Recovery: V Plague Book 8

by Dirk Patton

  I forced myself to be patient and focus on the road. The flat grasslands on either side of the faded ribbon of asphalt were turning a brilliant shade of reddish-gold in the dying light of the sun. I was grateful for the pair of Oakley shades that Katie had found in the car as the glare would have been almost unbearable without them. Katie was sitting with her head turned slightly away from the setting sun, her eyes squinted into slits. That’s fine if you’re not the one driving at a ridiculously fast pace.

  “Nothing within fifteen miles of the Bradley, but there are a couple of bodies on the ground back at the truck stop. Didn’t see them earlier because they were in shade under a canopy, but the sun’s angle changed and I spotted them. Both in Russian uniforms, but they’re face down and that’s all I can tell.”

  “No other bodies?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  “Negative, sir. That’s it. And I don’t think they’re in the Bradley. I did a thermal scan and its engine isn’t hot, so it’s not sitting there idling. The feed was being written to disc so there’s a chance I’ll be able to go back and find out what happened to them, but it will take me a while.”

  “OK,” I said. “See what you can find. What about the targets in Idaho?”

  “Weather has improved, but there’s still heavy overcast,” she reported a moment later. “Thermal is able to see one target alone, sir. At the edge of a lake. There are nine other heat sources in a loose group a few hundred yards to the target’s front.”

  “Only one target?” I asked, feeling a deep sense of dread in my gut.

  “Yes, sir. Only one. He, or she, is next to a campfire and is definitely alone.”

  I didn’t know what to say as fear for Rachel flushed through me. Katie picked up on it and reached over to place her hand on my shoulder.

  “Sir? You still there?” Jessica asked after almost a minute of silence.

  “I’m still here,” I said, surprised my voice was as strong as it was when I spoke. “Please keep an eye on the target as well as see what you can find out about the group that was in the Bradley. Where’s my next fuel stop?”

  “You turn west onto Interstate 70 in fifty-seven miles, then in one hundred and eleven miles you’ll see a large truck stop. There’s a few infected in the area but it’s the only fuel for seventy miles in either direction.”

  “Thanks, Jessica. Call me as soon as you know something,” I said and hit the button on the steering wheel to end the call.

  “It might be the pilot that’s missing,” Katie said, trying to comfort me.

  Considering the circumstances, that I was upset over the possibility that a woman who might have replaced her was dead, I was deeply touched. And reminded how good of a wife I really had. She’d always been the more thoughtful and considerate of the two of us, usually making sure I was better behaved than I would have been if left to my own devices.

  “Or it might be the pilot and Rachel’s dead,” I said softly, unconsciously pushing harder on the accelerator pedal but it was already flat against the floor.

  Katie didn’t have anything to say to that. She settled for squeezing my shoulder to reassure me then turned to pet Dog when he thrust his head between our seats.

  “You saw our house after I left it?” She asked, trying to distract me.

  “Yeah. I was in an Air Force bomber on my way to Los Alamos. Got them to let me take a look. I was going to head home as soon as I was done in New Mexico.”

  “Steve told me it burned,” she said. “Was he telling the truth?”

  “He was,” I said, nodding. “And that was my first clue that you might still be alive. The roof had caved in from the fire but my truck wasn’t in the garage. Speaking of my truck, how the hell did you beat it up so bad? Even the bumper was missing when I found it at Tinker!”

  The sun had set by now and I removed the sunglasses as the Dodge’s automatic headlights came on. What I wouldn’t have given for a set of night vision goggles so I didn’t have to run with the lights on. I’d be able to see better and the Charger wouldn’t stand out against the dark prairie. But I didn’t have one so I kept pushing and hoped for the best.

  “Focus on your driving and don’t kill us and I’ll tell you what happened to your truck,” Katie said, still scratching Dog’s ears.

  39

  Rachel woke with a start, unsure what had roused her. The fire was still burning but was low and not putting off much heat. Wrapped in the parachute canopy she was cold, but not as cold as she’d been. Checking, she was relieved when she could feel her fingers and toes, cautiously reaching up to check her ears and nose.

  Maybe some frostbite to the tops of her ears but there was nothing she could do about that at the moment. Working her way free of the nylon she sat up and began piling more wood on the fire. Her hands ached and she flexed her fingers as she looked down.

  The ring finger on her left hand was missing, having been shot off by John during a fight with an infected female in a lake in Georgia. That seemed like a lifetime ago. She shook her hand, trying to ease the pain of the finger that wasn’t there. Phantom limb pain. She’d had an introductory class to it in medical school, taught by a VA Doctor, and knew it was a real thing. She just never imagined she’d experience it firsthand.

  The wind had died down but snow continued to fall. It was still light, so the sun was shining brightly somewhere above the thick overcast, but Rachel had no idea what time of day it was or how long she’d been out. There could still be several hours of daylight or it could be dark in another twenty minutes.

  Looking around, her heart fluttered as she thought about the wolf. It could have come up while she slept and dragged her off, or killed her on the spot. Was it afraid of the fire? Maybe that had saved her but she wasn’t going to take it for granted that the animal wouldn’t approach just because of the open flames.

  Standing, she grimaced in pain as her joints screamed at her for lying on the frozen ground. At least she’d had the nylon to act as a ground sheet and provide some insulation or she might very well not have woken up. Thinking about freezing to death she turned to look at Bill, shocked when his body wasn’t there.

  Rachel stood staring dumbly at the ground for several seconds, not understanding why the pilot’s corpse wasn’t exactly where she’d last seen it. Then she saw the disturbed snow that was already filling in as more fell.

  There was a smooth path where the surface had been compacted by the body being dragged across it. Next to that were deep impressions that looked like dog prints. Only she knew it wasn’t a dog that had made then, rather a larger and more vicious canine cousin. The wolf had come into the camp and taken Bill’s corpse!

  A chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran down Rachel’s spine. The wolf had come right into camp! It had been within feet of her as she slept! But why had it taken the body instead of her? She didn’t know anything about wolves, in fact probably knew more about the fictional lycans from bad movies and even worse books.

  Shivering again, she piled more wood onto the fire until it was a roaring blaze and she had to back up against the windbreak because of the heat. Driven snow had piled several feet high against the windward side of the canopy and provided a firm surface for her to lean against. She didn’t realize that that the snow itself had added to the protection the nylon provided and helped her survive the storm.

  The emergency locator beacon! Rachel lurched to her feet when she remembered the pilot telling her that help would be on the way and would locate them by following the signal from the transmitter sewn into the shoulder of his flight suit. How far would the wolf drag the body?

  What if it damaged the radio when it began feasting on the corpse? What if searchers arrived, saw the remains of the pilot’s body and didn’t bother to look any further for her? She had to get the beacon or she would die out here. But how would she find Bill’s remains? And if she found him, would the wolf be there, guarding its meal?

  Rachel stood for what felt like a long time, st
aring into the fire as she tried to decide what to do. She didn’t know if John was alive or dead. The last she’d seen of him he’d been going into a cavern system in Oklahoma to rescue Katie. Even if he had beaten the odds and emerged, how would he know she was in trouble?

  And while she didn’t know the geography of the western US very well, she did know that Idaho was a long way away from Oklahoma. How would he even get here to save her? For that matter, if he successfully rescued Katie, would he even try or would he just write her off as lost?

  She shook her head at the last thought. She had gotten to know John very well and had no doubt that if he knew of her plight and was able, he would be doing everything in his power to come for her. But she knew she couldn’t count on him saving her this time. There was just too much distance between them. She had no one but herself, and she needed that beacon.

  Rachel didn’t know that the Navy had been forced to abandon their attempts to reach the crash site. Two SAR flights out of Whidbey had been shot down by Russian patrols and the invaders were tightening their control of the skies over the western part of the continent. Nothing that wasn’t part of the Russian military was flying.

  With no way to know this and not understanding that the locator beacon was of no use, Rachel took a moment to check over Bill’s pistol. Satisfied it was ready for use, but lacking confidence in her ability to wield it, she stuffed it into a pocket. Finding the flare gun she made sure a fresh shell was loaded and thrust it into a pouch on her G-suit’s leg.

  Spreading out the canopy she had wrapped herself in to sleep, she carefully cut each of the lines that were attached to the perimeter. Coiling the ropes as she freed them she placed them in a neat pile in the snow. Folding the nylon several times, she held it down with her knees and cut a slit in the middle of the rectangle she had created.

  Lifting the canopy she pushed her head through the slit, the multiple layers staying as she had folded them and falling around her body like a long poncho. She used one of the ropes as a belt, cinching the material tightly around her waist, thinking she must look like some medieval monk.

  But she didn’t care what she looked like, only cared that the fabric added several layers of insulation and would help keep her warm. The light was fading as she moved to the edge of the lake and drank deeply. With a sigh of fear she selected a thick tree branch that was about three feet long.

  Knowing the wood wouldn’t burn well on its own, she dug through Bill’s survival pouch until she found the small packet of sunblock she’d noted earlier. Hoping the substance was oil based, she set it aside and fumbled with the G-suit’s zipper until she accessed the cotton T-shirt she was wearing, cutting a few strips off the hem. Squeezing the entire contents of the packet onto the end of the branch, she wrapped the pieces of material tightly around and tied them off.

  Squeezing the fabric, she worked the thick, white gel into it then pushed the end of the branch into the fire. It caught immediately and when she raised it over her head it burned brightly.

  Standing, Rachel held the torch high and looked down at the marks in the snow left behind by the wolf. It was nearly dark but there was enough light from the end of the burning tree branch for her to see clearly. Steeling her resolve she drew the pistol and held it in her hand as she began following the tracks.

  40

  Lucas Martin lowered the plane’s nose slightly and aligned for landing at the Geraldton airport. It had been dark when he’d left his home but the sun had risen as he flew northwest to the small town on the west coast of Australia. Approaching the field from the south he could see a large Gulfstream jet parked at an isolated hangar at the north end of the fenced area.

  Though it was unmarked he knew it was a government jet, maintained and operated for the SASR. His former commanding officer and some of the “lads” had arrived before him. He was mildly surprised at the response, not expecting the Regiment to drop everything and show up to help him. In fact he knew that wasn’t how things worked and there had to be something else at play.

  Touching down lightly, he steered onto the taxiway and took it the length of the airport to where the jet sat gleaming in the sun. Half a dozen hard looking men dressed casually in cargo pants and canvas shirts stood watching him pull up. No weapons were visible but he had no doubt that each was armed and there were rifles within easy reach.

  Shutting down, he climbed out and after retrieving his duffel walked towards the small group. He didn’t recognize any of the faces, having been retired for a number of years.

  “Lucas Martin!”

  He looked up at the open door of the Gulfstream to see Captain Reginald White descending the short flight of stairs to the tarmac. The man was dressed identically to the rest of the squad and was still in the same whip steel hard shape that Lucas remembered. Other than his British manner of speech his sole affectation was a meticulously waxed handlebar moustache that always made Lucas think of British officers from the days of Imperialism.

  “Sir!” He shouted back, stopping where he was.

  White stepped through the line of men and up to Lucas, extending his hand. They shook and he took Lucas by the elbow, guiding him into the hangar. Inside it was cool from air conditioning and well lit.

  Several folding tables had been erected and were loaded with equipment. Computers, printers, secure comm gear and several items that Lucas had no idea what they were. A man and two women, also casually dressed, sat inside the rough circle created by the tables, each busily working at a terminal.

  “What’s going on, sir?” He asked when he saw the signs of an obviously sanctioned operation.

  “Have a seat and we’ll get everyone up to speed, shall we?” White said, motioning at a scattering of chairs adjacent to the command post setup.

  Lucas selected a seat and dropped his pack on the smooth concrete floor next to it before sitting. The men who had been waiting outside came in, each of them pausing to introduce themselves before sitting. What he at first thought was resentment towards him soon revealed itself to be admiration.

  “Forgive the lads, Staff Sergeant,” White said, remaining on his feet. “They’ve heard of your past exploits and are in a bit of awe.”

  Lucas blushed despite himself. He had certainly had a colorful career but didn’t think of himself as anyone who deserved to be treated as if he were a living legend.

  “Now that we’ve properly embarrassed you, please repeat what you told me earlier this morning.” White’s smile disappeared as he got down to business.

  Lucas paused for a few moments to collect his thoughts then began speaking. He started by talking about the phone call from a United States Navy Petty Officer in Pearl Harbor that had woken him and his family in the middle of the night. He continued to describe John Chase, and with near perfect accuracy recalled the entire conversation for the assembled men.

  “And you have no doubt this is the man you know?” One of the troopers, a Sergeant who had introduced himself as Mick Lannister, spoke up.

  “Without a doubt,” Lucas affirmed. “I spent time in Hereford training with him, then a month in Africa together on a pacification operation against the warlords. We have stayed in touch since. I know the man well. My son is named after him.”

  There were nods all around as the soldiers acknowledged Lucas’ statement. He spent another couple of minutes giving them a brief biography of what he knew about John Chase’s military career. More nodding when he finished speaking.

  “Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” White said after waiting a few moments to see if there were any other questions. “Now, I’m certain you are curious about all the goings on here.”

  “Yes, sir. I appreciate the support, but it seems I’ve stumbled into something,” Lucas said.

  “Right you are. There is concern in Canberra that Russia is preparing to invade. We have been spared the horrors of the virus for some reason, and the prevailing belief is that President Barinov intends to occupy us. Apparently there is intelligence that has bee
n developed to support this opinion.”

  Lucas raised his eyebrows in surprise. What could the Russians possibly want with Australia when they had the rest of the world at their feet? Europe, Asia and North America were all defenseless, just waiting for whatever the mad man in the Kremlin had in mind.

  “Sir, that just doesn’t make sense. What could they possibly want with us? And pardon me for asking, but what does that have to do with why I’m here?”

  “I’ve seen the intelligence,” White smiled. “Personally I think the blokes that put it together added two and two and came up with seven, but no one is interested in a Captain’s opinion. As to why this is intersecting with your interests, I received orders two days ago to seize the CIA listening station.

  “Our intelligence staff wants to use it to monitor Russian communications and movements. The American CIA officers who are assigned to the station have failed to respond to multiple requests for cooperation as mandated in our agreement, so it was decided that we would take the facility. We were already scheduled to arrive this morning and this post has been monitoring activity at the station since the order came down.”

  “That’s how you knew off the top of your head where the station was,” Lucas said with a smile. White smiled and nodded back.

  “I still don’t understand why the presence, sir. There are enough of us here to capture a whole country. Isn’t this a bit of overkill?” Lucas looked around the group, smiling back at the grins that broke out with his compliment to the fighting men.

  “Americans are a paranoid lot,” White said. “The station has a significant number of counter-assault defenses. Some are active, some passive, and there are almost certainly some that we don’t know of. This won’t be a simple door kick.

  “After nine eleven the Americans were worried about possible Al Qaeda assaults against their intelligence gathering facilities across the globe as a way to hinder their invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan. As a result they significantly upgraded security across the board.