Dark Cure: A Covid Thriller (Dark Plague Book 1)

by Bradley West

Their host snapped off a casual salute and stepped aside. “Mi casa es mi casa, so don’t touch anything.” Their white delivery truck with its priceless array of scientific equipment was parked next to an idle hydraulic lift and cutting torches and tanks. The piles of car and truck bumpers, doors and accessories at the back spoke to the garage’s real function.

  “This all yours?” Melvin asked.

  “Was. Got foreclosed on but the Covid came and the bank never did.” The thin man was a bundle of nervous tics and twitches, but his eyes were clear. Strung out by the war, not drugs, was Melvin’s silent assessment.

  “Family?” Melvin asked.

  “Maybe a cousin or two somewhere. Why do you ask?”

  Tien picked up on Melvin’s thread. “We’re moving to Canada and away from the plague. We could use someone handy with repairs. You fix anything other than cars and trucks?”

  “I fix internal combustion engines of any description and am the best man with oxyacetylene north of Santa Barbara. Not a bad electrician, either.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “John Gratton. My friends call me Johnny. You leaving for Canada tonight?”

  “I’m Tien and this is Melvin. Our convoy leaves from Berkeley before midnight with Jaime. If you want in, pack in a hurry while we load tools into the truck.”

  “You need weapons?”

  “Everything you got, brother,” Melvin said.

  Tien texted Tina that they had the van and were less than ninety minutes out. What was their ETD?

  Under fire: uncertain came the terse reply.

  * * * * *

  The battered Audi and bloodied Dodge Ram pulled out of McClatchy just ahead of Nails’ hog with Muller hanging onto the biker’s waist with one arm and the laptop clutched under the other. “Follow those two,” Muller leaned forward and said. “They’re worth millions to us.”

  Nails didn’t bother to answer and hung a right before he pulled up in the driveway where Dirty Pete and Katerina waited. “We got the laptop and I iced two cops: a good night’s work,” Nails bragged.

  Muller handed the computer to Nails, who in turn gave it to Dirty Pete. The second biker pushed it back into his subordinate’s hands. “Turn it on. Norris wants a photo of the home screen. Then he wants to meet Rolfie if he’s still alive, and his woman even if he ain’t.”

  From Katerina’s baleful stare, Dirty Pete’s sobriquet was owed to his morals as much as his hygiene. “Tell me, how come you dolts don’t wear facemasks?” she asked. “As if riding those fucking donor cycles wasn’t stupid enough.”

  Dirty Pete laughed. “Sister, we’re Americans and we live free: no helmets, no masks; not now, not ever.”

  * * * * *

  Through his scope, Ryder watched the motorcycle turn off. He drew a breath and pulled his body back inside the pickup and turned around to face forward. That twisting hurt his guts, but better to tear his stitches than leave their rear exposed. Carla followed Jaime as he pushed the rattling Audi through Berkeley’s carbon night and listened as Stephanie’s central nervous system reacquainted itself with her defrosting toes. Little Tyson added to the chorus which did nothing for Travis other than keep him awake. They made the drive without incident until they were within sight of the private road that led to the marina’s gate. Jaime flicked on his high beams to read the situation, then quickly turned them off. Carla pulled up and stopped beside him.

  Twenty armed men had gathered outside, clamoring for those motorhomes. They’d parked two flatbed trucks across the exit road in a staggered sequence, preventing an RV from driving out and forcing regular vehicles to navigate a tight S-turn at slow speeds.

  Jaime ran to Travis’ side of the pickup and walked back with his sniper rifle. He handed it to Arkar in return for an M-4. “Lie prone on top of the Audi. Anyone put a dot anywhere near us, kill them. In the meantime, count shooters.”

  Travis gingerly walked over to the USMC veteran and they conferred. “Unless we kill them all, there’s no way out,” Jaime said. “Even then, we’ll have to move those trucks to get the RVs out.”

  Travis pulled out his phone. From the backseat of the Audi, Sal spoke inaudibly. They rushed over and Jaime pulled open the door. “Can you drive back onto the barge?” Sal repeated. “We can sail away.” Sal fell silent and closed his eyes. His chest pain was a dull ache and his ribs still felt the rhino. He knew he needed a doctor, but that didn’t matter nearly as much as knowing that Steph and Tyson were almost to safety.

  The lightbulb went on and Jaime pulled out his phone and called Greg. His almost brother-in-law put Captain Strub on the line, and he confirmed that they could reload the Rage and leave two parking spots open in the bow. Under steam and blacked out, they’d make poor targets as they headed back into the bay.

  “How do you plan to move your vehicles onto the barge?” Strub asked.

  “Don’t you worry about that, skip,” Jaime said. “How long do you need to prep and reload?”

  “Give us thirty minutes. We have to move with care because we’re in the dark, but they must not have night-vision because they haven’t hit anyone yet.”

  “Call us when you’re ready. We’ll set up this end.” Jaime hung up and held a war council with Travis. They agreed on the plan, subject to Steph’s being able to drive. On that count they struck out: Not only were her feet in agony, but also she was so strung out she couldn’t do more than hold her baby and stroke her father’s hair.

  From the bed of the Dodge, Fraser Burns had heard every word. “I enter my Jaguar in road rallies all season. Let me drive.”

  Jaime and Travis worked the permutations and concluded that Fraser in the Audi would follow Carla in the Ram. Immune Steph and Tyson would buckle up in the Audi’s backseat. They’d shift Sal to the backseat of the pickup and strap him in. That left Arkar, Travis and Jaime to lay down covering fire from the flatbed trucks and bring up the rear. Burns would park the Audi in the middle of the road to block pursuit, and they’d pull Steph and Tyson out and follow Carla’s pickup onto the car ferry.

  That was the plan. The reality would be messier.

  chapter thirty-seven

  TWENTY-ONE TO MARS

  Wednesday, July 15: Berkeley and Oakland, California, after midnight

  After surveilling the scene with their night-vision scopes, Travis and Arkar concurred that no one was hidden in the backs of the flatbeds. Arkar and Travis swapped long weapons again since the former SEAL was the better shot. Jaime received the go signal from Greg and the ferry engine rumbled to life. As an added distraction, the marina security guards triggered the panic buttons on a dozen parked cars. Headlights flashed and alarms blared, and the mob took the cacophony as their sign to rush the gates.

  Travis covered Arkar and his chopping blade. The rear truck was abandoned, and Jaime used the roof as a rest for his elbows as he sighted targets among the intermittent headlight flashes. The mob fired at will into the marina, its attention focused on the RVs as they reversed onto the Rage.

  Securing the second flatbed was more difficult as two men sat in the cab. Two lethal swipes of Arkar’s blade slashed the driver’s neck. His companion fled the cab and raised the alarm. Jaime dropped him with two bullets between the shoulder blades, but the commotion persuaded several shooters to redirect their attention to the threats behind them. Jaime’s shots signaled Carla and Burns to set off. Jaime laid down fire in two and three-round bursts and Arkar’s M-4 joined in from the back of the lead truck. Travis used the night-vision scope to cut down scattered adversaries to keep the road clear.

  Jaime dropped behind the cab and slapped in another magazine. When he poked his head up, a burst from a nearby acute angle just missed. “Travis!” he yelled as he ducked. Travis whirled around, dropped to the ground with a grimace, and in short order spotted the gunman behind a pair of overfull litter bins. The former SEAL loaded an armor-piercing round, reacquired his target and put a bullet through the aluminum receptacle. “Clear!” he hollered.

&n
bsp; Carla negotiated the S-turn without mishap and Burns followed suit. They had a straight run to the ferry down the access road and through the gates. Carla floored it and drove straight at the locked chain-link gates. Near to the road were two dead men, bolt cutters testifying to an earlier failed mission. The Dodge struck the weak spot at forty miles an hour and burst the chains. One of the gates entangled itself in the Ram’s front axle and the truck ground to a halt.

  Pandemonium ensued as the breached fence gave the mob the choice to run into the marina. The two marina security guards fired into the onrushing dozen looters. A few survivors fired into the pickup and the Audi. Travis killed three gunmen before he limped past the Audi on his way to Carla in the Dodge. Jaime covered his flank, making up with volume of fire what he lacked in night-vision capability. Arkar took the left flank and within a minute the hostile shooting ceased as the stealthy Burmese mopped up. The odd shot rang out in the marina as a last gunman played cat-and-mouse with the security guards, but the battle was over. The question was, at what cost?

  * * * * *

  In the back of the Audi, Stephanie had used her body to shield Tyson. Jaime called to her and she replied with incoherent sobs. He yanked the door open, lifted her under her arms and dragged her out. Her right side was covered in blood from the shoulder down.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Tyson!” Stephanie shrieked as she stared at her babe in arms.

  “Move! Use your legs!” Jaime yelled.

  In the front seat, Burns sat with his left cheek in tatters and uttered low groans. In the Ram, Sal had been struck in the left forearm, shattering the bone. Carla had fared better, only having been pierced by shattered safety glass and struck in the left hip by a spent bullet that passed through the driver’s door. Arkar slung her over his shoulder like a sack of rice and moved off at a trot.

  Sal unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door, but lacked the strength to exit unaided. Jaime passed him with Stephanie and Tyson in his arms. Out of the marina at a run came Tina, Barb and Yonten. The two women helped Sal while Yonten guarded Steph by Jaime’s side. They limped toward the ferry; the two vehicles abandoned behind them.

  Injured rioters added their cries and shouts to the hellish spectacle. A shot rang out. A wounded assailant had raised his weapon and Yonten had killed him without losing his hold on Stephanie. The youth reholstered his late dad’s sidearm and scanned for threats. Like father, like son, Jaime thought. A cry, a howl and a scream all in one split the night. Tyson. The little guy must have been knocked out by his mother’s falling on top of him, but by his volume he wasn’t severely injured.

  Two rounds snapped past and Travis unslung the sniper rifle. “Help Sal!” he shouted to Barb and Tina. The women sagged with Sal’s dead weight but lurched onward. Travis unslung the sniper rifle and neutralized their antagonist. The former SEAL maintained his vigil until he was back on the Rage and it had cast off the dock. The two marina security guards, one wounded in the chest, were the last aboard. Ryder didn’t know if they were official invitees, but didn’t bother to ask for their boarding passes. He was utterly spent, left arm in agony from the weight of the big rifle and torn sutures from his various contortions. He took a seat on the bow and watched as the bloody marina faded from view.

  Chesa ran to Travis’ aid with a bottle of water and disinfectant wipes. She leaned over to clean his forehead wound and fell forward onto the deck at the same moment a gunshot sounded. The bullet was no doubt meant for Ryder, but it had hit her in the head instead. Travis cried out and felt for a pulse, but the mother of two was dead. It was all too much and all his fault. Zarni rushed to the scene and began to wail. Arkar and the children flocked to her and all five wept inconsolably, joined by Travis’ silent tears.

  Tina ran over and confirmed that Chesa was dead. The Filipino-American was shocked by the carnage and didn’t know who to attend to first. Travis waved her off, too torn up by his grief and self-directed anger to tolerate anyone’s help. Tina heard a call for a doctor and found the two marina security guards, one of them shot through the lung. Blood poured from his wound and he sprayed blood from his mouth as he coughed to clear flooded airways. The poor man was beyond salvation. She helped his partner lean him upright and promised to return soon with morphine.

  Tina’s next stop was Sal who was propped against an RV tire. He insisted he was fine. His shallow breathing and erratic pulse led her to concur that he’d suffered an acute myocardial infarction. Tina discarded her plan to feed him aspirin and nitroglycerine for his coronary since his arm might keep bleeding once she thinned his blood. For now, he was stable and the pain kept him conscious. Jaime arrived and helped her apply a field tourniquet below the elbow supplemented by direct pressure above the wound.

  Stephanie’s wound was to the top of her right trapezoid, a deep graze that looked worse than it was. Tina disinfected the gouge, plugged the divot with gauze, and taped a bandage in place. All the while, the new mother held Tyson in a death grip. Tina gently pried Tyson out of Steph’s shellshocked arms. He appeared unharmed other than a bruise on his left cheekbone and an overripe diaper. Tina returned Tyson to Stephanie and ordered her to drink a half-gallon of water to partially compensate for blood loss. The doctor didn’t know how the patient typically looked, but her ashen complexion and skinny limbs were causes for alarm.

  Carla was next, teamed up with Travis amidships. Tina used forceps to remove the spent bullet and declared Carla’s hip joint intact. Travis once again refused treatment as he worked with a headlamp and tweezers to pull glass fragments from Carla’s battered body, the concentration required distracting him from the horror movie playing behind his eyes.

  After a loop back to the RV for her ad-hoc trauma kit, Tina returned to the wounded sentry. He’d expired in the ten minutes she’d been away. At a loss for words, she asked the second guard if there was anything she could do. “Just put us both ashore,” he said. “I’ll call my brother to pick us up.”

  Tina returned to Sal, but there wasn’t much that she could do to help his heart. His left arm was a mess, a fracture and a chunk of flesh missing out of the forearm muscle. She dared not inject a painkiller without an EKG to assess his heart. She gave Jaime the ingredients for a sturdy field splint and promised to return to set his arm. First, she had to look in on Travis. As she started to walk away, her phone thrummed. It was Tien. We are near marina. Are you there? “Oh, shit,” she said.

  “What is it?” Sal asked.

  “Robert and Tien are at the marina. What should they do?”

  “Tell them to head south a half-mile to Point Emery and we’ll pick them up.”

  Tina’s fingers flew as she relayed the message.

  “Now tell Captain Strub. He knows that’s the fallback.”

  Tina dashed off to tell the captain. Arkar came over and fed Sal a cup of water. Sal looked hard at the distraught Burmese. “What’s wrong?”

  Arkar decided that the battered man needed a light version of the truth. “Stephanie and baby fine. Carla has cuts. Burns shot in head and in car: Will die soon. All the rest, a-okay.”

  “Are you sure? What about your family?”

  “My family a-okay. Chesa shot in head and died. Very sad.” Arkar turned away to not show weakness in front of their leader.

  Tina returned. “Captain Strub says the tide’s headed out and they’ll have to wade out and swim to the ferry.”

  “That won’t work,” Sal replied. “Melvin’s shot in the shoulder and wounded in the calf. Someone will have to help him.” Then it dawned on Sal. “Damn. We need the medical equipment in the truck. Find someplace else to dock.” Arkar nodded and left.

  Tina headed over to Travis who had completed his primate grooming session with the last of thirty-odd bloody glass pebbles clenched in his tweezers. He stared off into space as Carla sat next to him and leaned against his uninjured right side. Carla perked up when she saw Tina and overrode the tough guy’s objections. Tina changed his upper-arm dressing
and added a half-dozen more stitches to reseal the abdominal wound. He was already on Cipro: Could Carla make sure he took the damned pills on time? Carla promised that he would, or she’d kill him for insubordination. Tina suggested that Carla ride on the same RV so she could re-examine her glass cuts under magnification in case Travis had missed one or two. Carla snorted. “He was damned thorough. I feel like my body’s been strip-mined for glass, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning if you think it advisable.”

  Derek Strub knelt by Sal’s side. “That evacuation scene was out of I Am Legend. I’m amazed so many people made it. You have an impressive team.” He said it with a smile, one of life’s optimists. “But aside from the Berkeley Marina, the only place to safely roll off the vehicles is back at Larkspur Landing. That trip takes another forty minutes and leaves us on the wrong side of the bay. Even worse, I would be amazed if there’s not a helicopter overhead in the next thirty minutes to take us into custody or blow us out of the water. If we pull into another public dock, we could run into a riot as bad as this one.”

  * * * * *

  The National Guard diverted manpower from the Cal campus to help in the aftermath of the Berkeley Marina battle. Among the wounded was Fraser Burns, piled into an overcrowded ambulance and taken to a tent hospital on campus where a trainee faciomaxillary surgeon practiced on him. The bullet had entered his left cheek and obliterated teeth, gums and bone on its way through. Burns survived the surgery, but when he was diagnosed as Covid-20–positive, the Guard’s triage doctrine dictated that he be moved to another tent with the other no-hopers and left to die.

  Burns confirmed by feel that he still had the USB stick with the vital dark web information in his pocket. Many people had betrayed him, but Sal Maggio’s family topped the list. He clung to that thought and vowed to live long enough to make them suffer as much as he was now.

  * * * * *

  Sal’s demeanor brightened, his mind fully at his disposal. “Wilson Point’s a residential area to the north and not far. I’ve studied the charts and even at low tide there are places where RVs could make it up the beach and onto the road.”