“Careful!” yelled an authoritative female voice. “We might have survivors. Start pulling them off.”
“I got one over here!” yelled another serious voice. “At least two.”
David desperately wanted to see his son, to know that he’d jumped over the fence in time, but he didn’t want to move. The thought of making it this far and getting shot by a jumpy soldier kept him perfectly still. The weight pressing down on him lifted slowly, then was gone. He opened his eyes and smiled at the body-armor-clad soldier pointing a rifle in his face.
“David Olson, Westfield Police Department,” said David. “There should be two more. One on each side of me.”
Two pairs of hands lifted him to his feet. One of the soldiers kept him steady while the rest went to work sifting through the carnage. He lowered his night-vision goggles and looked around. Larsen stood on one leg, his arm draped around one of the soldiers. The team leader on the other side of the ladder was up, helping the soldiers pull dead crazies off her teammates. She gripped an outstretched hand and pulled one of her people clear of the mess.
“Medic!” yelled a soldier next to him.
Scott lay on his side, blood spilling out of his mouth. He grimaced in pain, roaring as one of the soldiers flipped him onto his back and started to unsnap his gear. David saw the problem before the medic. The switchblade was buried deep in his right side, and they’d just rolled him over it.
“Doc, he has a knife in his right side,” said David.
“Shit,” said the soldier, leaning back on his knees and unzipping the “unit one pack” next to him. “Major Smith!”
A soldier rushed past him, kneeling next to Scott and the medic. While the two argued over what to do with the critically injured operative, David searched the faces on the other side of the fence for Joshua. He didn’t have to look for long.
“Dad! I’m here,” yelled his son, waving frantically behind the fence with Jack and Emma Harper.
David raised his hand and gave them a thumbs-up, unable to form the words to express his joy. He just nodded and started to tear up, momentarily oblivious to the machine-gun fire and chaos around him. The moment was short lived.
“Breakthrough!” yelled one of the soldiers.
He knew what that meant and whirled to check his surroundings. A woman holding a golf club over her head bounced between the hood and back of two tightly parked HUMVEEs, lurching at David. He grabbed his rifle with one hand and fired twice from the hip, spinning her around. The soldier kneeling next to the medic jumped to his feet and dropped her to the street with two center mass shots. Still reeling from the surreal experience, David extended a hand, unsure what else to do.
“Thank you. You saved our lives.”
“Major Nick Smith. 2nd Battalion, 151st Infantry Regiment. Indiana National Guard,” said the soldier. “But don’t thank me yet. One of your guys needs immediate emergency medical care. Like a hospital. Corporal Pillow is a good medic, but—”
The medic interrupted them. “This guy has serious internal bleeding. He needs a trauma doctor.”
Smith cursed. “Believe it or not, I have one. I have a whole emergency room staff, but they’re at least thirty minutes away—and they have limited medical supplies.”
“Did you just come from a hospital?” said David, his mind instantly clearing.
“Methodist Hospital. We just evacuated all remaining staff,” said Smith.
“We have Dr. Hale from Methodist. She’s an ER doctor,” said David.
“Holy shit,” said Smith. “She’s the only reason we’re here. One of the doctors sent us to—”
“Dr. Chang’s apartment. We’ve been there. Dead guy inside,” interrupted David.
“Right,” said Smith.
“She can help this guy. We also have plenty of medical supplies. Trauma-level stuff. Surgery kits. We just need to get him inside.”
“We’ll get you all inside,” said Smith. “Is there a vehicle gate?”
David activated his radio. “Gary, get ready to open one of the vehicle gates. Preferably close to the cafeteria. Get Dr. Hale prepped for an inbound stab wound. Heavy internal bleeding. The cavalry is here.”
“I’m on it,” said Hoenig. “See you inside.”
“They have vehicle entrances on the west side of the campus,” said David. “The other side.”
“I’ll make it happen,” said Smith before taking a step away and issuing a series of orders to his soldiers.
A strong hand slapped his shoulder. He glanced over the gloved hand at Larsen, who grinned at him like a devil through a thick sheen of blood.
“Welcome back from the dead,” said Larsen.
David shook his head. “Back again—somehow.”
Chapter 51
Major Smith followed two of the men his team just rescued from a horde of crazies. David, a local police officer, and Larsen, some kind of Department of Homeland Security agent. They wound through the expansive NevoTech complex, trailed by Smith’s medic and one of NevoTech’s security officers, who carried the critically wounded man named Scott on a collapsible stretcher. The other Homeland agents trailed all of them at a distance. Two of them. Ragan and McDermott according to their ID cards. The third agent didn’t survive the attack. He still had no idea how all of these people were connected, but it was obvious they had been through a lot together.
They took a quick detour around the cafeteria to avoid panicking the two hundred and thirty-eight civilians that had sought refuge on the company’s campus. David must have mentioned the exact number several times while they wound through the hallways.
The “detour” brought them past a section of floor-to-ceiling glass, where Smith caught a long glimpse of the refugees packed around tables and sleeping on the floor. A very long glimpse. The only way he could have spent more time looking at them was if he walked directly through the cafeteria. David Olson, Westfield police officer, knew exactly what he was doing when he picked that route. He wanted Smith to see them, without drawing too much attention.
The infirmary was a few doors down, where Dr. Hale stood ready for her patient in a blue plastic surgical gown. A man and a woman dressed in spotless hospital-grade scrubs stood next to her. A full array of stainless steel surgical instruments sat on a similarly shiny tray next to every type of gauze, compress and bandage a field trauma surgeon could need. An IV stand with a plasma bag stood behind the table. It wasn’t a high-tech emergency room setting, but it was the best scenario they could find within life-saving distance.
Hale’s eyes followed David and Larsen as they entered the infirmary, remaining fixed as the rest of the group entered the room. He understood why. The two of them were soaked from helmet to boot in blood, their faces still bright red from the gore that had been blasted onto them from the HUMVEEs machine guns.
“What the hell happened?” she said.
“Bloodbath,” said Larsen. “Literally.”
The stretcher-bearers walked through the door, stopping next to Smith.
“Set him down here,” said Hale, motioning to an examination table that had been covered with bright white sheets.
The two nurses helped transfer the critically wounded operator to the table, and everyone stepped back. Dr. Hale moved in, kneeling to get a closer look at the stab wound. The two Homeland agents entered the room, drawing her attention.
“Who are they?” she said.
“Long story,” said Larsen.
Hale examined the hole in her patient’s side. “How far in was the knife?”
David produced the knife. “At least an inch past the hilt.”
“Fuck,” muttered Hale. “I’m going to have to open him up.”
“We’ll get out of your way,” said Smith, lingering for a few seconds. “Dr. Owens sent us to Chang’s apartment. He insisted we get you out of here.”
Dr. Hale nodded, fighting back tears. “I assume he’s safe?”
“Safe as the rest of us,” said Smith. “You’ll see him s
oon.”
“You’re bringing him here?” said Hale. “That’s not a good idea.”
“No. I’m taking you to him,” said Smith.
Hale shook her head. “I’m staying here. These people need me.”
“No. You don’t understand,” said Smith. “Everybody is leaving.”
“What?” said Larsen, cocking his head in what could be perceived as a threatening manner.
“We’re not going to one of your quarantine prisons, Major,” said David.
“I’m not going anywhere, so take this outside. I need to get to work here,” said Hale, turning to her nurses. “Let’s get the IV going. Remove his vest and cut away his shirt. Scrub him down.”
“Hold on. I got ahead of myself,” said Smith.
“I really can’t hold on right now,” said Hale. “This man is dying.”
“I’m not taking any of you to a quarantine camp. I’m getting you to safety,” said Smith. “At midnight—tonight—the inner quarantine zone becomes a kill box.”
“Jesus,” said Larsen.
“What does that mean?” said Hale.
“It’s a free-fire zone. No rules of engagement restrictions and no coordination required to fire on a target,” said Smith. “No friendly ground forces will enter the kill box.”
“In English, please,” said Hale.
“Based on what I’ve seen out there,” said Smith, “my guess is they’re about to turn Indianapolis into an air force shooting gallery. I don’t see any other way for the government to contain this.”
Hale snapped on a pair of gloves and selected a scalpel.
“What’s the evacuation timeline?” said Hale.
“I have to rendezvous with the rest of my convoy and get them through both quarantine lines. Owens and about a hundred members of the hospital staff,” said Smith. “We’ve picked an out-of-the-way spot to drop them off, where they should be safe. My guess is I’ll be back in two hours.”
“It’s already 9:30,” said David, checking his watch. “That’s cutting it close.”
“They won’t light up a military convoy,” said Smith.
“Let’s hope not,” said Larsen.
“All right. I have to get moving,” said Smith.
“We’ll all get out of your way,” said David. “Unless you need help holding him down.”
“I’m going to hit him with a powerful local anesthetic. His team really came through with these kits,” she said, nodding at her patient. “Did the rest of them get out okay?”
“What team?” said Smith.
“We’ll catch everyone up later,” said Larsen, trying to usher them out.
Something was off. He could tell by Hale’s reaction to Larsen’s answer.
“Is Chang okay?” she said, looking toward David and Larsen.
Why would she be asking them about Chang? Owens said Chang was out of town and had let her borrow the apartment between shifts. David hesitated to answer, looking pained to come up with a response.
“Chang is dead,” said Larsen. “A crazy ran down the middle of the interstate while he was picking up speed for takeoff. Damaged the wing. He taxied us back to the overpass and we all got out to make our way back. A group hit us as soon as we got out of the plane. He died on the way back.”
She turned to David, who took a moment to respond. “There was nothing we could do for him out there.”
“Chang was here?” said Smith.
“Owens couldn’t have known,” said Larsen. “I can explain outside. It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’d really like to hear that story,” said the female Homeland agent.
“Me too,” said the other agent.
“I don’t have the time,” said Smith. “And it really doesn’t matter. I’m sorry he’s gone.”
“I’ll have Mitch take you back to your vehicles,” said Larsen before turning to the two Homeland agents. “We can compare notes after that.”
Smith sensed a rift between Larsen and the two, but he didn’t have time to think about it, let alone worry about—not if he was going to get all of these people out of the kill box before midnight.
“I need to speak with your security chief for a moment before I leave,” said Smith. “If I’m going to take all of you out of here, I need everyone in that cafeteria to follow a few basic ground rules. They probably won’t like it, but everyone’s lives will depend on it.”
“What kind of ground rules?” said Larsen.
Smith didn’t know how to say this any other way. “Strict communications restrictions. No cell phones. A slow trickle of pickups wherever I leave all of you. A hundred cars converging in the middle of nowhere will attract attention. A barely used cell tower suddenly maxing out? You get the picture.”
“Why would they care?” said David.
“My orders were to leave the remaining hospital staff behind. One hundred and eighteen of them. I obviously didn’t obey that order. The government doesn’t care if any of you get out of here. In fact, I think they’d prefer you perished in the kill box. We need to be cautious.”
“I hope Chang—” started David. “I hope Chang’s research burns the people responsible for this to the ground.”
Smith started to grin, but kept a straight face. Chang didn’t die out on the highway. He had no idea what was going on here, but hoped that David was right. That this Dr. Chang was the key to bringing these people down.
Chapter 52
Hale barely watched them leave. She needed to focus on her patient, whom she strongly suspected wasn’t as critically wounded as they had all reported. His vitals were steady, and the bleeding from his mouth looked superficial. Blood loss from his wound was sustained, but not alarming. She’d still have to do some cutting to assess the damage, but overall he looked like a case that could be stabilized for a long trip to a hospital.
“Dr. Hale?”
She glanced at the door, finding David. He looked nervously at her two nurses.
“Chang’s fine, isn’t he? Larsen has the worst poker face,” said Hale, waiting a few seconds for him to respond. “You can trust them.”
“We did collide with one of the infected on takeoff,” said David. “Crippled the plane. The other team took him south. This guy, Scott, volunteered to help the rest of us get back. Take care of him.”
“We will,” said Hale. “Do you trust this Army guy?”
“Indiana National Guard,” said David. “Local guy. I trust him. Your friend Owens trusted him.”
“I guess that’s good enough,” said Hale.
“Sounds like we don’t have a choice,” said David. “See you wherever Smith takes us.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m getting Joshua out of here,” said David. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve almost lost him over the past twenty-four hours. I need to focus on my son from this point onward. I’m all he has—and he’s all I have.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” said Hale. “I don’t know if this means a lot coming from a nonparent, but I think you’re an amazing dad. My guess is that he feels the same. Good luck, David. If I don’t see you later.”
“I’m sure we’ll see each other,” said David, starting to leave.
“David!” she said, rushing over to the counter on the other side of the room.
He stepped back inside. “Yeah?”
She grabbed the Ziploc bag with Chang’s experiment vaccine. After distributing pills to everyone on campus, she still had a few dozen yellow pills left.
“Give these to any of the soldiers that were handling you, and to your two new friends. I don’t think the virus is contagious in the usual sense of a flu virus, but you guys are covered in infected blood. One should be enough for anyone that got a dose earlier today. Two for everyone else.”
Her own fever had dropped since taking the pills earlier in the day, a positive sign that Chang’s vaccine might also be effective as a post-symptomatic treatment and not merely a vaccine. Might. Only time w
ould tell, and it appeared that Chang’s treatment had, at the very least, bought her more time.
As soon as David departed, Hale turned to the two nurses she’d handpicked from a dozen medical professionals among NevoTech’s refugee population. Jen worked as a perioperative nurse in the birthing center at St. Vincent Women’s Hospital. She undoubtedly knew her way around the abdomen far better than Hale. Doug was a registered nurse that worked in a Medicaid clinic on the fringes of east Indianapolis. Together, Hale figured they could handle just about anything that came through that door. Just about anything.
Chapter 53
David rested against a thick maple tree, his son sleeping in his arms. He wasn’t letting go of this kid for any reason. He meant what he’d said to Dr. Hale. Joshua was his only mission now. As soon as he got his turn to make a cell phone call, he’d get in touch with his dad in Evansville. He wanted to take his son as far from all of this madness as possible. The southwestern tip of Indiana should be far enough away, especially given what he’d seen on the ride out of Indianapolis.
Once Major Smith’s HUMVEEs broke out of the area immediately surrounding NevoTech and reached the interstate, the trip had been mostly uneventful. Heading south on Interstate 65, they’d sailed through the National Guard inner quarantine zone barricade. Soldiers at the fortified checkpoint had waved the vehicles through without stopping them.
They’d joined the bulk of Smith’s convoy several miles past the checkpoint, and proceeded together to the outer quarantine boundary, where soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division conducted a short, cursory check of the vehicles—while David and his son hid in the back of Smith’s HUMVEE. After they cleared the final quarantine line, everything appeared normal on the roads. David quit paying attention after that, drifting asleep amidst the gear and ammunition packed into the vehicle.
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