Nikki faintly registered her bladder involuntarily releasing and the water momentarily becoming warm around her crotch and waist. Had the thing just spoken? She yelled out a battle cry and jammed her knife directly into one of the creature’s bloodshot infected eyes.
Though the Fiend was instantly killed, its clenched fist tightened even harder around the rope in a death-bound reflex.
Nikki tried to pull the knife back out, but it was firmly lodged in the skull and to her horror, the current forced the dead Fiend to bump into her while it bled. She kept her head turned away and kicked with growing fatigue to stay above it all, but it was a losing battle. She was going to drown or swallow infected blood. The knot around her waist wasn’t going to come loose and she needed her arms to keep her head above water.
“Oh God. Oh Fuck. You’ve got to be kidding me.” She gasped. The infant bobbed up directly in front of her face, unconscious, but with a beating heart squirting blood out of a deep gash on its skull. Nikki tasted iron as she heaved back from the big sightless eyes, the small pointed teeth.
Then suddenly Jon was there. He had swum out with Lukei’s knife in hand. He grabbed the rope next to Nikki's torso and sliced it clean, leaving the dead Fiend to continue to hold the snagged line within its death grip. The infant submerged once more, not to be seen.
As Jon and Nikki floated away, they looked into each other’s eyes and gave each other a fierce hug.
Jon said, “Don’t do that again.”
She repeatedly spat an iron and coppery taste from her mouth. “That one spoke. It said, Fresh. I heard it. The baby. Did you see it? It wasn’t human. It was in my head.”
“Mine too. Just like a soldier told me it was.”
As they slowly floated away, they both glanced back toward the island. Lukei, Ben and Ham were pushing a canoe into the water, Ben sitting down with the paddle, being pushed out of the shallows. Finally Jon said, “I know what you’re thinking, but we’ve got nothing and we’re surrounded by infected. We wouldn’t stand a chance. We have to go back.”
With reluctance, they turned and swam against the current.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Vineyard
After several hours over open water, which included a carrier-based mid-flight refueling, the surviving members of Operation Henhouse had found themselves off the coast of Norfolk Virginia, relieved to land on the USS Iwo Jima. The Navy carrier was on a reconnaissance mission, probing the Southern states to determine the number of infected along the Atlantic coast. The scientists and Army Rangers got hot showers, hot food and a good night’s rest. Though the information and samples that they were carrying were critical to the survival of their species, their species needed sleep in order to continue to function.
The following morning, after another hot meal, they were sent to once again board their Chinook. As the team was guided across the busy flight deck, they noted that the big ship had moved to within a few thousand yards of the city/naval base. It was just another example of the bedlam that had ruined the richest nation on Earth. From the vantage point of the Iwo’s flight deck, nothing but blackened wreckage greeted the eye. But for a few foraging infected, the streets were nearly deserted. Then they saw movement along the docks of the shipyard. Gunshots echoed out from the shore.
“Good God, will you look at that?” barked Decker.
Thirty or more people were running toward the end of a pier. A huge mob of infected was hot on their heals.
A voice spoke over the Iwo’s loud speakers, “Condition three, condition three. Boats away, boats away.”
A moment later, two of the carrier’s big tenders could be spotted on the water, moving out from under the blind spot caused by the flight deck. They were racing for the pier. The survivors had a good head start and a cheer erupted across the big ship as the sailors watched them dive off the end, swimming with everything they had.
The scientists found themselves gawking and cheering as well. Susan, in particular, screamed at the top of her lungs, “Come on! Swim! Swim, you people!”
When it looked like the last healthy person had jumped, the air was filled with what sounded like a giant sewing machine - The ship’s Phalanx system Gatling gun blazed a hot trail of tracers toward the pier. The structure and the infected on it appeared to disintegrate under the hail of 20mm high-explosive incendiaries.
Despite the show, there was no time for dilly dallying. O’Shea yelled for everyone to board the Chinook.
As a playground for the politically well connected, the Vineyard had been one of the first places in the US to be secured against infection. Travel to the island was strictly controlled and only residents and their invited guests were allowed to stay. As a matter of practicality, the island could only sustain a certain number of people. Worldwide, food commerce and distribution was at a standstill. On the small island, most arable land had been quickly converted to agricultural purposes. The fishing fleet had become the lifeblood of the island during the dark hours of February, March and early April, when food could not be grown in the hard winter soil. In addition to the harbor at Edgartown, the municipal airport had been taken over by the Navy; the Seabees extending the runways to accept even the largest of aircraft.
The inhabitants shared the island with a brigade of Marines. Except for the few who had convinced themselves that they were above all of this, the comforts that the military brought in terms of supplies and strong backs were gladly accepted. When money had become worthless, even the doubting holdouts stepped up to the plate, converting their expansive lawns into furrowed rows for assorted crops. Given the chaos that reigned on the mainland, the island was a happy and well-organized place. The residents of their sister island of Nantucket were not so lucky: The contagion had taken hold over there when a boatload of infected had drifted ashore. Only hungry Fiends roamed its picturesque beaches and cobblestoned streets – but that was about to change. For the Marines on Martha’s Vineyard, Nantucket would be a test case for the invasion of Connecticut and Rhode Island.
As the Chinook carrying the Rangers and scientists made its approach for landing, they watched a very busy island preparing for the first step in the re-taking of America. In the distance to their right, they could make out the hazy shape of what was once the whaling capital of the United States. Axelman spoke over the PA system, “Brace yourselves, everyone. I asked them to let us land first, but the Navy has its schedule. Please shield your eyes from the right hand side of the aircraft.” The occupants did as instructed and then a bright flash, bright as a noonday sun filled the windows of the helicopter. After waiting for a moment, they turned to look outside as a mushroom cloud rose up over Nantucket in all its horrid splendor.
“Brace, brace, brace!”
The shockwave hit the helicopter and it tilted to its left as though pushed sideways by a gentle god. Both Axelman and Frick held tight to the controls and wrestled the machine back on course.
“Once again neutron bombs are being dropped on America,” said Susan with shaken nerves.
“Good riddance,” said Decker, nodding toward the afterglow, which still lit up the small island.
O’Shea rubbed his palms together, “In a couple of days the Marines will do a full beach assault over there. Mop up any irradiated stragglers.”
Upon landing, the scientists were brought to a teleconferencing room where a large screen was lit up with the image of the Director of the CDC, Barbara Louis-Gelding. Discarding any niceties, she got right to the point. “Tell me you’ve found it.”
Susan stood at the front of her team. “We believe so, Director. The farm was, in reality, a huge R&D lab. We only had a short time, but a preliminary DNA sequencing seems to be a match. There’s a lot to isolating this thing. A vaccine...” Her voice trailed off and her head filled with the vision of a mind-grabbing imp hopping across a rooftop.
“Well, that’s something,” said Gelding, filling the sudden silence. “I’m sorry to say that there’s been another outbreak,
just north of Ottawa. Another town has been burned. The healthy population up here is in near riot. Even if the military can pull off their re-invasion, it will mean nothing if there are continued outbreaks behind our lines. There’s no time for rest. You and your team will begin work there right away. Though we are still in the throws of yet another move, you should have the equipment you need to begin. In short order, all of resources of our country’s joint disease control operations will be at your disposal. The moment we are resettled, we will send for you. In the meantime, you’ll of course do your very best.”
“Ma’am, there’s more to it. They seem to be breeding.”
“Excuse me?”
Susan’s colleagues looked at her with curious glances.
“Some kind of mutation. I don’t know. I saw… felt it too. One of the Rangers did also. Two different places. Fort Jackson and in Florida.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said the director.
“Neither do I. There was something human… but not human down there. They…They’re having babies…. Some kind of rapid evolution. They have the ability to get inside your head – I mean like ESP. It sounds crazy and it’s hard to explain, and I don’t have any proof, but a Ranger named Copigliani can confirm it.”
Gelding paused in thought. She let a whole minute go by and finally said, “Our plate is overflowing. We need to keep our eye on what we know and what we have. We have samples and data collected by you. Focus on that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. And Susan? You and your team get some sleep. I know you’ve been through hell.”
The video chat ended. Susan turned to her team. “You heard the lady.”
They did their best to ignore the twist that Susan had thrown in. They confirmed without a doubt that the FND-z bacterium had been originated at Happyland Farms, but the nasty little bug resisted all efforts to break its defenses. For now, until they could really drill down on it, it appeared that the thing was going to keep mutating, defeating their every step. Seven frustrating days later, the call came for them to pack up for Quebec. They were escorted to the airfield where a Black Hawk helicopter waited. This time there would be no Rangers. The dirty work was done. The special ops soldiers needed to be coordinated into the land assault.
Meanwhile, at several airfields across Eastern Canada a different set of aircraft were being refueled and loaded for the continued assault on New England. The ordinance was mixed: neutron bombs for the major cities, chemical weapons for the towns. Rural areas were being saturated with incendiaries with the hope of starting massive firestorms. Three days earlier, conventional bombs were used to wipe out the last bridges across the Hudson - from the Saint Lawrence River, past Lake Champlain, and all the way down to Manhattan, millions of infected had entered the kill zone.
There were some who protested. Burning the forests of New England meant killing countless defenseless animals. Their opinion was noted and ignored.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dirty Water
Nikki and Jon found it ironic that while they were once again in quarantine they were allowed to sleep in the same structure together. When it was time to turn in, he started to pull the mattresses off the cots to put them on the floor next to each other.
Nikki said, “No. I don’t think that’s a good idea. If I’m infected, I can’t be breathing on you.”
“It’s not contagious like that until much later. After the fever breaks.”
“Jon,” she admonished. “We’re sleeping on separate beds.”
He shrugged an agreement and pushed his cot mattress back into place.
They both lay down and stared at the dark void above them. The single candle that they had been allotted provided enough light to eat by, but they had blown it out to conserve it for the next day or however many days they would be stuck in this room. Now it was pitch black, so dark as to be disorienting and Jon found himself feeling a sensation like he was floating. He decided to enjoy it and let it envelope his sore, tired, body. It was sort of like laying down on a gliding magic carpet and he imagined himself floating across a desert on a cool star-filled night, billions of light pricks shining through the void. As he let his mind drift with the pleasure of it, he was pulled back to the present as Nikki’s breathing changed to a soft, almost, snore. It did occur to him that if Nikki had become infected that she might turn in the night. That she might roll over, leap off her bed and bite a chunk out of him. To his surprise, between his exhaustion and his growing affection for this brave woman, he didn’t seem to care.
Some time later, he awoke from a half sleep to the sound of Nikki finishing using the toilet (a bucket hidden behind a simple sheet curtain). She returned to her cot, her feet shuffling so as not to stub a toe, and climbed back under the blankets with a sigh.
He said, “Hey. You okay?”
“I woke you. Sorry.”
“No. I was awake. Sleep’s not much fun if nightmares are your escape from nightmares. How’re you feelin'?”
“You mean, do I feel ill? Certain loss of faculties? Building unreasonable anger?”
“Something like that.”
“I feel fine. Just sore - bone sore. Maybe a bit of a scratchy throat but, I’m hoarse from all that yelling.”
“Hmm. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
“No, but I think we’re okay. I think I would know.”
“Nobody knows until it’s too late.”
“I think I know. Try to go back to sleep.”
“Okay. You too.”
When Jon awoke again, the dim light of dawn penetrated through the thin lines in the building’s siding. Nikki was awake. She was still lying on her cot and she quietly coughed into her blanket. He sat up and looked at her. Her back was turned to him and he could hear a wheeze in her breathing. He instinctively looked around for some kind of defensive weapon and then cursed under his breath, noting that any weapon in quarantine was of course prohibited.
Nikki turned over upon hearing the curse, and their eyes met. Hers were bloodshot and her face with flush with fever. She coughed again, then said, “Good morning.”
“How long have you been like this?”
“Couple hours maybe. I still think I’m just fine though. I would have woken you if I felt worse.”
“You have a fever.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your face is flush with it.”
“Shit. And…. I'm really thirsty…”
Jon poured her some water from a pitcher that sat by the door for easy refilling. She accepted the steel cup and drank deeply.
They were both silent for a while. Finally, Nikki said, “If it looks like I’m going over to the dark side, you have my permission to smother me with a pillow. In the meantime we better request some rope so you can tie me to this cot.”
With the addition of Amanda and Teddy Costas, there were seven children under the age of 12 on the island. Though they had their fair share of chores as well as daily schooling, they were also given a certain amount of free time to simply play and be kids. The only rule was that they were to remain on the paths of the interior portions of the island. They were not to play along the shore and risk being seen. The Western shore was completely off limits. Voices were to be kept low as sound carries well over water. If a child became too loud, there would be no playtime for a week. This punishment seemed to keep the danger in check.
The whole island was a potential playground, but the kids had found a favorite spot in a small spring-fed inlet, set well away from the shore. It was covered by thick-leaved trees and surrounded by low shrubbery, which made for natural cover. For the kids, the bushes stood in for a fort, a cave or any other structure that their imaginations decided upon that day. The inlet also had the added bonus of being a nesting spot for a huge flock of songbirds. The kids spent hours watching these gentle creatures building nests and going through mating rituals. Much of the material for the nests seemed to come from the feathers of other bi
rds. It was particularly exciting to see them in aerial combat, fighting to steal each other’s found feathers.
On the morning that Nikki was tied down and sweating on her cot, nine-year-old Jerry Halverstrom was cupping water from the inlet to quench his thirst. All of the kids were flush from a vigorous game of tag but chose to drink from the two canteens that they had brought with them. Jerry didn’t like sharing a canteen. He was horribly afraid of germs.
Teddy Costas shook his head at the kid, "Halverstrom, you have to drink the disinfected water. There could be parasites here."
Jerry ignored this contradiction in his phobia, stating, “I’ve been drinking from this lake since I was a little boy. My dad does too. Look, it’s as clear as melted ice. You can see all the rocks and leaves several feet down, even little fishes.” Just then a bird dropping landed in the water nearby and made a small splash. The children squealed with laughter and then choked themselves off at the sudden burst of noise.
Teddy said, “So you like drinking bird shit.”
There was a gasp from the other kids at the use of such a powerful word. Sally Jenkins, the group tattle-tale piped in, “Teddy Costas, you said a bad word. I’m telling Ms. Katherine so you don’t go to hell.”
“You say anything to Ms. Katherine and you’ll be swimming in bird shit.”
The children gasped again and Sally nearly burst into tears.
Amanda Costas stepped in, “Teddy, you better say you’re sorry.”
“Why?”
“Say you’re sorry or I’ll tell Ms. Katherine.”
“What’s the big deal? The world is going to shit and you stupid jerks are worried about a word that means poop?”
The children were stunned into silence. Jerry Halverstrom burst out in a nervous giggle. These same children who had been taught to yell out “God hates Faggots” at various street rallies, felt themselves feeling profound collective embarrassment.
Of Sudden Origin Page 20
