He cursed himself over and over for his foolishness. They’d had all the time in the world to evacuate to Canada. He had assumed that there would be food riots and fights over housing and fuel, and there had been some of that, but mostly his radio told of the good; the cooperation and coming together of community. A majority had remained steadfast in their determination to maintain the rule of law. He should have gone. His family would have been safe. He pounded his leg in frustration and despair.
When his boy spotted him ashore, new tears poured down his face. His daughter stood and gripped the side of the boat with stolid longing. But where was Elizabeth? Maybe she was hurt and lying down. Of course that was it. If the children were safe, then so was his wife.
Dressed in high-tech looking leather clothes, the man driving the boat was young and strong looking. There was a young woman onboard, holding an assault weapon and dressed in an oversized leather coat and jeans. Both of these people looked exhausted. Steven said a quick prayer of thanks and waded out into the river, grabbing the bow as the boat inched in. His children tried to charge into his extended embrace, but were stopped by the man.
Jon said, “Wait! Sir, have you been bitten? Have you come into close contact with any of the infected?”
Steven replied, “Thank the Lord, no. I outran and out swam them. Where is my wife Elizabeth?”
Amanda choked up anew and said, “Daddy.”
The children stepped forward into his embrace. A scan of the man and woman’s eyes told Steven all he needed or wanted to know about his wife. As the man let go of the bow, Jon hopped off to hold it steady in the shallow water. They gave the distraught family a few minutes to mourn, then Nikki spoke up. “I’m sorry, but we need to find a safe place and set up some shelter before the end of the day. We have enough gear and provisions to keep all of us alive for several days, even a couple of weeks, but a safe place is another story.”
“Big Island,” said Steven, clearing his throat, “It’s in the center of the lake.”
Nikki said, “That’s the place Will was talking about.”
Steven took a deep breath and wiped his tears. “There was a rumor that one of the local parish’s set up a settlement there. If it’s true… well I hope they’ll welcome us. They’re uh… they’ve got a slightly different perspective on things than most folks.”
“Meaning?” Jon asked.
“Judge for yourself. Given the circumstances, I can’t imagine that we won’t be welcome.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Chicken Farm
The pilots for the Chinooks could see from miles away that Orlando still burned. A modern burning city was like a tire dump fire; there were so many plastic and rubber products and synthetic construction materials that the fuel just lasted and lasted. The rural areas didn’t make out much better. The haze became thick as they passed the wildfires that continued to consume the better part of Central Florida.
The breadth of the destruction was overwhelming. The observer’s minds simply couldn’t catalogue so much devastation. Mile after mile of forest, field, and town was scorched black. Great swirls of ash moved in the wind. The decision to nuke central Florida had been one of final desperation.
O’Shea turned to Susan and nodded at the blackened land below. “Neutron bombs. Made in China. Supposed to be clean – kills the body, leaves the buildings, no radiation after just a few days. Unfortunately the initial explosions started those wild fires. Mixed with the drought down here....”
“Yes, I remember the uproar.” Susan sat back and chose to close her eyes instead.
When Operation Bugbagger reached Happyland Farms, they gave the whole area a wide lazy circle. There were no guarantees, but a hovering helicopter would generally bring out any Fiends hiding below.
Specialist Jones gripped the handle of the mini-gun mounted on the window in front of him, his finger a millisecond away from pulling the trigger on any movement. The place seemed to be empty so O’Shea gave the go-ahead for the Chinook carrying the Hummer and its single squad led by Cavanaugh to set down while the other craft continued to circle, ready to offer cover fire if necessary.
The farm was located on the southern edge of Lake Okeechobee and consisted of several large modern barns, an office/residence, outbuildings and a large grain silo. The place was already overgrown. Weeds stood as tall as a man, and vines crept up the buildings, offering natural camouflage.
Cavanaugh’s squad deployed their Humvee and made various figure-eights around the compound. While one man tracked the area with the roof mounted fifty-caliber, the others kept their HKs pointed out in every direction. If there was a horde of Fiends present, this maneuver was sure to coax the monsters out. The only thing to move was a startled flight of pheasant.
After the second Chinook landed, O’Shea directed everyone to stand clear of the helicopters and carefully remove their hazmat gear. Cavanaugh’s squad would remain geared up and begin the tedious job of scrubbing down both the helicopters and any gear that might have come into contact with nerve agent. They were fortunate that the farm had its own water tower. They’d have plenty of gravity fed H2O.
The lucky ones who got to step out of their suits, were greeted by a warm balmy breeze and the buzzing of insects. Susan’s skin felt like a sponge as is soaked up the moist air. “Okay, then. My team is looking for live chickens as well as feedstock for testing. Captain O’Shea, can you have some men check the barns?”
O’Shea deployed Preston’s squad for that mission while Bullock, O’Shea, Jones and Copper escorted the scientists. They began with the main office building, a Victorian era gingerbread house.
At the entrance they found the front door locked. O’Shea nodded at Bullock, “Sergeant, a key please.”
Bullock lifted his big combat boot and with a swift and practiced kick, smashed the door open, breaking the deadbolt and the old wood that surrounded it. The three other soldiers pointed their guns inside.
O’Shea said, “Okay, teams of two. Jones you’re with me. Science stays outside.”
The building, though built in the late nineteenth century, had been significantly remodeled. The interior was furnished with modern office equipment, comfortable furniture and halogen lighting. The houseplants that graced the main foyer had died for the most part, but several hearty species were climbing up the walls. A sign above the reception desk read: Happyland – The Future of Poultry.
After checking every nook and cranny, the soldiers dubbed the place clean. There were no signs of chaos or a quick exit. The former employees simply didn’t show up to work one day.
Bullock stepped back outside, “It’s all good.”
Susan brushed past him, “Thank you, Sergeant. Now would you mind escorting Doctor’s Tran and Warner. We’re looking for a feed storage building and any laboratory equipment.”
Bullock looked at O’Shea for permission.
“You heard the lady.”
The four men headed off while Christie Tsue, Aaron and Rick Decker followed Susan inside, Susan saying, “Okay, we need to track down any paperwork: bills, work orders, etcetera, anything to do with feedstock or antibiotics. You know what to do.”
Thinking that Happyland Farms was probably never very happy, Preston and his squad approached their first chicken barn with wonder at the size of the operation. The doors as well as the windows had been boarded up from the outside. That alone, put them on immediate alert.
Preston stopped, “You hear that, Cowboy?”
There was a dull buzzing sound coming from inside the barn. It was at once a low hum and a high pitch while remaining steady in tone.
Cowboy asked, “What the hell does that?”
“Sounds like maybe insects, lots of insects. Only way to find out is open the door.” He turned to his specialists, “Rand, Jacobus, open the door.”
The two men gave their corporal a skeptical look, but went to work trying to pry the wood planking off with their kukri knives. The rest of the squad fell back with their
weapons pointed in support.
The planks made loud creaking and popping noises as the nails were pried out, and the soldiers carelessly tossed them in a pile as they worked. The noise got the attention of O’Shea who radioed Preston. “What’s the racket, Corporal?”
Preston toggled his mic, “Got something making noise in one of these barns, Cap.”
“Coming to you.”
Having left Copper with Susan and her team, O’Shea arrived just as Rand and Jacobus were nearly done. “Hell of a sound you found here, Corporal.”
“Ain’t stopped since we started, sir.”
When the last plank was off, the specialists positioned themselves so they could run once they pulled the doors open.
O’Shea pointed his HK with the others, “Okay, men. Let’s see what we got.”
Rand and Jacobus yanked the doors open and spun around with their own guns pointed. It was almost pitch black inside, but the atmosphere seemed to be alive with motion, like a snowy TV screen, but dark. Suddenly a vast wave of flies poured out of the door. The whole squad was startled and Cowboy let off a three round burst in a panic.
Preston immediately scolded the soldier, “Bitch? What’s wrong with your ass?”
“Sorry! I’m sorry. Fuck.”
“Shouldn’t be giving guns to no aidmen anyway.”
“Keep sharp!” snapped O’Shea.
The air cleared. Dim light poured through cracks in the boarded up windows, filling the space with crisscrossed shadows.
The soldiers cautiously stepped into the gloom. Feathers coated every corner of the floor and thousands of flies still flew and crawled on every surface. It was the ultimate chicken massacre. Thousands of cages stacked one on top of the other lined the walls and made rows down the center of the building. In front of each row was a long thin feed tray. A small hole in the front of each cage would let an individual bird stick its head out and eat. Chickens, or what was left of them, were partially or wholly pulled through the wire of their cages. All had been reduced to feathers and bone. There were very dead humans as well. Most leaned against a post or a wall or simply laid on the feather and bone covered floor. They were badly decomposed, the bulk of the flesh long ago consumed by maggots.
In the center of it all, like a pathetic wolf caught in the most simple of steel traps, was a live Fiend. It was staring at them with the hungry look that every man in the platoon had seen all too often - insatiable, ravenous. It was an emaciated male, dressed in giant coveralls and trapped up to the waist in a tangle of wire cages.
“Clearly, this dumb motherfucker was one fat bitch,” said Preston. He yelled at the monster, “Got yo ass all snagged up in them cages, huh? Appetite get the best of you, motherfucker?”
The exposed parts of its body were covered in puss-oozing sores that attracted hundreds of egg laying flies. Maggots chewed at exposed wounds while flies surrounded the creature’s eyes, ears and mouth. It licked around its lips with a great sucking sweep, pulling in tens of the black buzzing things then chewing and licking up more. Then it hissed at the new flesh in the room and reached weakly for better vittles.
O’Shea raised his rifle and put a round between its eyes.
Cowboy said, “Shit. For once I wish I had my fucking gas mask. This place fucking stinks.”
In the mansion Copper finally got his nerve up and spoke to Susan. He’d been wanting to ever since they’d boarded the Chinooks, but hadn’t had the chance. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”
Susan stopped rifling through a file drawer and turned to the soldier. “Yes?”
“Um. Back there. At Jackson. Down in the bunker. Me and Jones.” His voice trailed off as he tried to think of the right words.
“Yes?”
Copper sighed deeply. “There was a baby down there, ma’am, that didn’t look like any baby I ever seen. It, uh, it was controlling those people.”
Susan leaned against a desk. “I’m sorry you’re not making sense.”
Copper explained the whole scenario. When he was done he showed her the cut on his neck. “Almost made me kill myself.”
“So let me get this straight – A demon baby took over all of those people’s minds and made one of them torture the others. And it took over your mind too?”
“That sums it up pretty well, ma’am.”
“I’m not sure how to respond to that, soldier.”
“Me either, but I thought you should know.”
Susan turned back to the file drawer. “Well, I’ll think about it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Copper gave her a slight bow and backed out the door.
Tran and Warner found the jackpot in one of the outbuildings. It housed a very clean and very hi-tech looking laboratory. A side room held rows of chicken cages that were cleaner and larger than the ones in the barn, but also filled with the remains of dead birds.
Warner opened a walk-in refrigerator. The shelves were stocked with boxes of antibiotics, growth hormones and countless other drugs. He said, “Wow. This is way beyond chicken farming.”
Tran looked among the labels and then waved around the rest of the space, “Look at this gear; DNA sampling, gene splicing. These people were hardcore. I’d say they were redesigning the chicken.”
“Redesigning the chicken?” asked Bullock. He and Jones had just walked back into the room having made sure the rest of the building was clear.
“Better get Susan over here, Sergeant. We’ve got to start sorting through this stuff. Oh, and see if they’ve caught any live birds. If not, we’ll work with these dead ones.”
Within an hour the CDC team had set up its own temporary lab. Several live chickens were found in the rafters of another barn that shared a wall with a feed storage building. The tenacious birds had pecked a hole in the adjoining wall and had found a lifetime supply of food. A hole in the ceiling had provided a puddle of fresh water on the floor every time that it rained.
Though there was no further sign of infected humans, the Rangers took proper precautions and set up lookouts on the water tower. Cavanaugh’s squad continued to clean the helicopters as well as the Humvee. Removing nerve agent was a detail-oriented task and the crew informed O’Shea that it would probably take twenty-four hours or more. An auxiliary diesel generator was found and the pilots, Warrant Officers Axelman and Frick, made themselves useful getting it online. The fuel tank was empty so they used some of the spare diesel that they’d brought for the Humvee.
It was near dark when they started the thing up. As the generator coughed to life, all of the exterior lights blinked and then blazed into life. The whole farm was lit up like a grand ball.
“Jesus H. Christ,” yelled Frick as he hit the kill switch.
Bullock broke in on the group call frequency, screaming through the men’s radios, “What the hell was that?”
“Uh, Standby, Sergeant.” yanking them up from the thin layer of dirt and debris that covered them until he found a second set of cables branching off from the first.”
“Report, God damn it!” yelled Bullock.
The cables led to a small exterior closet attached to the side of the building. They opened the door and found a large breaker box inside.
“Shit,” said Frick. He keyed his mic. “Apparently the back-up geni has its own breaker but it’s also tied to the main. We didn’t see it, Sergeant.”
“Well, can you get us power without lighting up the whole fucking neighborhood?”
Frick slapped the main breaker switch off and said, “Yes, Sergeant.”
By nine in the evening, the scientists were well into breaking down the chicken DNA and sorting through and uploading whatever seemed pertinent on the Happyland servers. Much of the work was now left up to the assorted machinery that they had brought with them. Shifts were decided upon and Tran was lucky enough to bunk out on the first watch. The scientists chose to sleep in the main house - a couple of the executive offices had sleeper sofas. The Rangers found a bunkhouse intended for itinerant workers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Salvation
The Big Island was indeed occupied. The moment that Jon pulled the Chris Craft up to a small dock occupied by a few other boats a militia of sorts took the new arrivals into quick custody. With their options literally down to none, Jon and Nikki chose not argue, and along with Steven and his children, they were escorted to a storage building where they were strip searched to confirm that they had not been bitten. They were then left in the same building for twenty-four hours of quarantine before anyone would even bother to speak with them. Other than the gentle request to respect the need for quarantine, pleas for information were met with silence from their guards. They were provided with meals and that was all. To say that Jon and Nikki were uncomfortable with this procedure, given their recent turn as Fiend bait, was an extreme understatement.
On the evening of the following day, after it was confirmed that none of them were infected, the Right Reverend Horatio “Buzz” Calder visited. He was a large man in his early sixties, sporting a Santa Clause beard and shoulder length white hair. He entered the building with a pitcher of instant lemonade and introduced himself. His demeanor was actually rather jolly and that seemed to set everyone at ease. “Please accept our congregation’s apologies for the inconveniences you’ve experienced. I have no doubt that you all have been through some very harrowing times. I’m sure you can appreciate our prudent caution. My name is Reverend Calder - though I am also known by the nickname, Buzz.” He smiled at Jon’s arched eyebrow. “It’s a long story, has to do with my chatty youth, arguing in the name of the Lord.” He popped open a folding campstool and sat. “You have found yourself to be guests of the Church of the Revelation in God, Flagstaff Lake, Maine.” He smiled and spoke gently to the two children. “I am to understand your mother has joined our Lord in Heaven.”
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