Eradication: Project Apex book II

by Michael Bray

  "Expecting something else?" Watson said, reading the disappointment on Draven's face.

  "No, I'm just surprised there is a subterranean level here, that’s all."

  "First excavation was back in 89. Deepest level is the fallout shelter. The public think that in the event of an incident, the president would be moved to one of the locations released into public record.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the case?” Draven asked.

  "Those are unstaffed. Decoys to throw off any potential enemies or crazies from trying to get to the important people whilst the rest of the peasants die. The real bunker locations are kept secret," Herman said before Bill could answer.

  Kate rolled her eyes.

  "Actually, he’s right," Bill said. "It's unlikely we would ever use one of those locations. Greenbrier, Raven Rock, Cheyenne Mountain, pretty much anywhere you could search for on the internet would be left to house dignitaries, politicians and the like."

  "Whilst the man on the street is left to die," Draven grunted.

  "You should know it's impossible to save everyone. In the event of a disaster, it's important to retain some infrastructure," Bill snapped. “That means that people of power, people who are influential and can help in the rebuilding of the world. It’s just the way it has to be. Not my call, nor is it my point to argue.”

  "And screw everyone else, right? The ordinary people. Jesus, even these men we’re trying to stop are just that. Men. Changed maybe, but humans like us."

  "Not just like us. Not in the least. Thanks to your discovery, they are a huge threat to the security of this country, maybe even the world."

  Draven glared at him, his anger masking the fact that he was no physical match for the bigger man if things got ugly. "I had nothing to do with this. If this is why you're being so hostile, you might want to think about directing some of that to Doctor Genaro. I might have discovered it, but he was the one who made it what it is."

  "Oh, I blame him too. He might have fired the gun but you supplied him with the bullet."

  Draven glanced at Kate and they walked the corridor in silence until they reached the furthest door.

  "This is what we're dealing with," Bill said as he opened the door and showed them in.

  The laboratory was pristine, white surfaces meticulously polished. Lab equipment was arranged on benches, and computer stations sat idle waiting to be used. None of this was noticed by any of them. Their attention was drawn to the area towards the rear of the lab.

  There were two cube-shaped holding tanks, each eight feet by nine, their frames made from reinforced steel. Three sides of the cube were made of bulletproof glass, allowing a full and unobstructed view of its occupants.

  Draven forgot all about his companions or arguing with Bill Watson. Nothing mattered to him apart from the occupants of the holding cells. He walked towards them, the scientist in him taking over as he examined the two subjects, making mental notes as he took in the contrasting scenes in each cube. The left-hand occupant was a brute, a huge hulk of a man, yellow tinged veins standing out in stark relief against his muscled torso. He was naked, and his hands were bloody. When he saw them he went into a rage, slamming his fists against the five-inch bulletproof glass and leaving bloody smears in his wake.

  "Jesus," Draven whispered as he took a compensatory step back.

  "We picked him up just outside of DC. It took twelve men to restrain him. We lost five trying to bring him in." Bill said, keeping his distance.

  "You didn’t sedate him?"

  "We tried. Sedatives don’t have much effect on them. We pumped this guy with enough to bring down a bull elephant and he just kept coming. This is calm compared to how he was."

  "What's that on his shoulder?" Kate asked, pointing to the jagged wound which was weeping blood.

  "Believe it or not, that was a bullet wound. It was down to the bone this time yesterday."

  "Regenerative skin?" Draven asked, turning towards Bill.

  "You're the expert. It seems that way based on what I’m looking at."

  "What about him?" Kate said, pointing to the other cell.

  This occupant of this cell didn’t scream or shout, or even look at them. He shuffled around the perimeter of the cube, arms at his sides, eyes staring straight ahead through clumpy, listless hair which hung over his face. His pale neck and chest were covered in a thick crust of dried blood.

  "What's wrong with him?" Kate whispered.

  "We call them shamblers, although the official term is reanimates," Bill said as he joined them at the viewing area.

  "What does that mean?"

  "This man is dead."

  Everyone looked at Bill searching his expression for a lie, then finding none, turned back to the cell. A few days ago, they would have argued that it was impossible. Now they accepted his words as fact. "He was one of ours. In fact, he was part of the team who helped bring that piece of shit in the other cell in. Got himself bit on the neck. He bled out on the street. Confirmed dead. Hell, you could tell just by looking. A few hours later he tears his way out of his body bag in the morgue. Killed four people. Three turned. The other we killed before the virus could take hold. It was a goddamn bloodbath."

  "That’s impossible. You must have made a mistake, maybe he had a low pulse or something." Draven said.

  "No mistake, Mr. Draven. We've known for a few days now. It seems this virus of yours doesn’t like its host to die. It reanimates them. Keeps them going until it can pass its little gift onto a fresh body."

  “I know some viruses can be potent, others creative in their survival methods, but this is too much. Maybe this man was just in some sort of paralysis or-”

  “He bled out, Mr. Draven,” Bill said, glaring at the trio. “You won’t see it now because of all the dried blood on his neck, but his jugular was severed. His head is lolling like that because his throat has been cut to the spine. Trust me, this guy was as dead as anyone I’ve ever seen. Maybe now you see why we’re so keen to stop this.”

  “What you’re talking about is impossible. Post-mortem reanimation is not achievable.”

  “Our friend in there says otherwise. Believe me, I wish it weren’t true. But the fact is that thing walking around in there was a dead man. Your job is to figure out why and how to stop it.”

  "Why is he all bloated like that?" Kate asked.

  "Ahh, that’s another trait of these things. It-"

  "Spore sacs." Draven interrupted. "It's readying itself to transfer to a new host."

  "Impressive," Bill said, tipping a respectful nod. "You're right. We have reports of these things exploding, and sending this virus of yours into the air. That’s not the worst of it, we…." He cleared his throat and looked at his feet, then at Draven. “We have reports of these things being dropped over cities. Seattle, Miami, Chicago, London, Madrid to name a few. Plane loads dropped onto cities and exploding on impact.”

  “Jesus, the spread of infection would be…. bad,” Draven said.

  “It is bad. In the space of a few hours, whole cities are being turned. We can’t contain it, or control it. I should tell you now, just so we’re clear. My recommendation is to begin humane cleansing of the affected areas.”

  “Humane cleansing?” Draven repeated. “Don’t you mean mass murder?”

  “Mr. Draven, these people are already dead. We’re controlling infection. The CDC agreed before we lost contact with them. This is a threat to our species, not some war over natural resources.”

  “There will be innocents caught up in the crossfire and you know it. You’ll be condemning them. Murdering them. Jesus, you’d be no better than these things we’re trying to stop.”

  “No, you’re wrong.” Bill snapped. “There will be some collateral damage, granted, but the greater good-”

  “Spare me the sermon. It’s murder and you know it.”

  “They’ll never know. It will be quick, painless. Better than the alternative.” He nodded towards the cells shambling inhabitant.
<
br />   "You knew about this, these things and what they can do and didn’t think to tell the public?" Kate said, glaring at Bill.

  "How could they?" Draven said, staring at the swollen shambling thing. "Things are bad enough out there without telling them about this. The first things people would want is answers."

  "I agree," Bill said. "More importantly, so does the President. Even if we did want to tell people, we can’t. Communications networks are down. Satellites are unresponsive, the civilian internet is gone. Ours is still active, but internal only. It’s all we have left."

  "I don’t understand," Kate said. "Shouldn’t we be overrun with these? The death toll must be in the hundreds of thousands the world over. Why aren’t they all coming back? Why only some of them?"

  "That's what we're hoping Mr. Draven here can find out."

  “I know the answer to that one,” Draven said, tearing his eyes away from the cell.

  “Oh?”

  "Natural selection. This virus is a predator, its primary instinct being to ensure its own existence. If the host body is healthy, it's unlikely it would pass its gene on to another host."

  "Why wouldn’t it?" Bill asked.

  "Competition," Herman said.

  "Say again?" Bill snapped.

  "Competition. If I was some kind of superman, by that I mean more than I am already," he said, tipping a wink at Kate, "then I wouldn’t want to be passing that on to anything else. You don’t want to make rivals for yourself if you don’t have to."

  "That's right," Draven said. "This is a dominant species, it won’t want to make competition for itself."

  "You mean our friend here got one right for a change?" Kate said.

  "Hey, I’m crazy, not stupid. I’m also a great life partner. You'll find that out for yourself one day," Herman shot back, grinning at Kate.

  "No thanks," she said, then turned back to Draven. "So why would this guy be changed at all? The original host is still alive in the cell next door. There was no need to transfer."

  "Bill, you said the bite happened when you were trying to capture this thing, right?" Draven said.

  "Yeah, it was a hell of a battle."

  "And this one on the left, the noisy one, he was shot?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then that explains it. Look from the point of view of the virus. It's wounded, facing capture. In other words, its own existence is at risk. It's natural to try and pass on its gene to ensure its survival."

  “I get it,” she said. “It didn’t expect to survive.”

  “Exactly. All it was interested in at that point was ensuring its survival. That’s all that matters to them if they are faced with death. At that point, they will do anything.”

  “Like the kamikaze pilots in World War Two, man,” Herman said as he tapped on the glass of the cell. “These things don’t give a shit, do they, as long as they spread the love? Reminds me of my cousin Jimmy. He can’t keep it in his pants, has like, a zillion kids to different women.”

  “No, they don’t,” Draven muttered, again questioning just how many screws Herman had loose. “They do whatever it takes to live. Tenacious, to say the least.”

  "So how do we stop it?" Bill asked.

  All eyes went to Draven. He stared at the two cells, knowing the answer lay somewhere within them, but with no idea how to find it. Like the first chill of late summer, a cold uncertainty crept over him.

  "I’m not sure yet," he said. "This is all new information, I need time to process it."

  "I've been told to give you whatever you need to get the job done. We've already taken skin and blood samples from both subjects should you need them. This lab is yours to use."

  "Okay," Draven said, shrugging out of his jacket and looking around the room. "What about computer access?"

  “Terminals over there in the corner. You're already logged on. As I said before, the civilian internet is down, but you have full access to our private servers for whatever you might need. As you know, the President needs a solution on this now before the public start to ask why the dead are walking the streets and exploding all over the damn place. I'm sure you don’t need me to tell you what we're dealing with here. This could be a goddamn pandemic."

  "Where are those samples you mentioned?" Draven said. He was already thinking, already processing ideas and theories.

  "Cold room, through that door," Bill said. "Whatever else you need, just ask."

  "Thanks."

  "Let me ask you something straight up, no bullshit,” Bill said, staring at Draven

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you think you can stop this? Can you find a way?"

  For once Bill was without his usual aggression, and Draven thought he was all the better for it.

  "I'll do everything I can. Until I analyse the data, there's no way I can answer that with any certainty."

  "It's just... I have a family out there. They weren’t authorised to come here with me. I've sent them out of the city, it’s just..." he swallowed, and lowered his eyes to the floor. "Just please, do the best you can, okay?"

  Draven nodded, then looked around the room. "Okay, it’s time we got to work."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After the meeting, President Carter returned to his private office, closed the door and poured himself a large scotch. He sank into his seat, enjoying the silence until it was broken by a knock on the door.

  "Come," he said as he set the glass of alcohol on the desk.

  Watson came into the room, closing the door behind him.

  "Take a seat, Bill," the President said with a sigh. "Pour yourself a drink first if you want one. To hell with protocol today."

  "I’m fine," Bill said as he sat, folding his hands in his lap.

  "Is Mr Draven comfortable in the lab?"

  "Yes sir, I've shown him the ropes.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

  “It’s not my place to say, Mr. President.”

  “Go ahead and spit it out. I have you as my advisor for a reason.”

  “Well sir, I’m not convinced we should be relying on Draven to fix this. It’s too big for just one man.”

  "What's on your mind?" the President asked.

  "Well, I’ll be honest sir, he doesn’t seem so sure. I’m not even convinced he knows what to do. All I keep thinking about is what might happen if he's not the one to help us, about how much time will have been wasted."

  "Bill, we've been friends now for, what, twenty years?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Have you ever known me to not have a backup plan?"

  "All due respect, you weren’t in such a high profile position back then. This is a unique situation."

  "Which is all the more reason why I want to have a backup plan in place if this all goes south. I’ll be damned if I’m going to oversee the end of the world."

  "What were you thinking, sir?" Bill asked, wishing he had taken up the offer of a drink.

  "Based on our limited intel, these things are spreading faster than we can keep up with. We know that."

  "Yes, sir, that’s right. We’re trying to pin them back, but they’re strong and well prepared. Plus the infectious nature of them is making battling them close quarters difficult and dangerous."

  “Anything from the CDC?”

  “No contact, sir. We lost them when the comms networks went down. We do know that there was a sizeable presence of the infected close to the area just before we lost contact. It’s a safe assumption they’ve been compromised.”

  "Dammit Bill, I’m not about to sit here and make the same mistakes as my predecessor by sitting on my hands and waiting until it’s too late. I would have liked to have some nuclear options, but it seems that option is, for now, off the table. We need something else."

  "What did you have in mind, sir?"

  Carter hesitated, taking a sip of his drink and setting it on the table.

  "Only our missile launch sites are offline, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. E
ven if we could access the sites, the computer systems to control them are inaccessible. We’ve been locked out.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t mean we can’t load up some B-52 bombers and go in direct. Really hit these bastards where it hurts."

  "Sir, the loss of life would be catastrophic. It’s impossible to differentiate civilian and target from the ground. From the air, it would be next to impossible. That was why we resorted to bringing Draven in, to avoid this."

  "It's already catastrophic out there, Bill. Jesus, just look at it. I’m presiding over a dying country. And it’s not just here. Millions dead in Tokyo, Berlin, and Paris. Half of our forces are fighting blind, the rest are stuck overseas either in similar battles or stranded because they can’t get back over here. I thought you were in favour of using force.”

  “I was, I am, it’s just….We have our allies’ sir, perhaps they can help us?”

  “They have their own problems. Nobody has any spare troops, we’re fighting this on multiple fronts. Everyone is. This is unlike anything we’ve ever had to contend with before. The whole damn world is in disarray. I don’t like this idea either, but I don’t see an option. Hopefully, we can evacuate most of the major cities in time."

  "But sir, with comms down, we couldn’t coordinate an evacuation. We have nowhere to house people, no way of organising it. Hospitals are full or abandoned. We have no safe places, and even if we did, we don’t have supplies. We need food, staff, and security. We don’t have the resources, sir," Bill said, not liking the way the conversation was going.

  "You’re right, and that’s why I’m reluctant."

  "Reluctant?" Bill said. "You mean you're considering this?"

  "The planes are on standby. Two out in the Indian Ocean. There are another couple on the Russian border."

  "But sir, you can’t do this without wiping out thousands. It's murder."

  Carter slammed his fist on the desk. "You think I don’t know the consequences? This wasn’t an easy call."

  "Mr. President, please, this is a mistake. I know I suggested a show of force, but this isn’t the way. Smaller scale, more targeted assaults would be better and lead to less loss of life."