Project Terminus

by Nathan Combs

  “But, how? Why?”

  “How is simple,” he said. “I doubt anyone would notice an ICBM filled with this bug and conventional explosives blowing up in their area. They’d probably attribute it to just another explosion. And even if they were suspicious, there’s no one for them to report it to. As for why, does it really matter?”

  Maggie was genuinely terrified. “My God, Wade, what do we do?”

  Taking her in his arms, he gently stroked her face and coaxed her to look into his eyes. “We survive it, Maggie, just like we’ve survived everything else. I need you to break out the containment suits and masks, and get everyone together in the chapel in an hour. I have to talk with Randal.”

  When Wade arrived at the OP, Randal pulled him to the side and said, “We have to send out daily patrols, Dad. We can’t allow anyone to get close to Fort-T. And we’re going to have to initiate extreme options against anyone who does. I know you know what we have to do. I’ll explain it in more detail to the family after I get it worked up. Who do you think’s responsible for this?”

  “Russia. They’re the only country other than us with the ability to create an effective biological agent. Maggie has everyone in the mess tent. Who do you want manning the OP while we break the news?”

  Randal thought for a few seconds. “This is critical, Dad. Let’s leave the OP unmanned for an hour.”

  Wade knew the residents of Fort Terminus were not only intelligent, they were resourceful and realistic as well. He also knew they were tough as nails and wouldn’t panic, so he pulled no punches as he shared the information about the plague decimating the population of the world around them. Moving quickly towards the solution he hoped would reassure them, he wrapped up by saying, “The bottom line is we’ll survive this, but in order to do so, there are strict—and I do mean strict—protocols that have to be followed. Randal is going to brief you on them. Randal, your show.”

  Randal looked at the frightened faces staring back at him. “Everyone here is religious in one way or another, and I know you’re wondering why God allowed something like this to happen. The answer is, I don’t know. None of us do. But I believe that God does help those who help themselves, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do.

  “This is a very serious threat, and I don’t intend to sugarcoat how dangerous it could turn out to be. Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of having the CDC around to find a cure. That’s reality. But if we follow my set of guidelines we can and will survive this. We have advantages most of the world doesn’t have. We’re isolated. Although we don’t know for certain, it’s unlikely this virus can remain alive outside of a host, in the open air, for more than a couple of minutes. And because civilization has been put on hold, the transmission rate will be limited to increasingly smaller groups. As long as we don’t come into contact with someone who’s infected, there’s an excellent chance we’ll never have to deal with it. We have basic biological containment suits, P100 respirators, and we’ll set up a decontamination station. We also have two level-two biological suits. We don’t need to walk around in suits guys, so relax. But you all need to know how to put on the basic suit and tape each other up. Maggie and Becky will show you how to do that.

  “The most important thing we can do to protect ourselves from this virus is to never come into contact with it. That means no one gets within a thousand yards of Fort Terminus. So far, no one has discovered us, and with luck they never will. But I don’t believe in luck, so we’re going to increase patrols, and if we are discovered, anyone who makes an effort to get to us will be shot and killed, and the bodies burned. No questions asked. We cannot, and will not, take a chance. I know that sounds harsh, but it’s the reality of the world we now live in. And I intend to see that we all live in it for a long time.”

  When the meeting was over, Maggie and Becky showed everyone how to use the basic suit and the respirators; and how to tape the seams on the hoods, gloves, and booties.

  Afterward, the men went to the mess tent to go over the patrol procedures.

  Randal said, “All right, guys, listen up. We’re going to concentrate the patrols to the south of us, which is the most likely direction people would be coming from. We’ll patrol during daylight hours only with a two-mile radius from the forward observation post. The OP will remain manned round the clock. This is going to put a strain on us, but there’s no choice. Shawn, you have first watch at the OP. Bill, you’re first up on patrol.”

  The meeting ended with Wade saying, “Randal’s plan is the best we’re going to be able to do. If we don’t come into contact with this bug, we shouldn’t have to worry about it. We’re taking the precaution of sending out patrols, because we have to, but I don’t think we have to worry about anyone finding us in the near future. My guess is that this bug is going to kill survivors en masse. They’ll know it’s a disease, but they won’t know what it is. And it’s unlikely they’ll know anything about it. When it runs its course, there will be survivors. Those that had natural immunity to it, and those like us, who simply never came into contact with it. They’ll be the ones we’ll have to worry about. But at least we have time before that becomes an issue. Let’s go have some coffee.”

  With coffee in hand, they went to the supply tent and Highlander turned on the radio. He listened for a few minutes, and with a grimace and a shake of his head, he handed Wade a note.

  “It appears the virus has a name. They’re calling it the Millennial Bug.

  Chapter Four

  The Northern Groups

  The Millennial Bug ravaged the planet for nine months, and although it was pure speculation, the estimated worldwide death toll was upwards of three billion.

  Gathered together for their weekly meeting, Wade addressed the Terminus group.

  “You’re all aware we can’t verify the information we receive from the ham radio operators. But since it’s the only means of communication available, we’re going to assume it’s reasonably accurate. The fact is that billions of rotting corpses will unleash other diseases on the survivors and add to the death toll. For your information, it’s only referred to as the Millennial Bug in North America. The Northern Europeans are calling it the Reaper Virus, after some old movie about a plague. In Germany, it’s the X-Virus. Bill calls it the BHO Bug in honor of our former president. But regardless of what it’s called, it’s lethal. The initial mortality rate of ninety percent has been downgraded to seventy-five percent, which doesn’t make much difference, really. I don’t think we should read too much into any of these figures since there’s no official governmental organization left to verify them. Maggie researched pandemics and will tell you what she learned. Maggie?”

  Maggie looked at the expectant faces staring back at her as she stepped up to address the group. “There isn’t a lot of information available because through-out history there haven’t been very many. But the info that is available indicates a pandemic lasts for one and a half to two and a half years. The virus peaks during the first six to twelve months, then reaches a plateau, if you will, for a month or so, and then begins to dissipate. Assuming that information is accurate, and that it pertains to this particular pandemic, the virus…whatever we call it, should either be at its peak now, or will be in three or four months.

  “If it does indeed remain at its peak for a month and then peters out, we’ll have to deal with it for another six to eighteen months, which shouldn’t be a problem since we haven’t seen another human being since we’ve been here. And if we don’t come into contact with other humans, as Randal explained, no one here will catch it.”

  When the meeting was over, Wade and Maggie sat on the edge of the plateau watching the darkness creep slowly across the valley.

  “Wade, do you remember the night we sat in the lanai and talked about how hard it was to wrap our heads around the fact that something bad was going to happen, even though we knew it was going to?”

  “Of course I remember, Mags. How could I forget? You fed the beast t
hat night.”

  Laughing, Maggie said, “That’s not exactly what I was referring to, Wade. I have the same feeling now. It’s so beautiful and peaceful here. It’s difficult to picture that outside of Fort-T, the world is full of death.”

  “You’re right, Maggie, but it’s quiet now because we’re in the eye of the storm. We’re going to have more than our share of problems in the future.”

  In the weeks that followed, Randal sent out two man patrols searching for other survival groups. It took two weeks to clear the area to ten miles in all directions.

  Chris and Bill were in the process of scouting the southern sector to a fifteen-mile radius, and after climbing to the top of a 4,200 foot peak, they saw smoke rising from Robbinsville, roughly ten miles away.

  “Where there’s smoke, there are people,” stated Chris.

  “And where there are people, the Millennium Bug rears its ugly head,” muttered Bill.

  “Yeah,” said Chris. “This is far enough, man. Let’s get back.”

  The knowledge of survivors in Robbinsville didn’t come as a shock, but knowing a potential threat from the south existed, a patrol was sent out daily to ensure no one was approaching them from that direction. After nearly three months of continuous patrols, they cleared Fort-T’s perimeter to a radius of twenty-five miles to the east and west, and the south to within ten miles of Robbinsville. Now it was time to start on the northern approach to the Fort.

  Randal began the northern approach meeting by saying, “We saved the northern approaches for last because that’s the most likely direction we’ll find other groups, and I want us to be able to concentrate on what’s in front of us, not worry about what’s behind us or on our flanks. We’re going to do the north sector using three man patrols. We can cover more ground more quickly. Dad, Chris, and Sean will work one day, and Bill, Highlander, and I will do the next. The girls can handle the daily southern patrol. If we do this right, we should be able to complete the circle in less than a month.”

  Three weeks into working the twenty-five mile leg, Randal radioed his patrol. “This is Thor. Hold. I say again, hold.”

  Two clicks sounded over the radio.

  He smelled smoke. The GPS satellites were still functional, so he used the locator to find Bill and Highlander, then transmitted again. “Patrol, this is Thor. On me.”

  In return, he received two clicks.

  Thirty minutes later, they arrived at his position. Randal sent Highlander back to the Fort. “Send Wade out. We’ll hold here until he arrives.”

  Five hours later, just before dark, Highlander entered Fort-T and passed the information on to Wade. Knowing he would have to wait until morning to depart, Wade packed his bag, ate supper, and grabbed some Zs.

  It was January, and the nights in the Carolina Mountains were unseasonably cold. It was not uncommon for snow to fall on the peaks. Wade woke long before daylight. Stepping out of the sleeping tent, he was greeted by three inches of snow and a sky full of stars. Knowing the temperature would be dropping, he went to the supply tent and grabbed some cold weather gear for Randal and Bill, put on a winter parka, grabbed a quick bite to eat, kissed Maggie goodbye, and headed up the northern approach at 4 am. Although it was dark, the combination of snow on the ground and a waning full moon provided more than enough light for him to pick his way up the forest trail without the aid of night vision. Wade was in exceptional shape, and made the twenty-two mile hike in less than five hours.

  Before entering the hide where Randal and Bill were waiting, Wade whispered into the mic, “Thor, this is Zeus.”

  Randal responded instantly. “Roger, Zeus, enter.”

  Wade slipped under the camouflage tarp, removed his pack, and handed Randal and Bill the winter parkas. He didn’t have to ask about the smoke, he could smell it. “They’re close, Randal.”

  “Yeah, they are. And if they’re any good, they have a watch posted. So, the first order of business is to locate exactly where their camp is. Once we view the camp and get the lay of the land, we can guess where their watch or watches might be located. Unfortunately, we’re going to stick out like a sore thumb against this snow, and we can’t sit here ’til dark and use our night vision either. Dad, any ideas?”

  “Let’s assume they’re military. Maybe SPECOPS. If they are, they’ll follow the same procedures we do, and I think it’s safe to assume they kept their gear after the shit hit the fan. If they took precautions against an EMP like we did, they’ll use their radios to communicate with their watch posts. Let’s put the radio on scan and see what happens.”

  Two hours later they received their answer.

  “Guard Dog, this is Base.”

  “All quiet, Base.”

  They all grinned.

  Wade said, “You do the honors, Son.”

  Randal transmitted, “Base, this is Thor. Over.”

  A long and pronounced silence followed. Randal keyed the radio again. “Base, this is Thor, do you copy? Over.”

  The reply was instantaneous. “Thor, this is Base, identify yourself.”

  “Base, this is Thor, recently retired SPECOPS. Over.”

  “Roger. Rank and branch?”

  “Captain, Green Berets. Request your ID.”

  “Platoon Sergeant, also recently retired, 75th Ranger Regiment.”

  “Are you aware of the worldwide pandemic, Sergeant?”

  “We’re aware of it, sir, but we don’t know too much about it. We haven’t come into contact with it. We’re clean.

  “Roger. We’re clean too. Where can we do a face to face, Sergeant?”

  “Stand by.”

  After about five minutes, the sergeant provided a set of coordinates.

  Randal accessed satellite images, then checked the coordinates and found the location was less than 300 yards away, in a small-sloped clearing surrounded on all sides by dense woods.

  Randal said, “Okay, it sounds legitimate, but we aren’t taking any chances. And the odds are they won’t either. Bill, make your way to this location,” he indicated a spot above and to the south of the meet location. “Cover us and try to locate their shooter. If things go south, take him out.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Bill informed Randal he was in place but did not see a shooter.

  Randal looked at Wade. “Okay, Dad, for better or worse…I’m going in.”

  With Wade providing cover from the tree line and Bill on over-watch, Randal keyed the radio. “Base, this is Thor. I’m entering the clearing now, over.”

  “Roger, Thor. Eyes left.”

  Randal looked left and twenty yards away the sergeant materialized from behind a large oak. The two men entered the clearing simultaneously and cautiously advanced. Within three feet of each other, they stopped, locked eyes, and the sergeant saluted. Randal returned the salute, and then they shook hands, both grinning.

  “Hello, Sergeant. Captain Randal Coltrane, Green Berets.”

  “Platoon Sergeant Joseph Wilkerson, 75th Ranger Regiment. Man, it is good to see you, Captain.”

  “Same here, Sergeant. Do you have a shooter positioned?”

  Smiling, Wilkerson said, “Of course.”

  Both men laughed.

  Randal said, “Let’s call them in.”

  Wade, Randal, and Bill joined Sergeant Wilkerson and the recalled shooter, Sergeant Alex Johnson, in the clearing. Salutes followed by handshakes all around broke the nervous tension as the relief from finding other friendly, healthy SPECOPS survivors settled over them.

  Wade asked, “How many people do you have, Joe?”

  “We total seven shooters, all from the 75th; seven wives and eight kids.”

  Bill said, “What do you know about the virus?”

  Sergeant Johnson said, “We’ve had trouble with radio reception because of the mountains, so not very much, unfortunately. Just enough to know we didn’t want to take any risks.”

  Wade said, “The virus has become a worldwide pandemic, on the level of The Black Death. It’s dev
astating, to say the least. We have a shortwave and receive updates regularly, although we have no way to confirm the Intel. Like you, we haven’t come into contact with it. My concern isn’t so much the virus itself; it’s those who survive it. When the bug dies out and the survivors start integrating and organizing, that could turn out to be a problem. Have you made contact with any other survival groups?”

  “Affirmative. There’s another SPECOPS group five miles north of us. They have a total of nineteen healthy people. Breakdown is seven shooters, seven wives, and five kids,” Joe said.

  The five warriors sat silently in a circle at the edge of the clearing, watchful of their surroundings. Faces streaked with camo paint, weapons on their laps, each man was lost in thought of what the discovery of the other meant to his future. The only sound was the whispering of the wind in the pines at their backs.

  Wade broke the silence. “I’m just thinking ahead, Joe. Our three groups would give us a total of twenty shooters, nineteen women, and fifteen kids. That’s a total of fifty-four people.”

  “Sounds right, sir. What did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing at the moment, but somewhere down the line, we’re going to have to kick start civilization, and a family of fifty-four SPECOPS bodies would make a healthy beginning.”

  “Yes, sir, it certainly would. Would you like to meet the rest of the group, Captain?”

  Wade smiled. “We’d be honored, Joe.”

  Fort-T’s shooters followed the Sergeants back to their camp, which while lacking the sophistication of Fort-T was never the less, compact, efficient, defensible, and functional.

  After the introductions and accepting their invite to stay until morning, Randal sent Bill back to Fort-T to pass on information about the Ranger group and to help with the watches. Meeting the group of SPECOPS brothers was inspiring for all of them, and Wade, Randal, and the seven Rangers talked long into the cold North Carolina night. They decided Joe would inform the other group of their existence, and another meet was scheduled in three days.