Containment Failure (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #2)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Lethal force?” repeated Frank. “They’re going to kill us!”

  Suddenly the most terrifying noise Kyle had ever heard erupted from the front of the helicopter, fire breathing from the guns mounted on it. They all ducked and it took a few moments for Kyle to realize they weren’t being shot at. He tentatively looked and saw the ground being torn apart.

  “It’s just a warning shot!” yelled Kyle. “They’re not shooting at us!”

  “To hell with this!” yelled Frank, grabbing his wife and bolting back toward the ditch, his child clutched in his arms.

  “I’ve got kids, I can’t risk it!” yelled Dan, pushing through the opening, one arm raised in the air, the other clutching his baby, his wife doing the same.

  The voice roared through the speaker again.

  “Return to your homes and you won’t be harmed.” There was a pause then the voice sounded raised. “Now!”

  Dan suddenly erupted from the hole in the hedge, his wife following, and they raced after Frank and Christa leaving only Kyle and his parents.

  “Let’s go under the chopper, then to that farmhouse on the right. We might get lucky. There’s no way they’ll shoot us!”

  Kyle’s dad nodded, then they pushed through the opening, rushing under the chopper, his mother seeming to have found her wings, adrenaline doing amazing things. They turned toward the farmhouse, pushing themselves as hard as they could toward the safety of the old but well maintained building. Kyle heard the chopper bank behind them in pursuit.

  “They’re coming!” he yelled.

  “Halt immediately! You are in violation of a mandatory quarantine. We are authorized to use deadly force. I say again, halt immediately, or we will open fire.”

  They continued forward, then the terrifying roar of the guns erupted behind them. Kyle ducked, but didn’t stop running, instead helping his mother forward as the ground in front of them was shredded. His father slowed down, turning back to look at them.

  “Keep going!” yelled his dad. “They won’t shoot us!”

  The guns erupted again, this time ripping apart the field even closer to their position. Kyle wondered how close they might get before there was a risk of actually getting hit. The chopper was so close now that the wind from the blades thumping at the air was tossing the crops about, his hair whipping into his eyes, stinging his face.

  “You have five seconds to comply, otherwise lethal force is authorized.” The voice lowered, finally sounding almost human. “Please stop. We have no choice but to fire. Don’t make me do it.”

  Kyle’s dad slowed down, turning back to them, shaking his head. The farmhouse was tantalizingly close. If they could just make it there, there’s no way they’d be fired at. The chopper wouldn’t risk there being other innocent people inside.

  And it was that thought that caused Kyle to almost stop in his tracks.

  What are we doing?

  A wave of nausea swept over him as he realized their selfishness. What if one of us is infected? They could infect those in the farmhouse, who had done nothing wrong. If they made it to his Uncle’s, they could infect them all.

  This is wrong!

  “Dad, stop!” he yelled just as what sounded almost like a whisper came from the speaker hovering behind them.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kyle could hear the chopper repositioning as he called again for his father to stop, but either he couldn’t hear him or he wasn’t listening. Then suddenly from the corner of his eye Kyle saw two army vehicles racing down the road and he almost breathed a sigh of relief knowing they were about to be captured. The first vehicle pulled into the lane leading to the farmhouse then rounded the property, coming to a halt less than fifty feet from his father, soldiers jumping from the rear, surrounding them, their hazmat suits making them anonymous, terrifying.

  Kyle’s dad fell to his knees, his hands clasped on top of his head as his mother dropped beside him, exhausted. Kyle saw one of the troops wave off the chopper, then he heard the helicopter bank and the thumping of the blades rapidly disappear into the distance.

  Kyle dropped to his knees as two soldiers approached him. Conflicting emotions filled his heart, part of him disappointed they had been caught, the other relieved they had been, a growing part of his mind realizing what they were doing was wrong.

  He just couldn’t believe this was happening in New Orleans.

  Saints vs. Raiders, Mercedes-Benz Superdome, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Outbreak Day #1 – Zero Hour

  “Hey, what the hell are you doing back here?”

  The voice, raised, echoed through the narrow utility room housing feeds into the cooling system for this portion of the massive Superdome. Mike Milner didn’t flinch, but his heart did skip a beat as he continued rotating the wrench. He was so close to completing his task, so close to his pay day, that there was no way he was going to allow some rent-a-cop to ruin his day.

  “Look at my binder over there,” he said, jerking his head toward a scuffed black binder sitting atop an electrical cabinet. He heard the feet shuffle toward the binder as he twisted one last time, the connection sealed, his job almost done.

  “What’s this shit?” asked the guard.

  Apparently my paperwork isn’t in order.

  “You need to come with me, buddy, until we get this sorted out.”

  “No problem, officer.”

  Milner reached into his pocket, gripping the small Walther PPKE he had hidden there. As he turned, a smile plastered on his face to set the poor bastard at ease, his hand came up in his pocket, and he squeezed the trigger.

  The report was loud in the confined space, but as fortune would have it, something had the seventy-three thousand gathered on their feet, screaming at the night air.

  It went unnoticed to all.

  All except the poor sonofabitch who had walked in on him, as he gripped his chest, surprise scrawled across his face as he slowly sank to his knees.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” said Milner. “But you shouldn’t have been so good at your job.”

  Milner turned around and spun the valve on the canister he had just hooked into the cooling system, opening it wide. Within minutes the gas would be spread throughout the complex, and his job done. What he had actually hooked into the cooling system he had no clue. That was above his pay grade. He’d been hired to do a job, and that’s what he was doing. In his trade you didn’t ask questions because answers got you killed. So did curiosity.

  Milner stuffed the body of the unfortunate guard behind the cooling unit and out of sight, leaving a small pool of blood on the floor. Removing a plastic bottle from his kit, he poured the contents out onto the blood stain, immediately turning the crimson puddle black, thickening it within moments. Now the blood looked like an oil stain, something that wouldn’t be unexpected in a utility closet.

  Approaching the door, he fished his cellphone from his pocket and dialed the number to activate his diversion. Pressing Send, he counted to ten, then smiled as the commotion outside grew in intensity as his remote trigger fried a relay device at the Entergy New Orleans “vault” just outside the stadium, recreating the Super Bowl blackout.

  I guess they never did fix the problem!

  He smiled to himself as he turned the knob, stepping out into the darkness, the only light now from the emergency lighting system as the Superdome lost partial power. By the sounds of things, the game was delayed, and Milner could imagine the panic that must be setting in amongst some of the tens of thousands of fans in attendance, and if he knew the media, they’d be making a field day out of the situation, spreading the panic to the audience watching on television at homes and bars across the city.

  But Milner didn’t really care. He was here for a payday. A big payday. This little job was netting him six figures. Half was already sitting in his Cayman account less a significant cash withdrawal now hidden in his apartment; the other half would be deposited tonight by his contact after a meet. Then he’d be out of
New Orleans and off to the Dominican until the money ran out, then back for another gig.

  It was a great life.

  Milner strolled past the staff rushing by, wondering if they’d be able to get the power restored in time so the game could resume. He hoped so. After all, he had put a fin down on the Raiders to win.

  He strolled by the guards, nodding to them as he passed, his tool kit swinging as he whistled a tune inspired by the concern surrounding him.

  It’s the end of the world as we know it.

  And I feel fine.

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Outbreak Day #10

  Tammy looked in the mirror at the face staring back at her. Gray, ashen, pale. Shit. And she felt like shit too. In fact, she felt worse than she could ever remember. The whites of her eyes were red with fatigue, her brow was covered in sweat, and there were deep black circles under her eyes.

  And she was due at work in forty minutes.

  She splashed some water on her face, the effort exhausting, but willed her way through it. Missing work wasn’t an option. She knew her boss was looking for an excuse to fire her after she had spurned the creep’s advances, and in today’s economy, a job was a job, whether it was good or not, and with a six year old son and a deadbeat father, she needed every penny she could scrape together just to keep them fed with a roof over their head, even if it meant working at a coffee shop fulltime and the Superdome whenever there was an event.

  Maybe I’ll take Mom up on her offer and move in with her.

  She knew her mother could use the help. She had just finished a battle with breast cancer, apparently successfully, and had a double-mastectomy to prevent any further threat. Tammy thought it was giving up on life, her mother still fairly young and attractive. Tammy’s dad had died in Afghanistan ten years ago, and her mom had mourned long and hard.

  And it had been especially hard battling the cancer without him at her side. It had almost killed her, like it had grandma, but modern medicine and a will to see her grandson grow up had got her through it, and now she was cancer free.

  But in the mirror, she reminded herself of how her mother looked on the bad days.

  It’s not cancer, you idiot. Stop worrying!

  She stumbled into the hallway, her son Jeffrey waiting at the door, and stuffed her feet in her shoes. Heading out the door, she hurried to the bus stop. The roar of the diesel engine behind her prompted her to raise her hand weakly, but not to turn and look, too exhausted to put the necessary effort into the muscles.

  Thankfully her neighbor Grace held the bus, urging her on with one foot through the doors, the other on the ground. It took every ounce of her strength to cover the distance, Jeffrey pulling her most of the way, but she finally did, pulling herself up the steps and onto the bus. As she reached for her bus pass she felt the world spin, then go black as she collapsed onto the floor, Jeffrey crying by her side.

  Isolation Ward, Interim Louisiana State University (LSU) Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  It was a gray fog, terrifying. Tammy could see nothing but the gray, hear nothing but the void around her. And she couldn’t move. She could feel her heart slamming in her chest, the roar of her pulse filling her ears, drilling through the void, pushing her toward some new destination, a destination she didn’t know, a destination she feared as much as she did her current situation.

  Murmurs.

  And beeping sounds.

  She focused, cut through the fog, calmed the pounding of her heart, and with a jolt, the world flooded back, filling the void with the reality it had been protecting her from. She sat up with a gasp, something choking her. Her instinct was to cough, to rid herself of whatever was in her throat, and as she did so, she felt something attached to her face. She grabbed at it, trying to yank it away, but she felt hands seizing her, pushing her back down, and repositioning whatever she had pulled over her mouth.

  “It’s okay, you’re safe,” said a soothing voice, a woman’s, a voice that reminded her of her grandmother when she was younger. “You’re in a hospital. What you’re feeling are breathing tubes. Just breathe normally, and you’ll get used to it very quickly, okay?”

  Tammy opened her eyes, not realizing they had been squeezed shut. Her vision was blurred, and she blinked several times to try and clear it. She could see a form hovering over her, but the image didn’t clear.

  “I can’t—” she began, but stopped, unable to talk with the tubes in her mouth.

  “Don’t try to speak. I’ll get the doctor and he’ll explain the situation to you, okay?”

  She nodded, the nurse slowly coming into focus, and as she stepped away, the room she was in snapped into clarity and she gasped, causing another bout of coughing. Recovered, she looked around. She was in a large ward, dozens of beds separated by maybe five feet, filled with women of varying ages, all looking like hell.

  All looking exactly as she felt.

  What’s going on here?

  She felt her heart begin to slam in her chest as panic began to set in. A shadow leaned across her, blocking the overhead lighting, and she yelped as her eyes shifted from the misery surrounding her to the mask covered face of a doctor not much older than her if the lack of lines around his eyes were any indication.

  This kid is going to take care of me?

  She stifled her complaint, not that she could have vocalized it, and instead turned it inward to add to her misery.

  Maybe if you had done something with your life, you too could have been a doctor.

  “My name is Dr. Corkery. Don’t try to talk. You collapsed on the bus and were brought here earlier this morning. It looks like you have some sort of virus. Nothing to worry about, we’re treating you with antivirals.” He motioned to the rest of the room. “As you can see, there’s a bug going around. As a precaution we’re isolating everybody so it doesn’t spread.”

  Suddenly she remembered what had happened. Leaving the house, getting on the bus, then blacking out.

  Jeffrey!

  Her eyes shot open and she tried to talk but the doctor held up his hand.

  “Your son is alright. Your mother is here with him. I’ll try to arrange for you to talk to them in a little while, okay?”

  She nodded in relief as Dr. Corkery was handed something that took his attention away from her. His eyes narrowed as he looked at what appeared to be an iPad or some sort of tablet computer. She desperately wanted to know what had him so concerned, but with these damned tubes down her throat, she couldn’t say a word.

  “Is this correct?” he asked the nurse quietly.

  Tammy couldn’t see the nurse, but apparently whatever he was looking at was confirmed.

  “Okay. I’m calling it. Tell Dr. Newton to issue a Code Seven. We need all hands on deck. And we’ll need to notify the CDC, we might need some help on this one.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Dr. Corkery turned back to Tammy, his eyes smiling.

  “Looks like we have quite the flu outbreak going on! But don’t you worry, these things usually run their course within a week.”

  A week!

  The concern in her eyes wasn’t lost on the doctor.

  “Don’t worry, it will fly by before you know it.”

  He patted her shoulder and moved on to the next bed, leaving her fears unaddressed.

  What about my job? I can’t afford to miss a week!

  Dr. Fred Newton’s Office, Acting Administrator

  Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  “Are you sure?”

  Dr. Fred Newton screwed up his face, unconvinced. Corkery was young, and the young were prone to panic. It’s a flu outbreak for Christ’s sake! Every year it was the same thing. A bug would make its rounds, people would get sick, and the beds would fill with the elderly and asthmatics and others with preexisting conditions.

  Nurse Ogawa nodded.

  “That’s what he said.”

  Newton frowned.

  “You don’t call
in the CDC for a flu outbreak.” He sighed. “But you do report the numbers.” He looked at the screen and his budget numbers which were looking so good. If the Code Seven state lasted more than a few days, that budget would be blown, and he’d be going cap in hand to the board for more. He chewed on his cheek for a moment, then turned back to his head nurse. “Fine. There’s no arguing with the volume. Code Seven it is, have the calls go out. Anyone in town and sober is to report to work. Set up the rotating schedule as per the plan.”

  “And the CDC?”

  “Send them their data as per protocol. Each morning.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  Ogawa left his office leaving Newton to stare at his spreadsheet, the smile that had been there gone. He positioned his cursor and began to update the spreadsheet for a one week outbreak of the flu.

  Isolation Ward, Interim LSU Public Hospital, New Orleans, Louisiana

  Tammy’s bed had been pushed near the window of the isolation ward, her breathing tubes removed now that she was conscious and rehydrated. On the other side of the glass stood her mother, her son Jeffrey standing on a chair so he could see inside. Tammy had a smile etched on her face, determined to look strong for her little man, but each time she made eye contact with her mother she knew she wasn’t fooling her.

  If this is a flu, it’s the worst flu I’ve ever had.

  Or even heard about.

  A flurry of nurses and the doctor she had seen earlier rushed by outside as she heard a commotion behind her. She tried to push herself up to look, but was too weak, instead all she could do was listen.

  And it terrified her.

  In amongst the cacophony of beeping machines, she could hear one with a steady tone, a tone she had heard enough on TV to know it meant someone’s heart had stopped. She could hear shouts but make no sense of them, the “visiting area” as she had come to think of this place isolated from the rest of the ward, separated enough to not be able to see anything back in the ward.