The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Steven Konkoly

  “I agree with you,” said Jack. “But it’s really up to them.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Emma. “We’re going with David. Your parents have always been talking about taking a trip to southern Indiana. This is the perfect opportunity.”

  “They’re going to kill me,” said Jack.

  “Blame it on me,” said Emma.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jack playfully. “I will.”

  “David Olson?” said a voice from the edge of the forest. “David Olson?”

  “Must be our turn,” said David, easing his sleeping son out of his arms and leaning him gently against the tree. “He’s completely out.”

  “Go ahead. We’ll watch him,” said Emma.

  “I feel like the two of you should be his godparents,” said David.

  “That would be an honor,” said Jack. “Even if we’re only like ten years older.”

  David stood up, his knees audibly crackling. He felt like he’d been thrown out of a fast-moving train. This had to be what it felt like. At least he wasn’t wearing that vest and helmet anymore. He didn’t think he could stand up on his own at this point under the weight of anything other than the fresh clothes that had been generously donated to him by one of the families at NevoTech.

  “You gonna make it?” said Jack.

  He laughed. “Barely. But I’ll manage.”

  “David Olson?”

  “Over here!” he yelled.

  “Major Smith asked me to grab you for a minute,” said the soldier, walking into the forest.

  “Be right over!”

  He snagged the rifle leaning against the tree next to Joshua and offered it to Emma, along with two spare magazines from his pockets.

  “Hold on to these until I get back,” said David.

  Emma took the rifle and cradled it in her arm, tucking the magazines into her waist. David hesitated, not wanting to leave Joshua.

  “We got him,” said Jack, getting up and standing over David’s sleeping son. “Nothing will come between him and the two of us.”

  “Thank you,” said David. “Be back in a few minutes.”

  David followed the soldier out of the forest, where a long, mixed convoy of HUMVEEs, canvas-covered trucks and armored transport trucks sat parked in the grass, at the edge of a cornfield, on the other side of the two-lane road. Two vehicles down, a group of soldiers had set up a makeshift table, where they were processing the phone calls placed to families around the state. They turned in the other direction and walked along the road until they reached Smith’s vehicle at the head of the convoy.

  Major Smith stood with two other soldiers around the front of the HUMVEE, examining a map spread out on the hood with red-colored flashlights.

  “Major, Corporal Webb, I have David Olson.”

  One of the flashlights pointed in David’s face for a few seconds.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you,” said Major Smith. “You look like you’re headed to the golf course.”

  The soldiers laughed, and so did David after a few seconds.

  “Glad to find you in a good mood,” said David. “I assume this is about the thing we discussed?”

  “It is,” said Smith.

  “You want us to take a walk, sir?” said one of the soldiers.

  “No. I think this is good news,” said Smith.

  David’s mind was too exhausted to interpret Smith’s statement. At this point, the only good news he could imagine was that his ex-wife had been officially declared dead. He didn’t want her to be dead, but given what he’d seen on the streets, dead was better than strapped to a bed like one of the infected. He wasn’t sure how he would break this to Joshua, though he was pretty sure his son strongly suspected the truth.

  “I ran your ex-wife’s name, date of birth and social security number through IDN, narrowed by incident zone. No Meghan Olson tagged to incident zone one-four. That’s the Indianapolis zone. We ran her maiden name, Meghan Harris, through zone one-four and still came up empty, so we widened the search. We found her tagged to zone one-five. Fort Wayne.”

  “Fort Wayne? How the hell did she end up there?” said David. “I guess it doesn’t matter. What do they do with them?”

  “What do you mean?” said Smith.

  “With the infected?” said David. “She almost killed her boyfriend.”

  “David, your wife isn’t tagged as infected. She’s in a class Charlie quarantine camp at Grissom Air Joint Air Reserve base,” said Smith.

  “Class Charlie?” said David. “Grissom Air Base?”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” said Smith.

  “I think we’re well past keeping secrets at this point,” said David.

  “Quarantine camps are broken into four classifications. Alpha. Bravo. Charlie and Delta. Delta camps are for noninfected, nonsymptomatic people originating outside the primary quarantine boundary, but inside the secondary line. In this case, anyone outside Interstate 465, but inside whatever arbitrary outer boundary they’ve set.

  “Charlie is for noninfected who are confirmed to have been in direct contact with someone infected, or are strongly suspected of having been in contact. Additionally, anyone originating inside the first quarantine boundary line, Interstate 465, will automatically be placed in a class Charlie quarantine camp—unless they’re symptomatic.

  “Anyone showing symptoms like fever, aches or neurological glitches is placed in a Bravo-level camp. These are more like detention centers. We delivered most of the hospital patients to a class Bravo camp just outside Greenfield. It was pretty grim.”

  “I can guess what Alpha is for,” said David.

  “Full-spectrum infected. That’s what they call what we saw on the streets,” said Smith. “I don’t know what goes on at those camps, and I don’t want to know.”

  “So she’s probably fine,” muttered David.

  “I couldn’t say for sure,” said Smith. “But it looks promising.”

  David could barely believe what he was hearing. Joshua’s mother was alive and well, sitting in a quarantine camp a few hours north. This changed everything.

  “How do I get her out of there?” said David.

  Smith took a moment to answer. “I have no idea. This is all brand new to me.”

  “Do you think we could drive up there and turn ourselves in? Say we heard there was a big quarantine camp and drove up here from Carmel to see if we could find her. They’d put us together, right?”

  Smith’s silence was the answer.

  “Who am I kidding,” said David. “Right?”

  “Grissom is home to all four classes of quarantine camps,” said Smith. “It’s a massive facility, according to IDN.”

  “IDN?”

  “Integrated Data Network,” said Smith. “I pull all of my mission information from the network. It’s how they’re managing to coordinate the response of dozens of government agencies and military units.”

  “Sounds like Big Brother,” said David.

  “It’s not too far off,” said Smith. “I have no idea how I’m going to explain the time I’ve spent away. There are only so many flat tires and reroutes I can justify.”

  “Can’t they see where you’ve been?”

  “Not yet,” said Smith. “We’re not transmitting any data. Receive-only mode. Almost everything we need is cached, anyway. I’ll have some tap dancing to do tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of tap dancing. What would you do in my shoes?” said David.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to show up at Grissom,” said Smith. “The chances of ending up somewhere other than with your ex-wife are pretty high. Most of these facilities are barely functioning, slapped together in a few hours with little supervision or instruction. Pure chaos. I haven’t witnessed a lot of independent thinking over the past twenty-four hours. You stand in the wrong line and get the wrong medic asking questions, and who knows.”

  One of the other soldiers spoke up. “Sir, I doubt the camps are co-ed. That’s som
ething else to consider.”

  “Shit,” said David.

  “I didn’t think of that,” said Smith. “You might be better off waiting this out. You know where she’s located. Let things simmer down and take a trip up there. You go now, anything could happen.”

  David agreed, but he wasn’t sure he could convince his son. Then again, he could keep this information a secret—until it was safe to try to get her released.

  “Thank you, Major,” said David, offering his hand.

  “Nick,” he said, shaking his hand. “Good luck getting her back. For your son’s sake.”

  “Right,” said David.

  For my son’s sake.

  Chapter 54

  Larsen thanked Captain Gresham and hopped out of the backseat of the HUMVEE, shaking his head at Ragan and McDermott, who sat next to each other on the ground, their backs against the rear tire. He helped them up and muttered a curse.

  “We don’t exist. There’s nothing mentioned on any network bulletin that remotely resembles our activity or mission.”

  “It is a top-secret program,” said McDermott.

  “The kill box order listed every unit—military, government or law enforcement—that had been ordered to enter the city. If our job was so critical to national security and the crisis at hand, like we’ve always been told, they would have added our call signs and updated our locations. It’s not like they didn’t know most of our locations at all times.”

  “That’s why Control didn’t want us making any kind of contact with the military or law enforcement,” said Ragan. “We’re bullshit. Some kind of top-secret, illegal mercenary army put together by the same fucking nut jobs that caused the mess out there. Everything compartmentalized. Everything a secret. Nothing legitimate. Think about how many supposed VIPs were murdered or imprisoned over the past twenty-four hours. Hundreds. All probably just like Chang. People that could unravel or explain exactly what happened to our country.”

  “The ID badges didn’t turn up anything?” said McDermott.

  “Smith’s unit has a universal card reader. Part of the IDN system,” said Larsen. “I swiped the card and scanned the bar code. Nothing. If we’d approached a quarantine checkpoint, they would have arrested us, stripped away our gear and thrown us in a quarantine camp. Treated us like some kind of crazy militia types.”

  “Disposable and deniable,” said Ragan. “I’m going to kill that Cooper fuck back at Grissom. He had to know about this.”

  “Nobody’s going back to Grissom,” said Larsen. “It’s one of the biggest quarantine detention centers in the Midwest—and I’m sure the ‘colonel,’ whoever he really is, was long gone by the time we parachuted. My guess is the entire CHASE facility is empty, like it never existed.”

  “Did someone say they were headed back to Grissom?” said a familiar voice.

  A dark, nonmilitary-looking shape stood several feet away in the dark. Larsen lowered his night-vision goggles for a moment, taking in the new and improved David Olson.

  “Did I miss the showers? And the Gap Outlet,” said Larsen. “I’d hug you, but I’m still covered in blood and intestines.”

  “I’ll pass,” said David. “What did you say about the Grissom Joint Air Reserve Base?”

  “That’s where our unit is based,” said Larsen. “Though it appears that we never really existed, in the traditional sense of legitimate government units. I think we were created specifically for this bioweapons attack. To remove people like Chang from circulation. That was his theory.”

  “Whose?” said David.

  “Chang’s,” said Larsen. “Why the interest in Grissom?”

  “My wife’s in one of the quarantine camps there,” said David. “Class Charlie camp, which is supposedly a good thing. Noninfected. Sounded like your colleague was considering a road trip to visit an old friend at Grissom.”

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “You don’t want to go up there,” said Larsen. “Not right now at least. Nothing good will come of it.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” said David.

  “You need to take your son somewhere safe,” said Larsen. “And just be with him. You go up there—you might never see him again.”

  David wiped his face, finding the voice to respond. “You’re right,” he finally said. “What about you? How are you getting to Colorado?”

  “I don’t know,” said Larsen. “I haven’t gotten that far in the planning process yet. I was kind of hoping the code on my Homeland ID badge would trigger some kind of all-mighty power of appropriation to take one of these HUMVEEs. Apparently, I’d have a better chance of talking them out of a HUMVEE by flashing a plastic badge from Party City. At least the system didn’t order them to arrest me. That’s something, right?”

  “I’m taking Joshua south to my father’s place about five hours from here,” said David. “You’re welcome to come with me. All of you. I mean that.”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “It’s southwest of here. Toward Colorado,” said David. “You can take some time to figure out what you’re going to do from there. If the whole country doesn’t implode, I might even consider driving your ass out there myself. I haven’t been to Colorado in years.”

  “It’s the best time of year to visit,” said Larsen.

  “I don’t doubt it,” said David before pointing toward the trees on the other side of the road. “I’m right over there. Waiting for my turn to call. There’s a creek about a quarter mile into the woods. Not saying my dad will care one way or the other if you stink like road kill—but you really do stink like road kill.”

  “Thanks, David,” said Larsen.

  “Just thinking about camp hygiene.”

  “No,” said Larsen. “For the offer. I’ll take you up on it.”

  “I didn’t realize I had given you a choice, Eric.”

  Larsen laughed. “We made one hell of a team.”

  “We did,” said David. “These two kind of came in at the end and took a lot of the credit—”

  “Right. If we hadn’t shown up—”

  “We’d all be dead,” said David. “I expect both of you to take me up on my offer, too. Unless you have family nearby.”

  “I’m from Sacramento,” said Ragan.

  “Vermont,” replied the other.

  “Yeah. You’re coming with us,” said David. “We’ll figure out how to get you home.”

  Larsen watched David head back into the forest, noting where he came to a stop. That was where he was headed after he washed the day away in that creek. A long nap under a tree, and a fresh start in the morning. He could barely wait.

  Chapter 55

  Dr. Hale shuffled down the road in the clogs she’d been wearing for four days straight. Great shoes for standing all day in the ER, but in the forest or on uneven pavement—she couldn’t wait to get rid of them. Hale peered into the shadowy woods, looking for David Olson or Eric Larsen. The tops of the trees glowed golden orange, but the trunks near the forest floor blurred together in the murky, predawn darkness. The sun was still hidden behind the vast cornfield lining the other side of the road.

  The road felt lonely without the National Guard convoy. Major Smith and his soldiers had stayed long enough to implement the evacuation plan, but his unit was already long overdue when they’d left a few hours ago, after the first wave of families and friends arrived to pick up their survivors. Looking over the list that Smith had left behind with Gary Hoenig, it appeared that everyone hiding in the forest had somewhere to go.

  “Dr. Hale?” said a voice, followed by movement in the trees ahead of her.

  Eric Larsen emerged from the forest. He was still dressed in tactical gear and carrying a rifle, but he’d obviously made an effort to clean off the blood and gore that had covered him last night.

  “Expecting me?” she said.

  “No. Everyone’s up,” said Larsen. “We’re hiking out of here in a few minutes. Don’t worry, we were going t
o swing by to say goodbye.”

  “Yeah. Sure,” she said, smiling. “Hiking? I thought all of you had a ride out of here with David’s father?”

  “We do. His dad is caravanning up with a few neighbors. They’ll be here in about two hours,” said Larsen, checking his watch.

  “So why hike anywhere?”

  “Call me paranoid, but I don’t want to be here that long,” said Larsen. “If they tracked Smith’s convoy—who knows.”

  “He disabled all of that,” said Hale.

  “I’m still taking a little walk this morning,” said Larsen. “Put some distance between me and this place. What brings you out our way?”

  “We have some unexpected guests arriving at any minute,” said Hale.

  “Spoken by anyone else under these circumstances—those words would terrify me,” said Larsen. “I’m surprised they got out that fast.”

  “Me too,” said Hale, looking over his shoulder. “I think that might be them.”

  Larsen turned to face two rapidly approaching vehicles.

  “You guys having a party without me?” said David, appearing among the trees next to her.

  “Sort of,” said Larsen, nodding at the vehicles. “We’re waiting for some guests to arrive.”

  “How’s your son doing?” said Hale.

  “He’s still sleeping,” said David. “This is a kid that can sleep until noon after doing nothing all day. After yesterday, I don’t expect him to open his eyes until about nine tonight.”

  “Wave some pizza under his nose,” said Hale. “I bet that’ll do the trick.”

  “I’d kill for some pizza right now,” said Larsen.

  A silver Suburban and a well-worn, soft-top Jeep Wrangler rapidly approached from the south.

  “Let me guess,” said David. “Chang and his new friends.”

  Hale cocked her head. “Nice guess. How?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  They stepped out of the road as the vehicles arrived and came to a sudden stop next to them. Chang smiled at her through the Suburban’s rear passenger window, but didn’t open his door. She recognized the Suburban’s driver as one of the operatives that had carried medical supplies into the infirmary, but she couldn’t identify the others through the tinted glass.