EMERGENCE: Incursion

by JT Sawyer

  He sprinted by Nash and the others, who quickly followed behind him. As they raced to the corner of the building, he could hear the sickening sound of more drones dropping to the ground behind them. Why doesn’t she just send them in on the streets from every direction? He didn’t have time to dwell on the question. Reisner came to an abrupt halt at the intersection of the alley with the street, then yanked a grenade off his vest. Once the rest of the group was beside him, he yanked the pin and flung it into the alley, next to a propane tank near a restaurant.

  He didn’t stop to see the carnage, instead racing away to the right with the others as they continued sprinting north on the empty streets. Once the explosion rang out, he made a sharp left turn, veering down another avenue then continuing to trot for four more blocks. In the eerie glow of streetlights ahead, he saw the entrance to a bank, whose windows and lobby appeared untouched. That should be a sound structure to hole up in for a while. He felt uneasy uttering that to himself, recalling he had said the same thing a few hours earlier when they took refuge in the NSA building.

  Chapter 6

  After being escorted through security, Runa was given a clearance badge and told to meet General Dorr in the conference room on sub-level two of the tactical operations center. The halls were bustling with activity, and it seemed like it could have been just another day at the head of SOCOM—only this time the battlefield wasn’t in some distant country.

  He showed his badge to the two MPs standing on either side of the conference room doors, then walked inside. The large oval-shaped table was filled with a dozen commanders from the air-force, marines, and army, along with several civilian contractors who Runa vaguely recognized. To his right were three men in lab coats, who he figured were either army physicians or scientists. He knew he was going to be the sole representative of the CIA, and he wondered just how many of his former colleagues around the world had actually survived.

  Runa moved up to a vacant seat next to a three-star general and sat down opposite Karen Hemmings, who gave him a firm nod. She had cleaned up nicely, her brunette hair covering the abrasion on her forehead that she had received during the rescue attempt in southern Virginia thirty-seven hours earlier. Runa couldn’t put the ugly memory of that hostage ordeal behind him quick enough, and he was just glad they had all gotten out alive and with Hemmings still breathing. She had been the ranking politician in line to become the commander-in-chief, and her swearing-in ceremony earlier this morning, which was broadcast throughout the base, had been a jolt of hope to his weary soul.

  General Dorr, head of SOCOM, took the podium first, the PowerPoint screen behind him illuminating a large map of the United States. Dorr had a reputation for being a pit-bull and was well-loved by his men in the field. His leathery face spoke of his time in the elements during his twenty-two years with the 5th Special Forces. If anyone knew how to wage an unconventional war and rain down hate upon the enemy, it was Dorr. But the fighting force left in the U.S. was depleted now, and half of the bases on the East Coast were crippled from the deadly cyber-attack. Runa knew that the military was already operating with a handicap.

  Dorr raised one hand up towards the overhead monitor while looking around the room. “I want to welcome our allies in Great Britain, Europe, and Australia to this briefing. We have all suffered heavy losses but I think you will find that what we are about to reveal will be a big step in gaining ground over our enemy.”

  He motioned over his shoulder to the map. “As of 0430 today, our intel staff here identified a way of locating the alphas based upon their heat signatures.” A series of red dots were overlaid upon a dozen large cities. “As you can see from this thermal imagery, these alphas are situated in a variety of subterranean locations, from sewers to storm drains to subway stations—in each case they rarely venture far from their hiding spots, instead using their drones to search for humans.”

  Another slide pulled up, showing an artist’s sketch of an upright alpha next to a smaller drone. “We already know about the connection between these two, but what our scientific staff just uncovered this morning is that there is a two-degree difference in body temperature between the alphas and the drones.” The room filled with whispers as officers murmured to their colleagues, and General Dorr nodded at the comments. “Your sentiments reflect my own—this could be the breakthrough that we needed to turn the tide in our favor.”

  He stepped down from the podium, moving closer to Hemmings. “In my long career, I have always believed there is no substitute for sound tactics, overwhelming violence, and superior firepower led by the fearless charge of unrelenting warriors who will stop at nothing to complete the mission. Only rarely does luck enter into that equation and smile down upon the battlefield, making you believe in goddamned miracles. Today, our country has been blessed with the return of one of its leaders and we have discovered this vital piece of information on the physiology of our enemy. I believe this is one of those miraculous days when all of these factors will align and allow us to drive this evil from our shores.”

  Runa saw the other leaders in the room sitting more upright than normal, and he felt his own shoulders pulling back as his heart raced at the prospect of what was to come.

  Dorr gave Hemmings a hearty nod. “After conferring with our commander-in-chief once she took office, we concurred that Operation Raptor will commence today at 1730 Eastern Time. We will be coordinating strikes on a dozen key cities, with this first sweep using surgical strikes to decapitate the leaders, reducing any collateral damage of survivors spread throughout the city.” He clicked on the pointer, pulling up a more accurate map with the targets highlighted in blue.

  Runa shared the elation in the room until he saw Los Angeles listed. Will, you better be out of there by now.

  ***

  Once everyone was dismissed after the briefing, Runa made his way up to the podium, where Dorr was gathering his notes. Hemmings was standing beside him as the two discussed the upcoming operation.

  “Agent Runa, I trust you shared in our excitement about the venture we’re about to undertake,” said Dorr.

  “Absolutely, sir. I was just wondering if you’ve heard anything about the whereabouts of one of my agents, William Reisner. He, SEAL Team Commander Ivins, and several others were supposed to be heading to L.A. when I last spoke with them yesterday.”

  Dorr licked his dry lips. “Yes, they were rerouted to the CDC in Phoenix as of last night, as I recall. They were accompanying an epidemiologist there.”

  “That’s a relief. He’s my best agent, and his team has been a tremendous asset in thwarting another cyber-attack on this country.” He stepped back as Dorr moved up to the table, where he motioned Runa to sit down with him.

  “And your people received the plans for constructing the audio deterrents that Andre Pacelle created?” said Runa.

  “Yes, in fact the first long-range acoustic devices with that frequency are being installed around the perimeter of this base as we speak, and we’ve disseminated the schematics to our other bases and allies.”

  Runa was truly getting the feeling that the tide was indeed turning, and he settled back into his chair.

  “I was speaking with President Hemmings this morning and we both agreed that since the CIA and its staff have largely been…” he paused, his eyes darting around the table, “for lack of a better word, lost to this country with the collapse of Langley, your services and your remaining team might best be put to use with JSOC here.”

  “Or on my protective detail,” said Hemmings. “After your performance saving me and my people in Virginia, I wouldn’t think twice about having you close by.”

  Runa nodded, flattered at the compliment, but his attention was elsewhere. “I surely appreciate the offers. I only have one matter to attend to first, and with your permission, I’d like to get moving on that.”

  Dorr and Hemmings both gave him a puzzled expression.

  “By now, you’re both already very familiar with the malicious un
dertakings of my former boss, David Siegel, and Professor Trevor Hayes in concocting this virus that they unleashed upon the world.”

  “And that bastard is a part of the rubble that is Langley now, thank God,” said Hemmings.

  Dorr sat back, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes. “Go on.”

  “Before he died, he made mention of several other agency bioweapons ships in the world.” Runa removed a flash drive from his pocket and slid it forward. “Pacelle uncovered the location of one of those ships, the Lachesis, in the Gulf of Mexico. If I can make contact with them and route them here, their labs and scientific staff would be a great asset in helping us to understand the virus, and could be used to augment Doctor Munroe’s work.”

  “Why haven’t they tried to make contact with us already if they’re in the Gulf?” said Dorr. “They should have been picking up our automated messages by now.”

  “That’s a good question,” said Runa. “Either they’re still operating under old protocols on radio silence, or…” he looked at Hemmings, “or the crew is dead.”

  “We have a decent medical lab here, and the CDC in Phoenix is cutting edge,” said Dorr.

  “I understand—but the Lachesis had capabilities specific to bioweapons, and Munroe and our other research staff are not likely to ever have access to that here or at the CDC. If Munroe needs to concoct a bioweapon to fight the paras, then the resources on that ship will be an excellent tool to that end.”

  Hemmings interlaced her fingers. “It’s worth looking into. Agent Runa is right—it might provide us with capabilities we can use later on another front. I’d want the damn thing anchored about fifty miles off our shores though.”

  Dorr stood up, grabbing his tablet and papers then nodding at Runa. “I’ll provide you with a Blackhawk and a rapid-response team. You’ve got until noon tomorrow.”

  Chapter 7

  When the sun was an hour above the horizon, Selene sat up from her cot in the hangar and watched a flock of ravens circling above a jagged mountain range near the base. The warm desert breeze held the scent of distant rain, and she wondered if they would be at the U.S. Customs airstrip long enough to witness the storm—the sight of the rain cleansing the ground around her seemed very appealing right now.

  She got out of bed and pulled a baseball cap over her blond hair then stood up, stretching. She hadn’t bothered to remove her boots in case there was another attack, but the sonic devices the border patrol officers had set up around the perimeter seemed to be doing the job of keeping any nearby drones at bay. She removed the Beretta pistol that Connelly had given her from under her pillow and tucked it into her waist, still trying to get used to the feeling of being armed. The thought of that drone attacking her had filled her with dread that still made her shudder. The brief lesson in firearm handling Connelly had given her hadn’t boosted her confidence with the pistol, but she knew it was far superior than being reducing to using a steel pipe.

  Selene walked over to the next bunk, where Amber and her son Chris were asleep, mother and son embracing each other in a primeval scene as old as life itself. What we won’t do to protect our own kind. Selene was eager to get them both back to the CDC and begin analyzing their bloodwork, especially Amber’s. As far as Selene knew, the woman was the only person to survive a bite from a para and not become infected.

  Selene walked over to the far corner of the hangar, where Ivins was filling a cup with tarry coffee from a steel dispenser. He handed her the nearly full cup, then started another one for himself.

  “You think Amber is going to provide some answers on immunity or something that can help with your research on a cure?”

  Selene sipped the scalding black liquid, then reached for the sugar container on the table. “Her blood has to hold a clue. In every population, there is a tiny percentage of those who are naturally immune to a disease. I’d say that’s the case with her, unless there is something still lying dormant in her cells.”

  Ivins almost choked on his coffee. “Wait—what now? She could be harboring the parasites and suddenly turn on us? Why the hell didn’t you say something before, like in the helo? I would’ve restrained her arms to the stretcher.”

  “It just occurred to me. Besides, it’s unlikely. She doesn’t show any of the signs that other infected individuals displayed.”

  “Yeah, well, I would still feel a lot better about having her knocked out and restrained for your flight to Phoenix.”

  Selene glanced at him, tilting her head. “You’re not coming?”

  “Not sure yet,” he said, eyeballing the three border patrol helicopters sitting a few hundred yards away outside the hangar. “It’s only one hundred and sixty miles to L.A. from here. It would only take me a few hours to get there and—” He was interrupted by a voice over his shoulder.

  “Commander, there’s an urgent message directed to you,” said Pacelle, who was sitting hunched forward on a swivel chair, staring at his laptop.

  Ivins put his coffee down and moved over towards the desk. Pacelle slid his chair over, removing another laptop from his shoulder bag as Ivins examined the encrypted file that had been sent by General Dorr to special operations personnel throughout the country. Ivins’ expression went from one of interest to excitement and finally to a look of urgency. He clicked off the message and rested his forehead against his steepled fingers.

  “What is it?” said Selene.

  “There are specific orders from SOCOM for my team to escort you to the CDC and await further orders. The rest of the message was related to what General Dorr called Operation Alpha Strike. The military has identified a way to target the alphas based upon their heat signatures. They are preparing a tactical strike on a handful of cities around the U.S.”

  “That’s fantastic,” exclaimed Pacelle, who was busy typing again on his other laptop. “Those bug-eyed bastards will be brought down quickly once the alphas are removed.”

  “Agreed, but…” He looked up at Selene. “One of the cities is L.A.”

  “This just keeps getting better—when?”

  “Five hours—the op begins in five hours.” He stood up, his eyes darting around the hangar as he crunched the minutes in his head. “If I leave now, that bird out there can make it to the NSA building in two hours and give us some wiggle room to make it out before the strike.”

  “Except they’re no longer at the NSA building,” said Pacelle in a somber tone. “I pulled up these satellite images a few minutes ago.” He swung around his computer. The screen showed black-and-white footage of four men in the alley behind the building while hundreds of creatures swarmed on the roof. Pacelle enhanced the images, which clearly showed someone resembling Reisner.

  “The building security must have been compromised,” said Ivins.

  “Jesus, they won’t last long down there,” said Selene, who felt her ribs squeezing in against her as her breathing grew shallow. “We have to help them.” He can’t have made it through all he’s been through only to die on the streets. She wanted to reach out through the monitor and pull him back through then fling her arms around him.

  Ivins clicked on his ear-mic, speaking to Murphy, who was standing watch at the air traffic control tower at the north end of the airstrip. “Murph, I need you and the rest of the team to be wheels up for Phoenix in thirty minutes with Doctor Munroe and the other civilians.”

  “Copy that.”

  Selene tugged on his sleeve. “I thought you were under orders from General Dorr to accompany us?”

  “He said make sure that you get safely to the CDC—and you will. I am taking Connelly and Pacelle with me on one of those helos out there.” He glanced down at his watch, setting the timer. “We’ve got exactly five hours until Operation Alpha Strike commences, more than enough time to get to L.A. After that, I’m not sure how we’ll locate them.”

  “I’m working on that part,” said Pacelle in a gruff voice, without looking up from his laptop.

  Ivins held on to Selene’s forearm.
“Reisner’s one of the best—trust me on this. He’ll escape and evade through the city—that’s what those guys specialize in. We’ll find him.”

  She nodded, then watched him walk off, feeling like her insides were about to unspool again. Hang on, Will. Just a little longer.

  Chapter 8

  Three Days Ago

  The scratching on the steel door on the first floor never seemed to let up, and the nerve-wracking sound pierced through Roland Whitcomb’s shattered mental state regardless of what he did to drown it out.

  As the pandemic ravaged the world and left civilization in ruin, Roland was resting on the hospital bed in his den, the familiar hum of the dialysis machine coming to an end as the generators outside his mansion pumped out their last stream of energy. His breathing was already labored, and he wished for a moment that the will to survive was not so deeply woven into his DNA. He looked up at the gold mural of the Roman coliseum that was etched on the vaulted ceiling, and thought he now understood something about the collapse of that great empire. Then the scratching downstairs continued unabated again, causing his breath to tremble.

  The last of his staff had fled just after sunrise four days ago, and he looked around at the cavernous room, knowing he was the last soul in his estate—at least the last living one.

  The room was growing colder with each passing minute now that the generator had sputtered to a stop, and he knew, with his myriad medical conditions and lack of care, that the sand in his hourglass was trickling away with undue haste. He clutched the steel railing on the side of his bed and pulled himself up, then disconnected the dialysis lines from his arm. His head felt like a forty-pound rock as he stood up, and his vision strained to focus. He slid on his white bathrobe with the gold cuffs before lifting his tarnished cane from the bed post. He reached inside a small drawer on the nightstand and removed a .38 snubby, then tucked it into his robe. The incessant scratching downstairs seemed like it was filling every square inch of his mansion now as he hobbled towards the entrance of his room.