by B. D. Lutz
The colonel acknowledged the young warfighters and stepped away from McMaster, taking a position in front of an enormous monitor displaying drone footage of the desolate city of Wendover.
“Jennings will be here momentarily. I have assigned Lange and Watts to your fire-team. Willis will be team lead,” McMaster said as the soldiers rumbled into the TOC, shouldering up to Willis and Nathan. A split second later, Jennings joined them in front of the TOC’s monitor.
Willis noticed the crisp way with which McMaster rolled through the mission plan. He understood that the sergeant major was visualizing the battlefield and working through several contingency plans should his main battleplan go sideways.
The confidence he displayed made it sound like a simple extraction. Jennings would drop them on Interstate 80. They would traverse the fencing, make a beeline to the flat-topped building—now identified as a motel—locate the group, administer the virus test, assess their condition, and rally at the Black Hawk for exfiltration. The Black Hawk would recon the city to their south, drawing any UCs away from the team. Her M134 would be onsite in seconds if needed.
McMaster stiffened his back and met each of their stares. The glint in his eyes spoke to his pride in seeing the best warfighters RAM had to offer standing in front of him. He asked one question: “Understood?”
“Hooah, sir,” was the team’s unanimous reply.
McMaster dismissed them with a stiff nod. “We’ll have a drone overhead, and you’ll have direct communications to the TOC. I will see all of you in ten hours.”
***
Jennings flared the Hawk left, then leveled out. Before beginning her descent, she opened coms. “Gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, your call-sign is Dorothy. Sergeant Willis is Dorothy Actual. My call-sign remains Wicked One. Be mindful of the relationship between Dorothy and the Wicked Witch when communicating with me.”
Willis gave Nathan a quizzical look and received a broad smile in return. “Yes, ma’am, I mean Miss Wicked One. We will mind our manners when communicating with Her Royal Highness,” Nathan quipped, eliciting some much-needed laughter from the team.
Willis leaned in close to Nathan and covered his helmet’s boom mic. “You ready for this?”
“Sergeant Willis, I fought my way from LA to the Utah border with a baseball bat. I’m most assuredly ready for this.”
“Hooah,” Willis replied with a smile.
Dust whipped into the Black Hawk’s cabin, reminding Willis of his last mission in the sandbox—thankfully minus the rattle of enemy AK47s. He was lost in the moment until the firm grip of Nathan’s hand on his shoulder urged him to disembark.
Boots on pavement a flash later, Willis went to a knee to cover the others spilling from the warbird. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that the four-man team was ready. “Let’s move,” he screamed over the powerful engine of the Black Hawk as it ascended, then roared away to recon and decoy the dead.
The four operators sprinted down an embankment towards the fence separating I-80 from the city of Wendover. From their vantage point, the city appeared abandoned, but the idyllic scene hadn’t fooled them.
Corporal Lange cut an access hole in the fence in thirty seconds. Following the battle plan, Watts took point as he pushed through the opening. The team fell into a wedge formation behind him and slowed their pace as they crossed the three hundred yards of flat, hard-packed earth.
Willis halted the team thirty yards from the target structure and had them form up around him. “We locate the survivors, evaluate their condition, and bug out. Clear?”
As the team confirmed their understanding, they heard a garbled cry for help. They went still, waiting for it to repeat. It did. A grime-streaked face came into view, framed by an open window in the building thirty yards west of their position.
Willis was moving an instant later, taking point as he heel-toed his way toward the survivor. Halfway to the window, it became clear something was wrong. The person in the window barely resembled a human, let alone one that was alive and healthy.
When the survivor noticed Willis approaching, it emitted a sound resembling the cry of a wounded animal. Willis stopped mid-step, shouldered his M4, and placed its red dot on the pathetic being’s forehead.
“Sergeant Willis, what the hell was that?” Nathan barked.
“I think it came from the person in the window. Cover our flanks; I’m going to verify.”
Lang and Watts took up positions covering the team’s flanks, while Nathan turned to cover their six. Willis was three feet from the window when he pulled to a stop.
The film-covered eyes staring at him sent a chill through the battle-hardened warrior. Festering wounds covered skin stained blue by the antidote and emitted a stench so foul Willis gagged and pulled his shemagh over his nose.
“I’m Sergeant Willis, Right America military. Identify yourself.”
Two equally damaged faces suddenly appeared in the background as the first answered Willis. “Please help. Need help. Monsters eat.” Its voice sounded as if it was speaking through a mouth full of marbles.
The childlike response set Willis on edge. He restarted his approach when suddenly the face disappeared from view. The action stopped Willis; gripped by indecision, he took a cautious step toward the window.
“Sergeant Wills, whatever you’re doing, do it quickly. We have hostiles to our north.”
“Living or dead?” Willis asked.
Lang delayed his response as he scanned the area through his rifle scope. “A little of both.”
Willis snapped in Lang’s direction. “Clarify.”
“They are definitely UCs, but they appear to be tracking us, using cover, staggering their movements. I’m counting twenty-five to thirty.”
Willis pivoted back to the window. A different pair of hazy eyes stared back at him. The pathetic being attempted to speak but only managed that horrible noise they’d heard moments earlier.
“Nathan, you’re with me. Lang, Watts, hold the line. We’re going to make contact with the survivors, assess their condition, and determine if they are a threat. Engage hostiles approaching your position.”
Nathan followed Willis as they sprinted towards the corner of the building. Willis recalled the drone image of the building and determined the path he was taking was the quickest route to the front of the structure. The survivors’ location should be three doors from this side of the building.
Willis signaled a stop and took a knee positioned at the front corner leading to the building’s parking lot. The next turn would take them to the room holding the survivors. He leaned out and scanned the area. What he saw was jolting. “Nathan, I’m not sure what’s happening. But it doesn’t look like a cure. Let’s move.”
The warriors broke from cover and bolted towards their target. Understanding washed over Nathan when the area came into view. Bodies littered the parking lot. Blood, trickling from ghastly wounds, glistened in the sun, showed they were freshly dead bodies. What the…
Nathan’s thought broke as Willis kicked the door from its hinges. M4s shouldered, the soldiers rushed into a room thick with the putrid stench of decay. Weapon-mounted flashlights cut through the dank gloom, searching for the survivors but finding only death.
Three bodies lay side-by-side atop a shabby queen-sized bed. Weeks-old blood, now the color of tar, stained pillows under heads destroyed by a single bullet.
“Murder-suicide?” asked Nathan.
Otto inspected the remains as the scene played out in his mind’s eye. “Dad killed the child, his wife, then himself. I shudder to think how many times this scenario played out across our country.”
Their reverence shattered as the bathroom door shook violently, snapping the men back to reality. “Identify yourself,” Willis barked.
Receiving only the pitiable cry of a wounded animal in response, Willis stepped towards the door, preparing to breach it. It burst open, spilling three damaged forms into the room. Willis slid his finger to the
trigger of his M4 as they rushed his position.
“Stop!” Willis shouted.
To his surprise, they did. Then one of them attempted to communicate while whirling its hands frantically and screeching and hissing.
Willis stared in disbelief. These people had been dead, been UCs, mere days ago—their blood-stained clothing a testament to violence unleashed upon them. Gore-matted faces told the story of the atrocities they’d committed after they had turned.
Willis realized what he needed to do and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 29 – Negative
“Shots fired!” Nathan yelled into his boom mic as he crossed the room.
“SITREP?” McMaster’s voice boomed through Willis’ headset.
“Sergeant Major, this is Dorothy Actual. The survivors are a negative. We will secure a body for further inspection at Fort Riley, over.”
“Sergeant Willis, I need a situation report ASAP.”
Nathan had reached Willis’ side and stared down at the bodies. He’d been guarding their six and had caught only snippets of Willis’ interaction with them. But he was no longer confused by his team leader’s action.
What lay before him were shells of human beings. Deformed and brutalized. Their first contact with the group had put Nathan on edge. He’d known something was terribly wrong; his instincts told him it would end badly, and it did. Seeing them up close confirmed his suspicions. Blue-tinted pus ran freely from festering wounds. Skin swelled then popped, spewing more of the wretched-smelling liquid from their lifeless bodies. The action reminded him of a bubbling caldron from a long-forgotten fairytale.
Willis glanced at Nathan and received a confirming nod. “Sergeant Major, this is Dorothy Actual. The antidote is a failure. These people were no longer functioning humans…”
Three voices battling for his attention filled his radio, cutting off his transmission. Of the three, Lang’s voice rose above the others. “Hostiles closing fast.”
Willis regained control of the conversation, shouting down the competing voices to reach his team. “Lang, Watts, open fire. Wicked One, this is Dorothy Actual requesting fire support, over.”
“Dorothy Actual, Wicked One is en route, out.”
Nathan bolted towards the door as Willis gave the order to join Lang and Watts behind the motel. Willis caught up to him an instant later, and the warriors double-timed to support their teammates.
As the pair rounded the corner, M4s screamed to life, cutting down the leading edge of the UC mob. The thumping sensation deep in his chest told Willis that Wicked One would be on scene soon. An instant later, the purr of an M134 Minigun filled the air as the earth exploded through the UC ranks. Bodies vaulted skyward as thousands of heavy rounds slammed into putrid flesh.
Willis’ team was safe, for now. It was time to secure one of the blue monsters he had killed inside the motel. “Nathan, you’re with me. Lang, Watts, link up with Wicked One. We will rally in five. Wicked One, remain in position.”
Three minutes later, Willis and Nathan were dragging a blue-stained bedsheet around the building and prepared to rally with Wicked One when McMaster’s voice buzzed in Willis’ ear. “Dorothy Actual, SITREP.”
“Sergeant Major, we have secured a body for testing. Preparing to EXFIL. No casualties to report. Please tell me the drone recorded the UC attacking our team, over.”
A new voice burst into Willis’ speaker. “Dorothy Actual, this is Chairman Mallet. Do not, under any circumstances, transport that body to Fort Riley. Check your uniforms for any sign of a blue liquid. If found, discard the contaminated clothing ASAP.” Mallet paused, then with a strained voice, said, “Soldier. If the liquid contacted your skin, I’m ordering you to remain in Wendover. That order holds for your entire team.”
Willis and Nathan’s gloved hands released their grip on the bedsheet. Willis glanced at the shattered, bloody bodies strewn about the battlefield in front of him as Wicked One began her descent, swirling debris into the air. Eyes wide, he screamed into his mic, “Wicked One, pull off! Abort landing. Proceed to our original LZ.”
He matched his team’s questioning gazes as the Hawk sped away. “That blue shit is everywhere. The last thing we need is the Hawk’s rotor-wash spraying it all over us.”
Lang and Watts, standing at the edge of the slaughter, moved to distance themselves from the deadly liquid as Willis barked orders: “Move to the LZ. Once there, inspect yourself for any sign of the liquid. Remove your clothing… you know what, when we reach the LZ, just strip to your skivvies and inspect each other.”
On the move before he finished speaking, the team discarded their ACUs as they ran. It would have been comical if not for the reason driving their actions. The team, now wearing only their pants, gloves, helmets, and boots, arrived at the Landing Zone as the warbird touched down. Rifles clattered to the ground as each man stripped, but Willis stopped before getting his pants off.
Nathan locked him in a hard stare. “How’d it happen?”
Willis turned sideways, sticking a finger into a ragged tear in his pants just above his ankle. “Don’t know how it happened, and that’s not important now,” he said as he removed his gloved finger, blue dye staining its tip.
“Son of a bitch! Look, you’re coming back with us. We can isolate you.”
Willis waved Nathan off. “You know I can’t. Load up. Now, soldier.”
Nathan growled, “Lang, Watts, give Sergeant Willis your rifles.” He paused as the men scooped up their weapons and handed them to Willis. “Our packs have some food in them, and our camelbacks are full.” He nodded to the deserted items marking their path. “You’ll be good for a couple of days. We’re coming back for you!”
Resignation setting in, Willis collected the team’s supplies as he made his way towards the motel. When the roar of the Black Hawk faded, he lowered his boom mic and hailed Riley’s TOC, “Dorothy Actual for Sergeant Major McMaster, over.”
Static bounced around his speaker before McMaster replied, “Go for McMaster, over.”
“Sir, I need to talk to Camp Hopkins, Chief Albright, over.”
“We can do that. And Willis, I’m sorry.”
Fifteen minutes later, as Willis barricaded himself into a corner room of the motel, affording forward-, east-, and rear-facing lines-of-sight, Albright’s voice broke over the radio, “Albright for Sergeant Willis, over.”
“Sir, I need to speak to my family. Can you make that happen? Over.”
“Give me ten. They stopped the attack on the community. They’re assessing casualties; we’ll get Lucas on coms and have her corral your family, over.”
“Thank you, and thanks for the update. Ask her to find that pain in the ass, Otto, too, over.”
“Understood. And Willis, we will see you again. Have I been clear? Over.”
Willis’ chin went to rest on his chest. “I’ll talk to you in ten. Willis, out.”
Chapter 30 – War Room
Flocci answered his phone without bothering to check caller ID. “Where have you been? I called you two days ago. Do you understand what’s happening? How close we are?”
“Close to what, Doctor?”
Flocci pulled a sharp breath. “Mister President, I apologize. I was expecting an update from… from Doctor McCune.”
“Oh, McCune, you say. How is the good doctor? He’s a good man, one of the best, actually. One of the greatest RAM citizens to ever live.” Train paused, a grin forming on his face. “So, tell me, Doctor, how’s the Alameda test going? Any progress in that area, you know, curing the virus?”
Eyes shifting wildly, Flocci paced the length of his office. “Mister President, I’m afraid I have discouraging news. It seems McCune isn’t the man we thought he was. We’ve found flaws in his work, deadly flaws. When confronted with the science, he disappeared.”
“Disappeared, you say. Just vanished? Huh, seems a mighty achievement for an unarmed man with zero military training to slip away these days, what with all the monsters running loo
se. Explain.”
Sweat beaded on Flocci’s forehead. A feeling he was unaccustomed to began taking root: panic! “We here at the CDC share your disbelief. And the information I’m about to divulge left us utterly astounded. I requested he relocate to the CDC facility to further assist in his research. When our team arrived to escort him, they found he’d gone missing. An investigation quickly ensued, and we discovered… sir, please brace yourself. McCune has been conspiring with Russian operatives.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected Train’s muffled laugh before he spoke. “Ohhhh, the Russians? Terrible people, just terrible. Can’t trust them. You may recall I’m very familiar with how they work. I’m curious—how did you determine McCune was working with Russian operatives? I would have guessed North Korea as the main enemy player.”
Flocci went red at his misstep. “Um, I do, sir. It was a viciously turbulent time in our country’s history. To answer your question… I can’t, I can’t answer it because you already know what’s happening, you worthless windbag.”
Train responded through clenched teeth, “You knew the antidote wasn’t ready. Why did the test move forward? What were you promised, and by whom?”
Flocci screwed his eyes shut as the sound of boots slapping against marble tiles reached him. The muffled objections from his security detail were quickly shouted down by what he assumed were well-armed soldiers here to whisk him away to some government-controlled Black Site.
With nothing to lose, Flocci began answering the president’s questions. “Think about it, Train. I held the power to end life on this planet. I simply needed to show the world who was in control. World leaders would bow at my feet. Beg to be spared from the destruction. Pay any amount to find themselves in my good graces. We can still…”
Suddenly his office door exploded. Shards of polished oak hurtled towards his face as he sought an escape route from his expansive office. A soldier threw Flocci to the ground, ending his rant. Still clutching his phone, he caught one last comment from Train. “Primum non nocere, Doctor. First, do no harm.”