"Major Gant, you have no idea what you're talking about. But I've spent far too much time playing games with you. Maybe there was a part of me that thought I could convince you, and particularly Dr. Stacy, that what we're doing is right. You are, after all, a soldier, and soldiers sometimes make hard decisions and sometimes have to do bad things to get good results. It's obvious that I was wrong."
Thom figured this was the moment when the guards would come through the door and put a bullet in his head.
"You're going to help this project, one way or another. I want to know exactly who you are and how you got to Tioga so fast. I know there was a Secret Service detail on the island, and I was receiving some rather good information from its surviving member until he realized we weren't exactly with the U.N."
Thom glanced over at Dr. Stacy and she returned his stare.
Costa survived but these people have him, Gant thought and knew Stacy understood the same. But Monroe does not know we met up with Costa, or at least the agent did not reveal a whole lot before clamming up.
"So what about it, Major?"
Stacy asked, "Why is that so important to you? Why do you care? Aren't we just another couple of causalities to you?"
Thom, however, provided the answer.
"This was an experiment, but not for the organism itself. They already knew the parasite would spread. They were testing the response of the people on the island. They wanted to see how a civilian population would react to zombies and if they could check the spread or avoid it. We were an unforeseen variable. We were armed and trained and managed to knock down a fair number of the things. He has to know our level of capability and training in order to gauge whether we represent your typical military or if we are something different. All of Dr. Waters's bioengineering will be useless if a local militia can gun down the things before they reach critical mass."
"Who are you, Major Gant? When did you arrive on the island, and how many of the units did you engage?"
Gant remained silent. Monroe looked to Stacy. She stuck her lower lip out.
"I hate this part of all this," Monroe said. "If you cooperate I promise you will be kept safe, albeit relegated to this base until the project is completed."
"And when is that?" Gant asked.
Monroe pushed his glasses higher on his nose, ignored the question, and went on, "The truth is, I'm going to get those answers one way or another. You can tell me, or you can show me."
"Show you? We're not going to show you anything," Stacy replied.
"Yes you will, Dr. Stacy. Come with me and you'll see what I mean."
* * *
The Tarawa-class amphibious assault ship Peleliu stretched more than eight hundred feet from stem to stern. On its flat top waited a compliment of rotary and fixed-wing aircraft, starting with Harrier jump jets and including Super Cobras, Sea Knights, Sea Stallions, and UH-N1 Iroquois transports.
Captain Richard Campion traveled through the interior of the superstructure until reaching a blue door with a paragraph reading, "PELELIU BRIDGE 04 AND BELOW BALL CAP REQUIRED. REQUEST PERMISSION TO ENTER AND STATE YOUR BUSINESS."
Campion wore a ball cap as usual, but it differed greatly from the ones worn by the crew. His was straight black, as were his BDUs, making him — and the other Archangel members traveling onboard — stand a distance apart from the ship's compliment.
The door to the bridge was opened for him by a sailor serving as his guide, and Campion did not need to state his business. That business had been stated to the ship's captain by others of a higher pay grade.
He entered the bustling nerve center, weaving around two men working on a sea chart and finding his way to the skipper, who looked out over his domain toward the blue horizon through a pair of binoculars.
Campion had come in answer to a summons, but the Peleliu's CO remained focused on his observation of the calm seas ahead, pretending to be indifferent to the soldier's presence or importance.
As a part of Archangel, Campion had grown accustomed to this treatment, although he disapproved. He had grown accustomed to officers and other soldiers treating his team like unwelcome intruders. He had grown accustomed to the disdain for the secretive nature of their work.
This situation grew most acute on board naval vessels, where ship captains were used to being gods of their worlds. Indeed, the captain of a ship was the final authority for what happened aboard his vessel.
But then Archangel landed on the Peleliu with little notice and a call from the Pentagon that essentially gave Captain Campion — an army grunt — carte blanche to access and direct the assets of the ad hoc naval task force any way he deemed fit. Of course, that did not sit well with the Peleliu's skipper, nor with any of the other three captains of the group.
Campion just did not understand the attitude. They were all a part of the armed forces. They all knew what it meant to follow orders and they all understood the concept of operational security. Campion might be a little younger than most officers he served with, but he had been on the other end of the equation plenty of times and had never once complained or given anyone grief.
This was no slight; just a fact of service.
Sometimes human behavior just eluded his grasp.
Whatever the case, he stood silent next to the skipper for several seconds before the man finally said, "Phone call for you."
Campion sighed, frustrated by the game, particularly from a man who commanded such a powerful vessel.
In any case, he picked up the receiver from its cradle and answered, realizing immediately that it was General Friez on the other end.
"Report."
"General, sir, we had a little help from the Washington, sir. She's not in our task force but was close enough to send a couple of fast movers over the target area. Their report suggests that the island's volcano erupted. The pilots visually identified what appeared to be lava flows moving across the island."
"Any sign of survivors? Of people?"
"Negative, sir, although the pilots report poor visibility on the ground. They also said that if there were any people down there they might be running out of land soon."
"Okay. What is your status?"
"Navy Task force Able Fury has assembled and is en route. We count three surface ships and an attack sub plus a small expeditionary force."
Campion noticed that the skipper kept his eyes in his binoculars but had cocked an ear to the conversation.
"So far no word from the team?"
"No, sir. The pilots did not find evidence of interference, either. Is it possible that the buildup to the eruption could have affected phones and radios?"
"I don't see how," Friez answered. "But you say there's no interference now?"
"It appears not, General. Which makes me think that Major Gant and his team are not able to respond. There is a real possibility that they were caught in the eruption. We should be in chopper range within two hours. I'm going to take my team in for recon and we should have more answers then."
Friez went silent for a moment and then asked, "How is your cooperation level? Any problems?"
Campion glanced over at the ship's captain and then replied, "The usual, sir. You may need to have SECNAV make another call."
Friez's voice grew agitated.
"I'll do that. Don't worry, Captain, you will have full authority to deploy assets as necessary. Able Fury is your private little navy, and if those squids don't understand that they will when I get through with them. Put the skipper on the phone."
16
One of the guards gave Thom a good shove and he wound up standing next to Dr. Stacy with Monroe behind and Dr. Waters in front.
The group gathered in a small, dark room, looking through a glass wall — probably a two-way mirror — at a white, rectangular chamber with no furniture, no windows, and one heavy door that was clearly locked up tight.
That white chamber was not empty. On the floor lay a woman in a jogging suit. She seemed older but in physically good sha
pe … except for the fact that she was obviously dead. She lay on the floor with her head at an odd angle with no sign of respiration, no movement whatsoever.
Pacing the room was a man Thom Gant recognize instantly: Agent Costa of the United States Secret Service.
He had last seen Costa during the battle behind the bungalow, when the agent had run off before they had engaged the small army of reanimated cadavers. Thom had thought the man had perished, but apparently that had not been the case.
Unfortunately, Costa had ended up in the hands of Waters and Monroe. Still, Gant could not help but feel a twinge of respect for the agent; it seemed he had not revealed anything significant about the Edelweiss call or the fact that the responding team had been comprised of three members. That meant Wells might have avoided and survived Waters's mercenary force on Tioga.
"What are you doing?" Stacy asked.
Dr. Waters kept his watery eyes on the activity inside as he answered, "We're running an important test."
Monroe added, "The type of test you will be participating in if you're not more forthcoming about your presence on Tioga and your background."
Major Thom Gant had watched many persons die over the years, including ones he had personally dispatched. On the battlefield or during a mission, in the heat of the moment with bullets flying and lives on the line, it was easy to set aside the emotion, to treat killing and death as just another part of the process. Being able to emotionally detach from such horrors was part of the job.
This felt much different. He knew Costa was going to die in a few moments. The problem was, he was not going to die taking a bullet for a VIP under his protection, fighting for his country, or in battle where he stood a chance, even an illusionary one.
No, agent Costa was a lab rat in a cage. It would be a pitiful way to die; an insult to a man who had stayed alive for more than a day on an island overrun with zombies, a man who had chosen a profession that required bravery and commitment. None of which would help in his current predicament.
Thom shifted his feet and felt a surge of anger that grew into an urge to act. Yet he could not give in. The guards watched, no doubt expecting some attempt to save the doomed agent.
"The female died of her injuries thirteen minutes ago," Waters coldly relayed, primarily to Monroe but loud enough for all to hear. "The cause of death is attributable directly to blood loss and shock after being bitten by an animated unit eighteen hours ago. She received no medical attention, but a blood screen suggests she took Coumadin or possibly Plavix, probably as the result of a heart condition. The reduced viscosity of her blood may have slowed spore growth."
Stacy drifted forward a step and said, "The fungus transmits spores to the victim?"
Monroe jumped in: "Perhaps, Dr. Waters, it would be best if we kept the specifics to ourselves."
Waters replied to his boss, "Actually, in order for the next batch of tests to be successful, I feel it is important for these two to know some of the details. That is, given the goals of those tests."
Monroe nodded his head as if considering before relenting, "Okay then."
"Yes," Waters answered Stacy. "While there have been some variations, spore tubes sprout inside infected mouths, occasionally the fingernails. When the skin is broken, a spore — sometimes two or three — is released into the victim. Those spores tend to enter the bloodstream and circulate until death, at which point they become lodged inside the host and grow. The result is the creation of a central mass. The nerve center, if you will, of the parasite."
"The weak spot," Stacy said. "Kill it, and the parasite dies."
"I don't think we need to go into that," Monroe tried to protest, but Waters clearly held sway at this point.
"Oh no, Ms. Stacy is quite correct. Destroy the central mass and you kill the parasite."
"But that mass could be anywhere," Gant broke in. "The head, an elbow, a kneecap — anywhere."
"Which makes it hard to destroy," Waters said with pride. "Very different from a zombie movie, don't you think? A head shot is not necessarily going to save the day. Take, for example, Agent Costa here," Waters nodded at the man in the sealed room. "While he is not privy to the details, he does understand that the units have weak spots and that those weak spots vary."
Gant looked in again at Costa, who paced the room, first stepping close to the dead woman, then away, then circling, his eyes looking at the ceiling, at the door, at the dead woman again, at the two-way mirror, which he eyed with the knowledge that he was being watched.
"Ahhh, Miss Clemons is beginning to activate," Waters said, nodding at the dead woman and then looking again at his watch. "Fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds. Not bad at all. That type of turnaround will increase propagation substantially, particularly in urban centers."
Gant eyed the dead woman and saw her eyes open. Milky white eyes.
Waters must have sensed Thom's interest in the colorization and answered the unspoken question: "The membranes of the parasite can actually activate the optic nerve, to a fashion. In fact, we have seen cases where the organism repaired corneal damage. The parasite can actually see, using the host's eyes."
Dr. Stacy stepped toward the glass and with the slightest hint of awe in her voice said, "You are saying the parasite is cloning and repairing body systems? So if a person has a leg shot off and that person becomes infected, the parasite will grow a new leg?"
"That example is rather extreme," Waters answered. "We have not observed anything on that scale. But muscle tissue has been mimicked and repaired, fractured bones secured, severed tendons regrown with parasitic tendrils. It is fascinating."
"And let me get this straight. This fungus can actually see?"
"Amazing, isn't it?"
Gant asked, "But what happens when they kill and devour one of their victims? Doesn't that break the chain of infection? How can a body that was eaten manage to get back up and start walking again?"
"That doesn't happen. That's not a concern," Waters replied. "At least not in the way you think."
"These things take bites out of people," Gant said. "We have seen the wounds. I had several try and tear into my neck myself. They seemed quite hungry."
Stacy answered before Waters could: "They don't eat their victims. It's not hunger that is driving them to attack." She turned and faced him. "It's reproduction."
"Very good, Dr. Stacy," Waters applauded the young woman. "You are quite correct. As for sustenance, fungi are decomposers. This organism extracts nutrients from the host body as it decays, but at a surprisingly slow rate."
Monroe grew agitated.
"I do not believe it is appropriate to get into this level of discussion with our prisoners."
Waters smiled, raised his hands, and clapped them together, then told Terrance Monroe, "Quite the contrary. It is important that they have this information. Critical, in fact."
"My god," Stacy gasped as she watched the happenings inside the isolation room. "I saw it on the island … I faced them. But that was like some kind of nightmare. I keep hoping it was a dream."
The dead woman in the jogging suit stood. Costa backed away to the far side of the chamber.
"In here it is not a nightmare, but a truth," Waters said, then stepped closer to her and spoke a little softer than usual. "Look at that, doctor. You are watching a woman who was dead rise to her feet. She was wounded in the neck. Look there now. That wound has closed as the organism has woven a patch like scar tissue. Now detach yourself from everything and consider that. Think about it for a moment. Here, in that room, is a miracle. A medical miracle. Think of the applications. Organ or limb repair. Curing paralysis. When I am done I will have moved medical science forward by a hundred years."
"At the expense of millions of lives?" Gant said from behind. "Are you telling yourself that that end justifies these means? All in the name of saving the environment. I have met a fair number of crazy megalomaniacs in my time but the two of you take things to a whole new level, and I believe it i
s because of your stupidity. None of this makes any sense."
"Not to you, no," Monroe said, "but you do not know everything, Major Gant. If you cooperate, perhaps we will be a little more forthcoming. How did you get to the island so fast? Who sent you and what is Task Force Archangel's real purpose?"
The dead woman in the jogging suit started across the room toward Costa. Her first few steps were stumbles, like a baby learning to walk. But her pace and balance improved as she closed.
"Let him out of there," Stacy said. "Let him out and I'll tell you what you want to know."
"No," Gant shouted. "You will do no such thing."
"I'm not going to stand here and watch him die. Do it. Let him out, and I'll speak."
Waters turned to her and said, "I'm sorry, but there can be no negotiation in that regard. The test subject here is important to our cause. Just as you two will be when it's your turn in that room."
"I don't believe that," she shot back. "You wouldn't stand here and tell us all about the organism and how it works, just to let them kill us. That would serve no purpose."
"On the contrary, your understanding of the parasite is vital. And you are more valuable to the project as test subjects than as informants."
Gant saw Monroe waver, as if considering voicing a contradiction to Waters's point of view on the matter, but he remained silent.
Miss Clemons honed in on Costa, moving at a faster pace and reaching for him as she approached. Gant heard Costa's breath puff from his lips in quick bursts, the sound reaching them through the soundproof viewing glass via a microphone. As for the reanimated corpse, it seemed to make no noise except for the shuffling of its feet. No groans, hisses, or howls; nothing like the zombies of Hollywood.
Costa held his ground … waited … waited … and just as she came within range he slammed a strong kick into her gut, sending the dead old woman backwards and crashing to the ground.
It did not matter. The thing regained its feet and charged again. Again Costa threw it aside and sent it tumbling. Again it came back, no weaker for the encounter.
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