

  “Go on,” said Bossell.

  “The QRS deployed to extract the medical teams,” said Wilsaw. “Of the nine in the containment area, they successfully got six to the front gate. Two more forted up in one of the bathrooms. We are currently in radio communication with them. One team is unaccounted for. Spec Four Murphy was in the gate house and expended all of his ammo defending his post. When we got here with half a dozen soldiers who were in the office on casual duty, he was reduced to beating the Infected with his M-4. He maintained his post, but was bitten several times severely in the process. Then the Apache from division showed up and between its mini-gun and the force we had on the ground, we were able to secure the gate.”

  “Where is Murphy now?” asked Bossell.

  “Sir,” said Wilsaw with visable emotion, “As soon as he saw that we had arrived, he opened the door to the gate house and attacked the Infected with his belt knife. The last we saw, he went down in a pile of Infected. When we got to him, he was already dead with a number of dead Infected surrounding him. I would like to recommend him for a medal sir.”

  “We can get to that later,” said a more subdued Bossell. “Are there any other casualties?”

  “We lost two out of the QRS,” said Wilsaw. “There is also the one medical team I mentioned earlier, that is unaccounted for. We probably also killed over a hundred Infected and wounded more.”

  “So where do we stand now?” asked Bossell.

  “It’s almost like someone turned off a switch,” said Wilsaw. “One minute they were rioting and screaming, and then they just started wandering around. What the heck is going on sir?”

  “I wish I knew, Wilsaw,” said General Bossell almost to himself, “I wish I knew.”

  July 12th, Sunday, 3:27 pm PDT

  Hangar 3, Fairchild Air Force Base, Spokane WA

  Jen attempted to draw and fire her M-9 at the Infected struggling with Major Grieb, but Pearson grabbed at her arm spoiling her aim. She loosed a round into the ceiling.

  “Don’t shoot at them, you fool,” said Pearson as he tried to hustle her out of the room. “They’ll go crazy!”

  Jen shook him off, but by then Olin had two arms on Terry’s struggling form. She couldn’t get a clean shot. Then a hand grasped her ankle and she tumbled to the ground. Dr. Pearson ran out of the room stumbling and screaming as he went. Jen emptied her M-9 in short order, freeing herself, but by then there was just a dog pile of bodies where Terry had, moments before, reached out to Olin. She couldn’t see to shoot. Then hands began clutching at her again. She hastily reloaded but there was a hand on her pistol blocking the hammer from falling. She wrenched and twisted trying to regain her feet. Focused on her own struggles, she was surprised when she heard three ringing booms that she knew only too well as the report from a shotgun.

  There were several more shots, both from shotguns and from an M-4 carbine and then strong hands lifted her up and out of the room.

  “We have to go back in!” said Jen gesturing towards the room she had just been extracted from. “Major Greib is still in there!”

  “Yes Ma’am.” said Airman First Class Morton, who set her down on a desk and then returned to the makeshift ward. There were several more shots and then silence. Jen couldn’t wait so she burst in, pistol in hand. All around her lay the bodies of the Infected. Morton was using the barrel of his M-4 to roll over the bodies. The last one was Major Grieb with his head at an unnatural angle. The bones were exposed and his neck was clearly and gruesomely broken.

  “Damn it!” shouted Jen to the air. “I was supposed to be Security for that man!”

  Then she calmed down.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Jen looking at the security team that had just saved her life, “I am so very glad you guys are here, but how …”

  “Airman Lufkin hightailed it to the Squadron Ma’am,” said Morton as he calmly reloaded his carbine, “after Dr. Pearson kept him from entering. The first Sergeant thought it would be a good idea to send a backup section. My section was the alert section so we came as fast as we could. We were arguing with the orderly at the door when we heard shots. We kind of knocked him down and came in.”

  “Thanks,” said Jen and then with some alarm, “Where’s Pearson?! If he hadn’t grabbed my arm as I was about to shoot, I might have saved Greib!”

  “Ma’am,” said Morton, “Dr. Pearson is in custody. Seems he is afraid of dogs and Lufkin had him cornered when we came by.”

  July 12th, Sunday 4:05 pm PDT

  River Junction RV Park, Kooskia ID

  “You felt it,” said the old man with the piercing blue eyes. It was not a question.

  “Yes,” said Zhao. “If we hadn’t been damping his efforts, he would have escaped.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” said the old man, “I felt that Chosen Woman Amber for the first time. She is as powerful as you say.”

  “All will be for naught,” said Zhao who was showing some despair, “if we don’t get there soon. Where is that truck Little Bear promised?”

  “We have embarked upon this quest,” said the old man calmly. “We will see it through. Even though I don’t
wholly trust Little Bear, we are near his supporters in the Nimiipuu Nation. They have more resources than most, we will be moving soon.”

  “You’re sure?” said Zhao.

  “All life is a gamble,” said the old man. “Living this long, I have learned to avoid any risk that I can. But when you seize the cusp, you must hold nothing back. So even if your friend Little Bear does not come through, we will find a truck, or a horse or a pogo stick, but we will keep going.”

  July 12th, Sunday, 4:07 pm PDT

  Providence Medical Research Center, Spokane WA

  Macklin walked into the lab space. One of the survivors of their attack on Fairchild claimed to have been a lab tech at Providence Medical Research Center. When he asked about space to do drug research, the young man assured him that this would be a good place.

  Macklin looked around. It may have been a productive lab at one time, but being abandoned without power for a couple of months had taken its toll. There was some expensive looking equipment in the room under tarps, but there was also a lot of water damage, likely from rain that came in through broken windows. Still, it was the best he could find on short notice.

  “I thought you said this lab was ready to go,” said Macklin pointing at the hapless mercenary in the room. “This place is a wreck!”

  “NO! you don’t understand,” said the mercenary hurriedly. “We sprayed all the equipment with sealant and covered all the lab tables with tarps. It’s still good!”

  “Get Strickland in here,” said Macklin to Ngengi who nodded and left. In truth, he was nervous and edgy. He had felt several fluctuations in the support that he was receiving from Nergüi. Macklin was afraid that it would only be a matter of time before he was on his own with another band of Slash addicts and this time, his stash would be limited.

  Ngengi tossed Strickland into the room as though he was a bag of trash. The transit from Moscow to Spokane had been hard on the elder Strickland. He had struggled and Ngengi and Carlos had been rough on him. His lip was split and he had a magnificent shiner that had almost swollen shut his left eye.

  “Look this equipment over,” said Macklin as Strickland began to rise. “If you can use it to produce your drug, tell me. If not, this punk dies and I’ll find more lab space. I don’t have time to waste here.”

  “There is no power,” said Robert looking at the centrifuge.

  “There will be power here within the hour,” said Macklin who had already foreseen that need. “What else do you need?”

  “I need a large supply of the foliage, stems, roots, and fruit of the Oregon grape. This is early in the season so I will need a lot, as the chemical raw materials for what I am synthesizing will not have concentrated enough in the young shoots.”

  “If you are stalling me,” said Macklin menacingly, “you will be infected and left to die.”

  “And what if I do help you,” said Strickland finally losing his cool, “will you just shoot me?”

  “So now we get down to it,” said Macklin nodding. “I promise, I’ll let you go if you turn out something we can use.”

  “I do speak to my brother on occasion you know,” said Robert regaining his cool and his sarcasm. “He mentioned that you are somewhat … flexible in your interpretation of a promise.”

  “He might say that,” said Macklin nodding, “but in this case, I hold most of the cards. I promise that you will die painfully if you don’t produce what I have asked for. I promise that you will be in even more pain if you sabotage this effort in some way. We will test whatever drug you produce on you and on some of our soldiers first so don’t think you can drug or poison us. You can interpret these promises anyway you choose, but I will be checking with you tomorrow and I promise you won’t like it if I don’t see enough progress to suit me.”

  Macklin left the lab and behind him, he could hear hurried consultations about the lab equipment and the collection of the plant about which Strickland was so insistent.

  “Damn it! The elder Strickland didn’t sound rattled at all,” thought Macklin who was used to manipulating people through fear. However, he kept walking because it did sound like Strickland was getting the lab organized. When he was sure he was out of ear shot, he ducked into the first open office he saw and pulled out his cell phone and, with shaking hands, keyed in the code Nergüi had given him.

  “It’s interesting that you even have this number,” said the voice on the phone without any sort of preamble or greeting.

  “Nergüi gave it to me,” said Macklin quickly. “He said that I was to use it in only the direst of emergencies.”

  “And what is the supposed emergency,” said the voice.

  “Nergüi has been captured,” said Macklin. “He has been transported out of the area. It’s west of here but other than that, I don’t know where. I thought you ought to know.”

  “I do have other sources,” said the voice with a touch of amusement. “He is being held captive at Madigan Medical Center at Fort Lewis. I understand the guard structure is intense.”

  “What should I do?” asked Macklin somewhat disorientedly.

  “Nergüi and I have much the same arrangement that you have with Nergüi,” said the voice. “As long as he is useful, I provide him with support, both material and in other ways. As soon as that usefulness has ended, so does my support. You could start looking for another patron, but you know little of our structure. I doubt you could find anyone. The followers with you might feel charitable and help you find someone, but I doubt it. You are an experiment and that experiment is not well received. Your best alternative is to try and free Nergüi before he expires or gives up on you.”

  “But Madigan is almost three hundred miles from here!” shouted Macklin in a panicky tone of voice.

  “Nergüi said you were resourceful,” said the voice on the phone, “but I see little evidence of that. In approximately two hours, a plane will arrive at the Spokane International Airport. Meet it. You will be given a supply of Slash sufficient for a few days along with some specialized weapons.”

  “Thank you,” said Macklin, “but I still don’t see …”

  “I’m not finished,” said the voice imperiously. “You don’t thank me, this doesn’t come from me. These are the supplies that Nergüi had salted away for just such an emergency. Once they are delivered, this number will be deactivated, and you will be on your own.

  “Nergüi has kept you in the dark about how our organization works for two reasons. The first is rather obvious. What you don’t know, you can’t blab. But secondly, and more in keeping with Nergüi’s ways, he has made your loyalty to him essential for your survival. I suggest that if you want to continue this existence, you figure out a way to get Nergüi free.”

  “But how?” asked Macklin.

  “Again, Nergüi said you were resourceful,” said the voice scornfully. “PROVE IT!”

  The connection was broken before Macklin could frame a reply. Hurriedly he entered the number for Nergüi’s boss but as predicted, the number was deactivated.

  Macklin sat in the office for long time realizing that he was well and truly on his own.

  July 12th, Sunday, 5:21 pm PDT

  Headquarters Joint Base Fort Lewis-McChord, Tacoma WA

  “What have you got for me?” asked Antonopoulos as he collapsed into his office chair. He had been on his feet most of the day working one crisis after another. It looked like he wouldn’t be headed home any time soon either.

  “Sir,” said Captain Whipkey, “we have had some … issues develop in our interrogation of Nergüi. There was another incident with his … abilities. He incapacitated all the staff interrogating and securing him. There were also a couple of riots in the areas quarantining the Infected, both here and at Fairchild sir. There were casualties.”

  “Any results?” asked Antonopoulos.

  “Sir, he was in a hardened intensive care suite at the hospital,” said Whipkey choosing his words with care. “There was a home built, but pretty effective Faraday ca
ge around the room and the walls had all been reinforced. The sensors deployed by that group of grad students working at Madigan saw no perceptible transmission of any sort. Then one of the grad students suggested that it might be a quantum effect rather than an electromagnetic effect.”

  “What does that mean in English?” said Antonopoulos testily.

  “They sent along some papers to explain things,” said Whipkey, “But the math is kind of thick. The basic thrust of what they say is that reality is affected by observing the state of reality. These papers suggest that there is a definite link between how we focus on reality and the physicality of that reality. Some folks say that in effect, we create our own reality by observing it.”

  “That sounds like fantasy to me,” said Antonopoulos.

  “I was skeptical at first,” said Whipkey. “But the young man was quite persuasive. They readily agreed that the ‘we who create our own reality” concept is farfetched, but there are numerous experiments that verify the observation effect. It’s the brain child of Richard Feynman.”

  “And who is that?” asked Antonopolos impatiently.

  “He was kind of the father of quantum mechanics,” said Whipkey. “He was part of the Manhattan Project and head of the committee that investigated the Challenger disaster. He also laid the theoretical ground work for quantum computing. One of his discoveries was the Observer effect which essentially said that by measuring quantum effects, we can change the results, even if the measurement is non-intrusive.”

  “That’s nuts!” said Antonopolos.

  “Feynman himself said that nobody really understands quantum mechanics,” said Whipkey, “You just get used to it. Anyway, his point was that the brain along with being a complex biochemical phenomenon, is also a nexus for quantum mechanics.”

  “Our pet grad student’s theory, and that’s all it is, is that the control our adversaries can exert is mainly biochemical and most pronounced on the people who have suffered the Plague. We know that the brain chemistry of the Infected is pretty weird. It probably doesn’t take much of a nudge to change it under those circumstances. They aren’t putting thoughts into your head so much as manipulating quantum mechanics to influence your brain to release a different mix of hormones.”