The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  Damn!

  The trooper carried Sister Ezekiel inside the shelter. Henry called out and tried to push past the other guard, who stopped him with a hand and began searching his bags. Truman rushed past them, following the trooper and Sister Ezekiel inside, where he called for a medic. The trooper lowered Sister Ezekiel to the lobby’s sofa as Corporal Snow rushed over. She went to work on the nun, whose nose was clearly broken. The areas around Sister Ezekiel’s eyes had begun to darken.

  Major Payne appeared next to him and said, “What happened?”

  “She fainted,” Truman said.

  “Why did your man attack Red—Sergeant Combs?”

  “Sergeant Mecklenberg thinks he’s a tough guy,” Colonel Truman said. “I told him to stay away. He must not have listened.”

  “Well, he won’t be hearing anything anymore.”

  Truman shivered with regret and fear. Would Payne search Sister Ezekiel? And would he find the converter on her? Meanwhile, Major Payne stared at Truman. Was he receiving information from his troopers, replaying images from the past few minutes? Truman hoped there would be nothing incriminating there.

  Corporal Snow, reaching out with a thumb, reset Sister Ezekiel’s nose before the nun awoke. Even so, the unconscious woman moaned softly.

  Henry knelt next to the sofa and said, “Is she going to be all right?”

  “I think so,” Truman replied.

  Sister Ezekiel began to move her arms and head. Blinking rapidly, she opened her eyes and slowly focused on Truman—fear and confusion plain to see on her face.

  “It’s okay, Sister,” he said, trying to smile reassuringly. “You’re in the shelter. Looks like you fainted. Probably just stress. Right, Corporal?”

  Corporal Snow nodded. She gave Sister Ezekiel an Icy-Pak for her nose.

  Major Payne turned his visor to Sister Ezekiel. Was he scanning her for the converter? If she had it with her, would it emit an energy signature in this state? Finally Major Payne said, “Where is Ms. Riley?”

  Henry answered: “She went to her vehicle.”

  “Why?”

  Henry shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

  Major Payne stared at him as if contemplating the veracity of his response. Slowly he turned his head, scanning the lobby. Then he marched into Sister Ezekiel’s office. The trooper wearing the gold cross returned to his position outside the door.

  As Sister Ezekiel struggled to sit up, Truman reached out to assist her. She put the Icy-Pak on her nose, winced, then turned to Henry and said, “I’m okay—just a headache. Please don’t make a fuss. Would you help Jackson and Tremaine put the groceries away? Colonel, if you’ll give me a hand, I would like to see Mr. Jones.”

  He pulled her to her feet. His voice filled with admiration, he said, “You are a formidable woman.”

  She whispered, “I have the converter. Lendra’s inside.”

  “How…never mind. Get it to Jones. I’ll get the particle beam cannon.”

  A hand grabbed his arm. Lendra! Ultimate Camos! He concentrated on looking out of the corner of his eye, imagined he saw a blurred shape that vanished immediately when he stared at it. A warm body pressed against him. She whispered in his ear, “Have it by the infirmary in twenty minutes.”

  As Sister Ezekiel walked unsteadily to her office, Truman quietly told Corporal Snow to pass the word that as soon as Jones broke free, every soldier was to attack the Elite Ops. “No weapons, though. Strictly hand-to-hand combat. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Corporal Snow said. She moved off to tell Sergeant Corbin. Between the two of them, Truman knew they’d get the message across.

  * * *

  Lendra followed Sister Ezekiel to her office, where Major Payne stood just inside the door conversing in low tones with Carlton. Ahmad Rashidi sat beside Devereaux, gesticulating wildly, invoking Allah’s name. When he and Devereaux looked up and saw the nun, their eyes widened. Carlton said, “Whoa, Sister. You look like you ran into a truck. You okay?”

  Lendra, in her Ultimate Camos, tried to stand still. She felt completely exposed, convinced that the Elite Ops would spot her any second.

  Devereaux and Ahmad leapt to their feet and reached out to Sister Ezekiel but she waved them off. “Sit. I’m sure it looks worse than it is. Just fainted. Haven’t had much sleep lately. I’d like to see Mr. Jones now.”

  “Certainly,” Carlton said calmly. “By the way, did Ms. Riley say whether she would be coming back?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Sister Ezekiel said.

  “Find her,” Carlton said to Major Payne—a harsh command.

  Lendra shrank against the outside of the doorframe, pressing herself into the wall.

  Major Payne said, “I’ll notify my men to look for her. Also, I think we’ve found the pseudos’ hiding place. We’re checking it out now.”

  “Excellent,” Carlton smiled. He glanced at his watch. “The copters are on their way. We’ll be out of here in half an hour. Stay sharp.”

  Sister Ezekiel said, “May I see Mr. Jones now, please?”

  Carlton looked her over before answering. “What you really need is a doctor. But if that’s what you want, I’ll take you to him.”

  Major Payne stepped aside and Sister Ezekiel followed Carlton down the hall to Dr. Mary’s room. Lendra stayed a step behind her. She hoped the nun, after taking that terrible fall, wouldn’t forget about the converter. And she wondered how Sister Ezekiel intended to pass it along to her. Why hadn’t they discussed that?

  “There,” Carlton said when they reached the open door. “You can see he’s fine.”

  “May I speak with him, please?”

  At Carlton’s signal, the guard moved, allowing Sister Ezekiel to pass. She hesitated just a second before entering the room, causing Lendra to run into her. As Sister Ezekiel stumbled, Lendra reached out and grabbed her arm. The nun managed to keep her feet, but dropped her Icy-Pak. The movement of her body looked very strange. Carlton stared at her, his dark glasses impenetrable, his jaw tense.

  Jeremiah reached down for the Icy-Pak but his hands jerked against his bindings, stopping him short. He leaned back on the bed, looked at Lendra for an instant as if he could see her, then turned his attention to the nun. “Nice save, Sister,” he said. “I thought you were going to fall. What happened?”

  “I fainted,” she answered as she bent down to pick up the pack. She pressed it against her nose. “Simple exhaustion. How are you, Mr. Jones?”

  Carlton stepped forward and grabbed Jeremiah’s wrists. “Looks painful,” he said. “You keep struggling against those bindings and you’re liable to lose your hands.”

  “Doesn’t hurt anymore,” Jeremiah said.

  Carlton forced a smile. “We’ll get you out of those once we’re in the air.”

  Lendra could tell from his tone that he was saying what he thought Sister Ezekiel wanted to hear—still trying to manipulate her. Did he realize how transparent he sounded? Sister Ezekiel said, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Jeremiah shifted his eyes to Carlton, raising one brow.

  “You can ask,” Carlton answered the unspoken question. “I may not allow it.”

  For a few seconds, Jeremiah said nothing. He reminded Lendra of a caged animal left in too small a space for too long. Cowed. Then he said, “I feel like I’m on display. Everybody who walks down the hall stares at me like I’m some sort of freakshow attraction. Could you just close the door when you leave? Give me a few last minutes of privacy?”

  “Mr. Carlton?” Sister Ezekiel asked. “It seems like a harmless request.”

  “That’s what bothers me,” Carlton said.

  “Aren’t you leaving soon, anyway?”

  Do it, Lendra thought. Stay on Sister Ezekiel’s good side.

  “Very well,” Carlton said. “I can be magnanimous.” He turned to the
guard. “Keep your ears open. The copters will be here in twenty-five minutes.”

  The guard nodded.

  “Sister?” Carlton said, gesturing toward the door. “I have a few things to take care of before we leave.”

  As Carlton turned to precede her out the door, stepping between her and the guard, blocking the guard’s view for just a second, Sister Ezekiel reached into her pocket and pulled out the converter. Almost before her hand cleared her pocket Lendra snatched the device away.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  As the door closed behind Sister Ezekiel, Jeremiah tried to relax his hands. Had he seen a faint swirling motion out of the corner of his eye when she entered the room, a slight imbalance in the distance between him and the wall that had then vanished? Was it a visual trick or was someone else in the room with him?

  Jeremiah heard three soft clicks as the light went on and off and on; then the faint hum of the privacy field engaged. He said, “Lendra?”

  When her face appeared before him, he barely controlled the urge to laugh with relief.

  “I brought a knife,” she said as she turned off the camo-fatigues, “and this.” She held the converter up with a tentative smile. Then she removed her hood, her dark hair framing her face, the smell of her sweat earthy, yet mixed with a hint of the flowery perfume he remembered she wore. He’d smelled it briefly when Sister Ezekiel was in the room but hadn’t made the connection then. Careless. Jeremiah took in her scent, gazed upon her face and felt his heart reaching out to her. She unzipped the coveralls, and pulled out a knife.

  Jeremiah shook his head. “Nice idea. But it won’t cut through this stuff.”

  Lendra’s shoulders slumped. “That’s all I brought.”

  He pointed toward the chair behind the desk. “Take a seat.”

  “What? We don’t have time for…”

  “Sit down,” Jeremiah said. “Unless I’m mistaken, Julianna would have hidden a weapon away in easy reach.”

  “Wouldn’t they have already found it?” Lendra asked as she moved to comply. She placed the knife and converter on the desk, then sat in Julianna’s chair.

  “I doubt it,” Jeremiah said. “Julianna would have found a way to give herself an edge. I never saw her go anywhere without a weapon, so she would have kept one here in case of emergency. Probably in the desk.”

  Lendra opened the top drawer and bent down to search through it.

  “It won’t be in any drawer,” Jeremiah said. “It will be hidden, probably on the right side—she was right-handed—probably behind a false panel, just about where your hand would normally come to rest if you pushed the chair in.”

  The chair scraped against the floor as Lendra ducked behind the desk. She cursed softly. Then she began tapping on the wood.

  “There,” Jeremiah said when her tapping produced a hollow sound.

  “I heard it,” Lendra said. She reached up for the knife. A popping sound preceded a cry of triumph. Lendra emerged from behind the desk, a tiny Las-pistol in her hand.

  “A disposable,” Jeremiah said. “Limited use. Very nice. Bring it over.”

  She brought the gun to him, held it up for him to take a close look at it. He didn’t try to grab it with his numbed fingers.

  “Okay,” he said. “Activate it, then set the power level to low. I want you to shoot right here, where my wrists are bound together.”

  Lendra’s face scrunched up as she frowned. “That’ll hurt you!”

  “Don’t worry. The pain won’t kill me.” The gun shook in her hand. He said, “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

  Yet, even as he instructed her to relax, he felt a growing intensity inside, an animalistic frenzy coursing through his body, as if his blood were actually boiling—a rage fueled by hope.

  Lendra adjusted the power setting. As she lowered the weapon, bringing the barrel right down to the bindings at his wrists, she closed her eyes. Jeremiah tugged at his hands as hard as he could but the polymer bindings kept them locked tightly together. A flash of blue light exploded out of the Las-pistol and a searing stab hit his wrists. His hands flew apart.

  Jumping to his feet, he grabbed Lendra, hugged her tightly and said, “Thank you. You’re fantastic.”

  When he pulled his arms away she kept hers wrapped around him for a second longer. Then she too released her grip. Stepping back, he picked at the plastic remnants, disentangling himself from their grip. At the same time, Lendra wriggled out of the camo-fatigues. He watched her shimmying free as he massaged his hands, waiting for the familiar, painful tingle of blood flow being restored.

  “How are they?” Lendra asked, pointing at his hands.

  “They’ll be fine.” Jeremiah continued rubbing, grimacing with the pain. The insides of his wrists burned. His hands throbbed. He said, “Where’s my particle beam cannon?”

  “Colonel Truman has it waiting for you. He intends to create a diversion with the Elite Ops—keep them occupied with hand-to-hand combat. He can probably only delay them a few minutes, but that might be enough time for you to get Devereaux away safely. If you can get to your van…”

  “And leave the rest of you here?”

  “Nobody else has a chance to break Devereaux out. You might be able to get him away before the Elite Ops can regroup.”

  Jeremiah shook his head as he began to don the coveralls. “The EOs are close to finding the Escala. They may have even found them already. And when they do, they’ll kill them all. Somehow, we have to stop Carlton and draw the EOs away from the Escala. If I simply take out Carlton, his death may unleash the EOs on all of us.”

  “How could he do that? Some sort of programming designed to kick in upon his death?”

  “Exactly. A deadman switch in the brain that shuts off when he dies, initiating an order to kill.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Remember his saying we’d better hope nothing happens to him?”

  Lendra nodded. “Or the wrath of the Elite Ops will rain down on us all. He also said we’d see a holocaust like never before.”

  “Right. I think he installed a deadman switch as an insurance policy.”

  “So can’t you just sneak out of here and grab Carlton?”

  “Too risky. The EOs might try for me and kill Carlton in the process. They won’t know about the deadman switch. No, I’ve got to take out as many of them as I can—spread confusion—get them to come after me and give Truman a chance to capture Carlton. I wish I had some way to warn him that Carlton must be kept alive.” Jeremiah flexed his fingers and wiggled his hands until the tingling was almost gone. “How many EOs are out there?”

  “You can’t get them all, Jeremiah,” Lendra said, her voice catching in her throat.“Aside from the guard outside and Major Payne,” Jeremiah said, “how many others are close by?”

  “Two at the door. Two outside the shelter. The rest are in the woods.”

  “Six,” Jeremiah said, keeping the fear out of his voice. “You’re right. I can’t take them all down. But I might be able to draw their fire. If I can get them to attack me, they might leave Carlton unprotected. If we can somehow isolate him, Colonel Truman and his soldiers can capture him.”

  “What about Devereaux?”

  Jeremiah said, “He can’t be my top priority anymore. Besides, he never built those bioweapons. And even if he did, the Escala won’t use them, or they would have done so already.”

  Grabbing the Las-pistol, Jeremiah adjusted the setting to medium. Then he handed the weapon to Lendra. “When I open that door, you fire at the guard’s chest. Keep firing until it runs dry. Understand?”

  “Jeremiah,” Lendra said, her voice cracking slightly. “You can’t…”

  Fear could be a good thing, Jeremiah knew, if it didn’t overwhelm you. He blinked three times, centered himself in his stone dungeon and said, “I’ll be ducking under
neath, so keep the weapon up.”

  Lendra bit her lower lip and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Finally, she said, “Shouldn’t it be set at the highest power level?”

  “If we do that, its charge will only last a few seconds. We need more time. Besides, you’re not trying to kill him. You’re just trying to keep him busy. If he has to leave his shield on, he can’t fire at you. That just might buy me enough time to load the particle beam cannon and take him out.”

  “Okay,” Lendra said, her hand shaking. “I’m ready.”

  Jeremiah grabbed the converter off the desk and pressed the control pad, activating the sensors and scatterer, then zipped up the suit, pulled the hood over his head and arranged the flap that covered his face. “Remember,” he said, “keep the weapon aimed at his chest. If he starts to move away, stay with him. Don’t let him get away from you or he’ll be able to shut down the shield and take you out. Okay?”

  Jeremiah moved toward the doorway while Lendra continued to look where he’d been standing.

  “I’m terrified,” Lendra said.

  “You’ll be fine,” Jeremiah said from the door. “You just keep firing that weapon, okay?”

  She turned in his general direction and nodded, her face pinched and pale.

  “I’m switching off the privacy field now,” Jeremiah said. He took a deep breath, then pushed the button, grabbed the handle and opened the door, immediately dropping into a crouch to avoid her line of fire.

  Lendra caught the guard in the chest as he turned to face the door, and Jeremiah, who had waited an instant to make sure she did as instructed, dove under the laser pulse and sprinted down the hallway. He heard yelling ahead of him. Truman leaned against the wall to the infirmary, the particle beam cannon half hidden under a blanket. Jeremiah ripped it out of his hands, opened the stock and slapped the converter inside. As he powered up the cannon, he spun toward the hall, aiming for the guard.