Earth's Survivors Box Set [Books 1-7]

by Wendell G. Sweet

  “Yeah. I guess that's how I see it too,” Kohlson agreed. He raised his can and tapped the side. “Been good knowing you, Dave.”

  Johns stared him down for a few moments and then sighed. “Yeah. Same here.” He raised the can in a salute and then downed it. Kohlson followed suit. Silence descended on the control room.

  Project Bluechip:

  Watertown NY: Subterranean base.

  Commanding: Major Richard Weston

  Major Dick Weston read the report slowly. This was not the first hitch in SS. Last year they had lost a whole ward, three test subjects compromised, two doctors, and three control rooms, six personnel there that had to be terminated because of it.

  He rocked back in his chair and pulled at his lower lip as he read the report. So it had some drawbacks, but there was too much focus on the problems, and not enough on the positives of V2765. Of all the compounds they had tested, this one did exactly what they needed it to do. It prolonged life far past the point of termination. Grave wounds, starvation, dehydration, nothing mattered. This compound changed the cells and made them able to adapt to the consequences of war. The only drawback was that it did its job a little too well. It continued to allow the subject to live after death. Everything stopped and then everything started up again. Usually with a much diminished capacity for understanding. Just the basic low end survival instincts any animal had, eat, protect, eat. And it did those things very well.

  Some doctors at the third level, men whose reputations would be on the line very shortly when V2765 was released on a squadron of troops bound for the middle East, in fact, wanted a brain biopsy. They had studied the video and decided that good Old Doctor Christmas might have been hiding something with the secrecy he had afforded the previous brain autopsies. He stopped pulling at his lip. Leaned forward and fed the paper sheaf from the incident into a shredder.

  The thing is there was a secret. Major Weston had no idea what it signified, he was no doctor, but he had found the good doctor's private files and brain biopsy reports on the previous candidates. Significant structural change to the brain cells. Not just slight modifications as the virus did when it infected the host, no, something deeper. A mutation. That file lay nearby on his desk too. He reached for it. If that information got out there would be a fast end to SS, and he could not have that. SS was not his baby, some General he had never even met had that honor, but Bluechip was his base, and SS was a feather in his cap. It meant jobs. It meant growth. It meant over a mile of top secret base three miles below ground. These were things that could not be compromised. If, in the field, there were incidents, so be it. They could be isolated. Tests so far showed that very few came back after actual death. Destroy the brain and it destroyed whatever life had kicked back in. And if there were a large outbreak, they had spent the last fourteen months working on an antidote to kill the V virus itself, Rex.

  REX34T could easily take care of a large outbreak. REX34T took it all back to normal. The doctors had nicknamed it Rex. Rex, like a trusty dog that could get the job done, but what sort of job did Rex do? He didn't know. Rex seemed to reverse the process that V2765 started. It could not undo the cell changes, but it did not leave a single trace of the V virus when it was finished. The dead died. According to this report, there was a counterpart to REX34T that was meant specifically for the living. Release it in the air, same as Rex, and it affected only the living, reversing the changes that the V virus had made, and the living went on living, maybe. The testing insinuated that the longer the process that V2765 initiated had gone on the more of a shock to the human body it was when it was removed. It suggested that some might not survive the withdrawal of the V virus.

  He glanced down at the two vials that sat on the edge of his desk. Evaluation units. Below, in one of the storage areas, there was enough of each to reverse the entire world population ten times over if need be. If, he reminded himself, if. He looked down at the two vials where they sat on the desk. One small vial filled with dark red liquid. The other a small aluminum canister that reminded him of the canisters that held the V virus. They looked so innocuous, so everyday ordinary. He beat out a nervous tempo with his fingers on the desktop and then picked up the two vials and slipped them into a plastic bag. He set the bag on the desktop, withdrew the test results from both Rex drugs from the thick file and then placed the bag into the file itself. A second later he placed the file into his personal file cabinet and locked it. He called up the same report on his monitor, excised the three pages of reports, and then saved the file. He pulled a fresh file folder from his cabinet before he closed and locked it, then dropped the pages into the empty folder. He hesitated and then fed that smaller file into the shredder too.

  No problem, no liability, because if there was an acknowledged problem that was preexisting in this lawyer happy atmosphere every ex-soldier would be suing when the first x-ray showed the alteration in brain cell structure. No higher climb up the ladder for Major Dick Weston, and probably General whoever he was too. And that would be a long stop from where either of them wanted to be.

  “Alice?” He looked over at his secretary.

  “Major?”

  “I want you to take this out and burn it.” He pulled the wastebasket free and slid it across to her. “I guess I've thought it out. Those two fools who took the overdose on morphine?” He waited for her eyes to meet his. “I think it was a mistake to try to save them. I would like you to take care of that personally, Alice... Doesn't matter how. Let me know if you need anything.” He held her eyes for a moment. “That will be all,” he finished.

  “Sir,” Alice said. She picked up the wastebasket and started to leave the office.

  “Oh, Alice?”

  She stopped and turned back.

  “Have that med closet removed. Stupid to put it in an interior control room... Have it moved to the very outside. From now on when they need something like that they can damn well get it walked in by our boys.”

  “Sir,” Alice nodded. She turned and left the office.

  BACK TO THE BEGINNING

  ONE

  March 1st

  Project Bluechip: 3:00 P.M.

  Richard Pierce

  Far below the small city of Watertown New York, Richard Pierce sat working before an elaborate computer terminal. He had just initiated the program that managed the small nuclear power plant hidden deep below him in the rock. A small handset beside the computer station chimed, and he picked it up and listened. He did not speak at first, but as he listened a smile spread across his face. “Very good,” he said happily, when the caller was finished, “keep me advised.” He set the small handset back into its cradle and turned his attention back to the screen in front of him. The plant had powered up just as it was supposed to, no problems whatsoever, and that made Richard Pierce extremely happy. Two more days tops, he thought, and then maybe I'll get out of this dump.

  He supposed he should feel honored that he was even here. It was after all one of the biggest projects in the country, albeit top secret, but he could not help the way he felt. He was close to a mile underground, totally cut off from everything and everyone, and he hated it. If he had a choice, which he had not, he would never have come at all. But he had written the software that handled the power plant, as well as several other sections of the underground city, and that made it his baby. There were a couple of small bugs, mainly due to the fact that no one had been allowed to know what the entire program was supposed to do. The way the rewrites were going however, it looked as though he would not be stuck here anywhere near as long as he had originally thought, and that was something to think about. He had begun to feel that he would never leave this rock bound prison, and wouldn't that be a real bitch?

  Blinded by the Bullshit

  New York: Rochester

  John Simmons

  The sidewalks below him were crowded. John stood at the apex of the steps that led up to the old court house. It was impressive. He looked down at his hands, shifting the small s
ilver canister from hand to hand, rolling it across his palm, treating it as though it were just a small fascination to occupy his mind, when in fact he knew it was something more. He didn't know what, exactly: He wasn't paid to know what. Maybe someone up the ladder knew what, he didn't, and it was likely he never would, but it was something more than just a shiny little object to occupy his mind.

  He had done hundreds of these small jobs. Little things. Little things that probably meant nothing in the scheme of things, at least that's what he had always told himself. A little mental salve to prevent an infection of the larger truth. Little things he never heard a single thing about later on. Little things, but he suspected this time, this job was not a little thing at all. He suspected this was a big thing. He suspected he would hear about this one down the road. He suspected this one would come back to bite him in the ass.

  The trouble was, in for a penny, in for a pound. It all mattered. He had taken job after job where he might leave an item on a park bench. Drop off a set of wheels in the middle of the desert. Switch a suitcase at an airport. Little jobs. Little jobs and he had never said no. Never complained about them. Never turned one down. And so here he was about to press the activator on a small, silver canister that might do anything. Anything at all. And was he worried about that? Yes, he was.

  It was not so much worry for himself. He didn't really believe the thing would blow up. He didn't truly think they would take him out that way, if there was ever a reason to take him out, that was. He quickly shut down that line of thought. He had too much to worry about right now without starting a whole new avenue of doubt.

  So, no, he did not believe it would blow up. He believed it would hiss and release a giant cloud of some sort of toxic gas: Gases even, he amended. Waste, poison, something, but if that were the case how could he safely set it off and not be contaminated himself?

  The instructions were to walk to the top of the courthouse steps, depress the red button, and then toss it away. No specific direction, just away. It apparently didn't matter. And, he thought now, wasn't this exactly the way some terrorist would do it? Do an attack? A poison gas attack? An unclassified viral attack? He had seen a few movies, this was the way he would do it if he was writing the script. The girl beside him spoke.

  “If this is going to take much longer you're gonna have to pay more. I know I said I would be cool, a fifty, I mean, but standing around here is wasting my time. I got places to be. I got...”

  He cut her off. “And you ain't got no money yet. And if you do want the money then you need to shut the fuck up.” He went back to his self observation. A second later he looked back at her. “Hey, hey,” he soothed. She had begun to pout. Just another street girl with a habit and too much time on her hands to feed it.

  “Look...” He waited for her to look at his hand. He held the small vial upright. “Do me a favor, okay? I was looking around because, well, because I want a picture right here. Now all you have to do is push this little red button... Aim at me, it's got a little camera in there...You can't see it, it's one of those new ones... Like them spy ones? So all you got to do is point it at me and then press the button.” He held the canister and looked around. She tried to take the canister from his hand and he snatched it away.

  “Goddammit, Dude, You want it or not?” She stamped her foot exactly like the spoiled child she was and was destined to always be.

  “Yeah... Yeah I do. Just... See that corner over there? The top of the stairs? That little what-do-you-call-it hollow between those two pillars? Wait until I get there and take the picture.” He handed her the silver canister and started away.

  “Hey! How the fuck am I spos'ed to tell? There ain't no screen thingy, what-the-fuck-it-is?”

  He turned back and smiled. “Just face it to me and do it. It's not supposed to have a thing, screen, just do it.”

  She turned the canister to her face. It was only about four inches long, maybe an inch thick. It didn't look like a camera at all. She turned it back to John and clicked the button. Nothing, not even a click. It didn't work. It was bullshit just as she had thought.

  John froze when he saw her push the button, but nothing happened. Nothing at all. She had pushed it just a few inches from his nose. No odor. No vapor he could see. No anything. He pulled it from her fingers and flipped it back and forth. The red button was depressed now and although he tried to work a thumbnail under it to pull it back up he couldn't do it. He bought it closer to his nose, nothing. No odor. He pressed it to his ear. No hissing. It was dead. A dud. Whatever it was it did nothing at all. Maybe it had even malfunctioned. He hefted it a few times and then let it drop from his fingers. It hit the stone step below him with a small metallic clink, and then rolled away to the edge. It dropped to the next step, but it didn't have enough momentum to find its way across that step to the next. He turned back to the girl.

  “You broke my camera,” he told her.

  “Did not, and that ain't no fuckin' camera anyway. You think I'm just stupid?”

  “I do think you're stupid. You broke it. You broke it and so I ain't paying you. In fact, you should pay me for breaking my camera! Besides which, you pressed it before it was time. You fucked the whole thing up. I shouldn't pay you shit. Not a fuckin' dime.”

  “Yeah?” she asked. Her eyes were wet, but they were also hard. She looked around at the crowd. “That's okay, because you know what?”

  “What?” John asked. He smiled. She was stuck and he knew it.

  “What is, I'm fourteen. Fourteen. And I bet you if I was to start yelling right now, oh, something like rape. If I was to say Rape!” She raised her voice a little and a nearby couple flashed their eyes at the two and slowed.

  John flinched and drew back from her.

  “Yeah, see? So, now if I was to do that I bet your tune would be different. I just bet it would.”

  “Twenty,” John said. His smile was gone.

  “You said fifty. Fifty is what you said, and it should be eighty.” She picked eighty out of a hat. It was three more dimes, and three more dimes was a lot better than five. “It is eighty. It's eighty because you tried to rape me!” She raised her voice once more and John's hand plunged quickly into his back pocket. He flipped a fifty and three tens at her from the wallet he had quickly pulled free, and she had to scramble to catch the money. Two of the tens fluttered to the stone step below her and she flashed a hard smile at him. The couple that had cut their eyes at them were now stopped and staring at the two of them. A cell phone appeared in the woman's hand and when John met her eyes there was something there he didn't like at all. The girl scooped up the money, muttering as she did, and John headed down the stairs two at a time. A few minutes later he had blended into the crowd and was making his way away from the downtown area.

  Watertown New York

  Project Bluechip

  6:20 PM

  Major Weston found himself sprawled on the concrete of the long hallway. One minute he had been walking along, Alice beside him, and the next he was on the floor trying desperately to hang on as he bounced across the concrete corridor and slammed into a wall. The ceiling began to come apart and chunks of rock, concrete and duct work began to rain down into the corridor.

  Something snapped in his shoulder as he hit the wall and a second later Alice slammed hard into him pushing him further into the wall. Pain flared in his head. He tried hard to keep his eyes open. If he could make his feet and then somehow get them to the elevators they could get up to the surface levels of the complex and be safe.

  He pushed hard, fought the shaking, and managed to get to his knees. He glanced over at Alice where she had come to rest against him, the one look made it obvious that Alice was beyond help. A huge chunk of concrete had come down on her chest and smashed it nearly level with the floor. Her eyes bulged, he looked away quickly, but the image would not go away. The shaking seemed to go on forever before it eased in a series of starts and stutters. Silence descended in the corridor. He had his chin tucked
into his chest. His mouth was coated with dust, and his lungs seemed to be working overtime to get air.

  He moved and his shoulder screamed softly. He could handle it. It was dislocated, maybe broken, but it would not stop him from gaining his feet. Who knew, he asked himself, how much time there was before the next earthquake hit, and would it be harder than this one? A lesser shock? He didn't know. He had been honest when he had told Pauls and Black that no one really knew how or when it was going to happen. He wondered if they had made it out of the state before it hit. It didn't matter he told himself almost as quickly as the thought had occurred to him. The compound was being released all over the world. Had been for a few days time now. Military flyovers were releasing it, dozens of operatives out in the field. It would do its job. Their mission was simple overkill. Just a push to be completely sure. A backdoor for the backdoor.

  He made his feet, carefully shrugged out of his uniform shirt and pulled the bottom of his t-shirt up to cover his mouth. He stood in the swirling dust, lights blinking and swaying from the ceiling, t-shirt clamped across his mouth, breathing as shallowly as he could. The dust was so thick in the corridor that he could see only a few feet.

  Somewhere, it sounded far away, an alarm began to bray. A minute or so after that as he stood trying to breath, the sprinkler system came on. In most places it was still intact, although sagging from the rock ceiling far above where mounting points had broken. In some places the pipe broke as soon as the water pressure hit it, already too damaged from the quake.

  The air cleared almost immediately and the spray felt soothing against his overly hot face. He took his bearings and then staggered off down the hallway in the direction of the elevators.