by Mark Tufo
“Well, doesn’t that make a whole hell of a lot of sense?” Sanchez exclaimed.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Rodgers stated. “However, let me say this...although you don’t have to accept this offer, when the governor’s office strongly suggests you take something…” Rodgers let that hang for a moment. Sanchez digested the ramifications of going against the governor’s office. “And who knows? Girl, this could be the job of a lifetime!” Rodgers said with a smile.
“I suppose it could be,” Sanchez said, thinking to herself.
Rodgers leaned forward on her desk, “You know, this all seems rather ‘cloak & dagger’ to me.” Sanchez raised her eyebrows on that one. “Either way, you are expected to catch this military flight tomorrow morning at LAX at 6AM.” Rodgers handed a sticky note to her with a flight number and gate on it.
“Well,” Sanchez replied, “I guess I have some packing to do.”
Chapter 238
Jack Thompson opened his eyes and looked around the darkened room. His wounds had been bandaged and he was covered in an ornate, silken throw. As his eyes slowly came into focus and adjusted to the low light, he began to notice very old looking tapestries on the walls, plush pillows and throws scattered across a divan and European style antique furniture. He felt like he had been transported back in time to 17th Century France or England.
Jack tried to sit up, and pain shot through his lower back. He hadn’t realized he moaned until he heard it with his own ears. The sound had shattered the deafening quiet of the room. He lay there in the overstuffed bed almost panting from the pain, listening to his own heartbeat reverberate through his head. Opening his eyes again, he took stock of the room. One small candle flickering in the corner, a bedside table with a bowl of clear broth and a spoon, a side table covered in a lacey material. An upright chair sat at the far end of the room. He couldn’t find anything other than maybe the spoon to form into a makeshift weapon. Perhaps he could break a leg off the side table.
The four-post bed had a heavy canopy over it made of dark red material. Perhaps velvet?
Jack’s mind spun as pain shot through his body. He tried again to pull himself to a sitting position, but this time, he moved more slowly and deliberately. He felt the sweat pop out on his forehead from trying to overcome the pain and a sitting position in this overstuffed bed was more than uncomfortable. Taking a mental assessment of his injuries, Thompson figured his ribs were broken on both sides because each breath felt as if a crushing weight was sitting on his chest. His forearm may have been broken, but was now set with splints and wrapped in thick gauze. His legs felt heavy, and when he lifted the silken throw, he saw that they, too, were splinted.
Damn. I’m messed up, he thought. No quick escape anytime soon.
Jack heard footsteps approaching the door. Light in weight and echoing on a hard floor. They stopped outside his door, and he could hear the tinkling of flatware or glass as if a tray was set aside. The sound of a solid bolt being released and the heavy oak door opened slightly. More tinkling as the tray was picked up again and the door opened.
In the murk of the room, he couldn’t see who was approaching his bed, but he could tell the form was small and fragile in appearance. A woman, most likely. As the visitor approached the bed, the small candle brightened her features and Jack could just make out her face. Most striking, indeed. Large almond-shaped eyes wrapped around the deepest blue he had ever seen. Her pale features and blonde hair made him think of photos he had seen of Nordic women. Small in stature, with long, flowing blonde hair, she approached the bed and sat the tray on the side table near the bowl of broth.
The visitor turned and gave him a quick assessment. “You look a lot better than when you were first brought in,” she stated as she turned and poured water into a large wash basin. She soaked a thick cotton towel and wrung out the water. Jack stiffened somewhat as she approached him and began wiping the sweat from his forehead. “You’re in pain, yes?” she asked. Her accent lilting slightly. He couldn’t quite make out her origins from her voice.
“I’m a bit uncomfortable, yeah,” Jack replied, his breath coming in short pants.
“Perhaps you should lie back down. It will help to relieve the pressure on your chest.” She reached to help him slide down the pillows, but Jack held her hands.
“No thank you. I’d like to sit up for a while.” He couldn’t help but notice the depth of her eyes as he spoke to her. “Something tells me that I’ve been laying on my back for a bit too long.”
His visitor simply nodded with a slight smile. “I brought you some sweet milk and toasted bread,” she stated simply, motioning towards the tray. “I was hoping you’d be awake enough to transition to solid foods.” She reached under the bed and brought up a tray table and positioned it across his lap. Setting the tray on the table, she then picked up the bowl of broth and turned to leave. “If you need anything else, simply call for me. I will do all that I can to aid in your recovery and to make you comfortable during your stay with us.”
She turned to leave when Jack seemed to snap out of his haze and back to attention. “What do I call you?” He asked.
His visitor stopped and turned, dazzling him with the brilliance of her smile. “Nadia. My name is Nadia.” Then she turned and was gone.
Jack thought for a moment. Her accent was strange. Almost Russian, but not quite. Perhaps a satellite country of the former Soviet Union. He let out the breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding and almost panted as his body ached, the pain ebbing through him.
He pulled the tray table closer and ate what he could. He didn’t realize how tired he was or how much energy it took just to ingest food. The bread was toasted sourdough and appeared to be hand cut from a large loaf like French bread. The milk was sweet, but with a slightly gamey taste to it. Unlike any he had drank before, he thought maybe it was goat milk. It was very rich and he could see little globs of cream beginning to rise. Farm milk, just like he grew up on. Except theirs was from cows and wasn’t nearly as flavorful.
Jack ate what he could then pushed the tray table back. Carefully, he pushed himself back down and lay quietly in the room, his mind racing. Why hadn’t he thought to interrogate her as to the nature of his surroundings? ‘Where am I exactly? How long have I been here? Do my people know I’m here? Am I a prisoner? Who are YOU?’ Questions ran through his head until his mind began to fog. His body needed sleep to heal. And sleep was slipping up on him. With the warm, sweet milk and the bread in his stomach, he could feel himself slipping, the darkness coming on him. And when it did, his dreams were vivid and frightening.
Robert Mueller followed a small woman in black BDUs to a room and she opened the door for him. “Have a seat, fill out the forms in front of you, and we’ll get you settled in shortly.” She motioned through the door and Robert stepped in. His eyes instantly scanned the room, taking note of everything. Most surprising to him was that the room already had five men and one woman in there, sitting in small groups or by themselves, filling out paperwork. Eyes raised to assess him when he first entered, then dropped back to their task.
Robert entered and took a seat near the rear. He noticed insignia from Navy, Air Force, Army, and was somewhat surprised there weren’t any Marines in there to round out the group. Hell, even the Latino chick was dressed in dark blue cop overalls with SWAT patches. Taking his seat, he opened the folder on the desk and began filling out personal information. It only took a few minutes and he found himself sitting alone, observing the other men in the room. The SEALs had sat at the front of the room and were whispering to each other. A couple of Air Force guys were passing thoughts back and forth on a piece of notebook paper and chuckling. The woman seemed bored. In the far corner of the room sat a very large Army Green Beret and Robert felt a bit better knowing a brother in arms was there with him. The large man sat quietly with eyes forward, sitting almost at attention.
He heard the SEALs chortle and snort and glance over their shoulders at the other men in the ro
om. Then they burst out laughing. One of the Air Force soldiers finally took notice. “What’s the problem, squid?”
The dark haired Asian SEAL turned around in his chair with a shit-eating-grin and asked, “Do you Air Force ladies really wear lace bras under those cammies?” he asked, and the sandy haired one burst out laughing again.
The Air Force men weren’t going to take the bait. The smaller one simply said, “Naw, we wear Navy-issue thongs. You know the kind…like they give those SEAL pussies when they graduate from SEAL school.”
“Ooh, deep cut there, Airedale.” The SEAL laughed. “Too bad the Air Force doesn’t have any real spec ops like the other branches. Jealous much?”
Before things could escalate, the large man in the corner said simply, “Can it, boys.” His voice was deep and loud and everyone could tell he wasn’t trying to project his voice. It simply was the way the man spoke…with authority.
Before anybody could offer a smart assed retort, the door opened and a full-bird colonel entered. The SEALS jumped to attention and shouted, “Attention on deck!”
All of the men were on their feet at attention when the colonel stated simply, “At ease, gentlemen. And, umm, ma’am.”
The man strode across the room and pulled a podium towards the center. He pulled some papers from his folder and spread them over the surface of the podium. The colonel glanced through the papers and then raised his eyes to settle on the group of men seated in the room. He seemed to grade each of them as his eyes took them in. Almost as if studying them, assessing their strengths and weaknesses.
“Folks, my name is Colonel Matt Mitchell. I will be your commanding officer while you are assigned here. Shortly you will be meeting Laura Youngblood, your new Executive Officer.” The colonel seemed to pause as if trying to decide exactly how to proceed. “You’ve all been hand-selected to take part in this venture because you are, quite simply, the absolute best that this nation has to offer.”
All of them listened carefully, waiting for the colonel to explain to them exactly what each of them were doing here. Each man was career military and understood that everything comes in its own time, but the enigmatic way they were brought here had them all a bit anxious. Sanchez, on the other hand, wasn’t used to beating around the bush.
“I’ll be honest with you. This is the first time we’ve had Air Force Combat Controllers in this program, but from what my XO has told me, you men will become an integral part of our new squad.” The two Combat Controllers simply nodded at the colonel. “This is also the first time we’ll be incorporating a female into one of our squads. Other teams have used them and they work quite well. I’ve gone over your record, Sanchez, and it is quite remarkable. I think my XO did a fine job in recruiting you.” Sgt. Sanchez gave a slight nod, still unsure why she was here.
“Historically, this program has run very smooth using Army and Navy spec op warriors because, quite frankly, they are used to being parts of a team. And that is exactly what we are here. One team.” The colonel paused to let his statements soak in. “One team with one goal. One mission. To defend the people of this country from the nastiest monsters you can possibly imagine.”
Matt shuffled his papers and pulled up a roster. One by one he called each person’s name and each responded with either a ‘here’ or by raising their hand. Mitchell stepped out from behind the podium and picked up a remote from the far table. When he clicked it the lights lowered and an overhead projector came on. A sword and shield logo with ‘MS4’ came up on the screen. Clicking again, the image changed to a global map with different areas shaded different colors. Each sector had a different ‘MS’ number and all of America, Canada and northern Mexico were under a blue shading with ‘MS4’ written across the area.
“This is our coverage zone. As you can see, we cover the continental U.S., Canada, northern Mexico and usually cover Alaska as well. And before you ask, we are exempt from the Posse Comitatus Act. We are mandated to act within the borders of the United States and these other zones with the permission of their respective governments,” Mitchell stated.
He then went through each slide, covering the history of each squad, the area they cover, their duties and responsibilities and the size of each unit. Mitchell went over their black budget, the gear that they would be required to learn, support equipment and personnel. He soon reached the ‘augmentation’ slide and paused. When he spoke again, he observed each one to judge their reactions to what he was saying.
“You will each be going through a process of augmentation. You will receive a series of inoculations, injections and other oral supplements that will increase your strength, your speed, and your ability to heal.” Mitchell was somewhat surprised that the biggest reaction was simply a raised eyebrow from one of the SEALs. “This is not only to protect you from the various diseases you may encounter in the field, but also make you impervious to the virus that causes transition in most every human on earth.”
It was at this point that one of the men raised a hand to interrupt Mitchell. “Yes, petty officer?” Mitchell asked Lamb.
Lamb’s face held a confused look when he asked for clarification. “Sir, what sort of virus are we talking about here? Bio-warfare?”
Mitchell’s face stayed stoic when he answered, “Vampirism, petty officer. Vampirism.”
None of them said anything, but one could tell that the mix of emotions went from disbelief to being unsure they heard what Mitchell had said. “You all need to understand a basic fact before I go any further. When I say ‘Monster Squad’ I mean real-life monsters. Honest-to-God boogers that go bump in the night.” He let his statement soak in a moment before continuing. “We fight monsters. We hunt them down, destroy them and then clean up any evidence that they were ever here.”
One of the Combat Controllers snickered. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.” A lopsided grin spread across his face.
Mitchell’s features hardened. “I don’t think you read me, soldier.”
Some of the men straightened and thought that perhaps Mitchell was serious. Matt clicked the next slide and began to run through a series of photos of examples of exactly what the men were expected to battle. As each slide came up, the men began to sober more and realize that he wasn’t joking. Pictures of ‘people’ with fangs, elongated, reinforced nails, and pasty skin ran across the screen. Mitchell gave a brief narrative of where each was killed and the risks involved. “The virus is spread through scratches, spittle, other bodily fluids and of course, bites. The augmentation is designed to give you a resistance to the virus and prevent ‘turning’ if you come in contact with the pathogen.”
When he reached the last slide, Mitchell set the remote down. “There are a lot of other types of monsters out there that we deal with, but the most common and by far, the most virulent, are vampires.” He gave each person a good long stare square in the eyes. “Historically we have faced down and destroyed everything from zombies to griffins. We have dealt with gargoyles, with trolls, with ghouls, goblins…hell we even had a team in Europe that had to take down a dragon.” The colonel stood straighter and announced, “In fact, they even had to deal with one of ‘the wee people’ in Ireland, and I don’t mean a damned midget either.” The men sort of looked at him suspiciously. When Matt realized nobody understood what he was talking about, he clued them in. “A leprechaun.”
This was followed with ‘ohs’ and nods of understanding.
“If you gentlemen will follow me, I’ll let you see an undead example of what we’re talking about. I would say a living, breathing example, but just like the lore and legend, these things are NOT alive. They are animated, but they are not alive in the sense that medical science considers biological creatures to ‘live’.”
They all rose from their seats and followed Mitchell down a series of hallways to a reinforced cell with a pitiful looking man huddled in the corner. When the soldiers came closer to the cell, the creature sprung forward and tried to attack. When it struck the bars of its cell, its fl
esh began to smoke and char and the creature shrieked in pain, then pulled back to its corner. They all stood their ground, but were amazed at the feral nature of the creature huddled in the shadows.
“The bars are coated in silver. Apparently that part of the legends are true. These things have a very serious anaphylactic reaction to silver. If the silver gets under the skin or into the bloodstream, death is almost instantaneous.” Gesturing toward the creature, Matt continued, “We captured this one in New Mexico about seven years ago. Originally we intended to study it and see if we could come up with a cure to the disease. Perhaps an antibody that we could then inject from a distance so that our men wouldn’t have to come into contact with it. Obviously, those efforts failed.”
“Are they all this crazed, sir?” Jacobs inquired.
“Negative. When our efforts failed to find a cure, we decided to take a different route.” Mitchell sighed. “It was decided by those much higher than me that our new goal was to see how long it took for these things to starve to death when their food source is removed.”
This time Mueller felt the need for clarification. “How long has this guy been without food, sir?”
Mitchell seemed to be lost in the creature’s eyes. Robert thought that perhaps he didn’t hear the question, but Mitchell finally inhaled deeply and said softly, “Nearly three years.” The creature sat in its corner snarling and gnashing its teeth at the intruders, primal hunger forcing it closer than the burns on its shoulders reminding it that the food couldn’t be had. “He didn’t used to be like this.” Matt sounded almost sad.
“Sir?” Lamb asked.
“When he was first captured and we informed him that we were researching a cure, he was actually very forthcoming and agreeable to the efforts. He was a biologist in his former life and had a photographic memory. He actually assisted in a lot of the weapons’ research. When efforts failed and the decision was made to starve him to death, he was slowly overcome by ‘the thirst’. Now he’s just a shell of what he once was.”