"I asked, have we figured out anything more in regard to the island's ownership?"
Thunder must have relayed that information while he was daydreaming because her response contained a tone of her own. He liked that about her — no sucking up. It was his fault for being distracted, so, yes, he did deserve a dose of his own medicine.
"It's a management company with three partners. That big-bucks software developer William Fencer along with an actress and a producer. They bought Tioga about fifteen years ago from a rather poor South Pacific island nation that was more than willing to give up territorial rights in exchange for cash. I think you know the rest. They built a resort and it's an exclusive club for the ultra-rich and powerful."
"What about the mining equipment?"
"This is where things get curious, General. I spoke with the two partners who are stateside. They said they were paid a lot of money by a company who wanted to mine and study the volcano. Corporal Sanchez and I spent most of the day today trying to run down who that was and what they were doing. Everything was a dead end."
"And the volcano was not considered a danger?"
Thunder said, "I have a call into the USGS. They are checking their data and will get back to me. On the other hand, the island's ownership knew that there has always been the possibility of an eruption and that there was subterranean activity. The feeling was that there was magma moving around in there and the possibility of release that might require evacuation or relocation, but the private geologist they kept on staff assured them that there was no danger of a significant eruption, although steam venting was common. Of course, we're pretty sure he was killed on the island today."
"I spoke to Campion before I got in the air. He said they will be within helicopter distance later in the day. He hopes to get to Tioga before sunset, local time."
Of course outside the window dusk had already come to the Midwestern United States. For Campion, half a world away, it was barely lunchtime.
Friez continued, "I'm on my way to you with a stopover at Groom Lake. You are now command and control for this mission, at least stateside. Everything is to be funneled through Darwin."
"Understood, General. But sir, so far this appears to be a natural occurrence. It's possible that an eruption of some kind is at the root of this disaster."
Friez looked out the window again and spied a stretch of golden fields crisscrossed by irrigation canals and access roads. Somewhere down there a farmer worked his field and a family got ready for dinner.
"You're forgetting the Edelweiss call, Colonel, and I don't like the sound of this mystery mining company, either. Until we know what happened to the insertion team and why the Secret Service sent out that alert we assume a worst-case scenario."
Worst-case scenarios are, after all, what we're about.
* * *
Two CH-53 Sea Stallion helicopters flew west over the South Pacific. Ahead of them the sun of a dying day hung low over the horizon, creating two long shadows dancing atop calm surf. The gray beasts were big and brutish, designed for rugged missions ranging from special forces insertion to medical evacuation under hostile fire.
Captain Campion sat on a bench seat in the fuselage of one chopper, accompanied by Salvatore Galati and Dave Roberts, a soldier whose boyish face made him look a lot closer to fifteen than twenty five. All three of the Archangel members wore black ball caps and BDUs but with short sleeves, acknowledging the high temperatures waiting for them on Tioga.
A pilot and co-pilot from the Peleliu manned the controls.
Big and brutish was more than just a description of the Sea Stallion's appearance; it fit the feel of the interior as well. Everything shook and shimmied with the power of the twin General Electric turboshafts seemingly funneled right under the passengers' butts.
The voice of the pilot spoke with a gasp over Campion's headset: "Jesus Christ, look at this shit."
Everyone heard, so all three passengers stood and approached the cockpit to share the view. Several more gasps erupted.
It seemed as if the horizon was on fire. Several columns of black and red smoke rose into the air in spiraling vortexes, combining in the sky into one long drift. Flickers of orange and yellow flames simmered at the base of each plume while crack-like spindly fingers of fire reached across the island.
"Take us in," Campion told the pilot, who clearly did not like the idea. "There seems to be some open ground to the east. Tell the other chopper to hang back."
The co-pilot radioed, "Stag Two stay back; we're going in for a pass."
The pilot warned, "Lots of smoke, lots of heat. Could be some thermal updrafts. It might get shaky real fast."
Campion did not feel the need to respond. He accepted the pilot's expertise on the matter. Others in his unit might spout words of bravado such as, “I don't care, my friend is down there” or something like that.
No, Captain Campion would not put the helicopter or other soldiers at risk. That made no sense. He hoped to find Major Gant and the rest of the insertion team, but not at the expense of losing additional assets.
The lead helo swung around the island at distance for a broad look at the hellish inferno. On the next pass it dipped lower, approaching from the south and staying clear of the rocky outcroppings of the shoreline there.
Ahead stood a wall of smoke and fire. Banyan trees burned like matchsticks, and rivers of black rock oozed across the ground. A rolling ball of yellow and black marked the ignition of something volatile to the northeast, perhaps a fuel storage tank that had succumbed to the heat.
Some of those rivers of black rock had reached the coast and hit the ocean swells in an explosion of steam.
"Nothing but smoke ahead," the pilot pointed out the obvious. "We don't want any part of that."
He did not wait for permission. The Sea Stallion turned right and traced the coast a few feet above the rocks and beach where the Archangel team had landed about sixteen hours ago.
Over the radio came the voice of Master Sergeant Ben Franco from aboard the other chopper: "Looks bad up here. Maybe some clear spots on the northeast side and the southeast but it's hard to see through all the smoke. Things look any better up close?"
Annoyed at the pointless chatter, Campion radioed back, "We are investigating. Stay on station at distance until further instructions."
A "yes, sir," was Franco's reply but it sounded a lot like "fuck you."
Stag One inched inland a few hundred yards by finding a path over a stretch of forest reduced to smoldering ashes, and hence giving off less smoke. They saw a number of buildings that had avoided the streams of molten rock yet had still burned.
From his vantage point peering between the pilots, Campion made out a cluster of blackened buildings that might have been the town center, but the inferno had left only a few walls, beams, and floorboards behind.
Campion felt a weight against his back and then saw Sal Galati's face — glasses and all — push over his shoulder to steal a glance.
"Shit doesn't move that fast," Sal said. "When I was in Hawaii we took our quads up the side of this volcano. Way up, man. And then it erupted and the shit was coming down but we got out of the way fast."
Knowing Galati's penchant for storytelling, Campion mentally translated the tale. Sal must have been in Hawaii and come across one of the many rather breathtaking but not unusual lava flows on that volcanic island. The Captain did not know much about volcanoes, but he knew that on Hawaii those flows did not tend to be dangerous and did tend to be predictable, to the point that they were part of the island's tourist trade.
At some point Galati had decided that the image of him riding a quad up the side of an active volcano and then down again to escape a massive eruption would make for good storytelling, probably to impress a woman.
Of course, it was possible the man had never even been to Hawaii.
Does he know he is full of crap, or has he convinced himself these tales are real?
At some point every member
of the Archangel team pondered that question, but Campion did not have the time to think about it now, nor did he want a distraction.
"Go sit down, soldier."
Sal shrugged and retreated.
"There," the co-pilot pointed across the pilot's chest. "Looks like some high ground and … wait a second, are those bodies?"
Suddenly Sal's head rested on Campion's shoulder again, but the Captain could not blame him this time.
The helicopter flew under a stream of smoke and emerged on the eastern side of the island. Two orange and yellow rivers of lava came out of the burning forest and rolled down a slope toward a stretch of beach. Between those two rivers stood a flat, rocky stretch leading toward a sharp dropoff.
Bodies lay strewn on the open surface there, at least a dozen of them, maybe more.
"Take us down," Campion ordered.
"Sir, they look dead," the pilot said. "No movement."
The co-pilot added, "Could it be gas from the eruption or something? Can't volcanoes do that?"
"Either way we need to get down there," Campion repeated his order.
To some it might have sounded as if Campion had, in fact, discovered a sentimental streak. But no, he knew those bodies might be the key to understanding what had happened on Tioga. Otherwise he would have left them for the vultures.
The Sea Stallion descended, rocking gently from the turbulence and cutting under a thick cloud of embers and ash along the way. Wheeled landing gear extended in preparation for touchdown.
"You should take a respirator," the pilot suggested.
Campion nudged Sal back into the cargo area and then faced his comrades.
"You two, grab a couple of respirators and tanks from the search and rescue gear. Go out, examine the bodies, bring a couple onboard. Stay in radio contact."
Roberts seemed jolted awake by the order. His boyish face tended to display his emotion rather clearly. In this case, that emotion suggested surprise and a little fear. The source of the fear was obvious; the surprise, no doubt, came from understanding that Campion would stay onboard the helicopter instead of investigating directly.
Campion did not have time to explain to him one simple fact: it now seemed likely that Major Gant had perished on Tioga Island. That put Campion in charge not only of the naval assets assigned to the operation but also Archangel's military detachment. In short, he was now too important to risk. This was not a situation Campion liked — he was a hands-on type of man. But the good of the team came first.
Both soldiers found and strapped on respirator masks and oxygen tanks over their BDUs.
Meanwhile, the Sea Stallion slowed and descended toward the plateau, fighting bands of smoke and ripples of turbulence on the way. Finally the wheels touched earth, and after the vehicle rolled a couple of feet, the rear gangway descended. A moment later Galati and Roberts emerged from the helicopter.
Sal led the way, a Heckler & Koch G36 slung across his person just in case things were not as quiet as they seemed. Roberts followed with an M4 Carbine in his grip. Bands of choking smoke blew over the scene. It seemed that this flat expanse of rock was positioned at just the right height to avoid the magma, like a tall stone in the middle of a stream.
Campion's voice broadcast to everyone on both choppers at the same time he radioed Galati and Roberts: "We don't have too much time before dark, so make it fast."
Sal did not seem to hear, but Roberts replied, "Understood, Cap."
The pair of explorers moved away from the helicopter and approached the mass of bodies spread over the ground. The people lying on that slab of rock had started their day dressed in colorful island garb ranging from blue and yellow floral shirts to summer dresses and even a couple in pajamas and bathrobes. However, the rain of smoke and ash had turned all the clothing gray and black.
"Look at these people," Sal said to Roberts directly but to everyone else as well via his headset. "No sign of movement. Man, they are sure dead."
He stepped among the cadavers, taking note of a teenage girl with bright red hair lying on her back with dead eyes staring at eternity. He also spied a man with a crooked nose and glasses as well as a woman in a tennis skirt lying facedown.
"What killed them?" Campion called.
"I dunno. Some of them are burned, a couple pretty good. Hell, maybe there is some gas from all this shit because that's kind of what it looks like. That or asphyxiation."
"We'll recover as many as we can," Campion said. "But this is not a great spot to hang out at. Work fast."
"Wells."
Roberts's voice grabbed the attention of everyone listening, particularly Sal Galati. He left the man with the crooked nose and the woman in the tennis skirt and ran over to Roberts, who knelt next to a black man wearing BDU pants and carrying a battle rifle.
"It's Wells," Roberts repeated.
Sal nearly pushed Roberts aside.
"It's him! It's Jupiter."
Campion asked over the radio, "Is he alive?"
"Checking … hang on … damn, it's hot here. No sign of burns but he ain't movin'."
Sal bent close and cradled his friend's head.
"Maybe the gas got him," Roberts said cautiously.
"Or maybe he passed out from all the heat," Sal countered. "I'm searching for a pulse."
Wells's eyes opened, just a little.
"He's alive!" Sal exclaimed. "He opened his eyes. He's looking right at me."
From high overhead in the second helicopter came Biggy Franco's voice: "Shit man, waking up to your ugly mug probably makes him wish he was back in the volcano."
18
Lieutenant Colonel Liz Thunder sat at her desk on sublevel one at the Darwin Research facility.
She had changed from her dress uniform to green BDUs after having used a shower at the facility to clean off some sweat and mental grind. Still, her eyes carried bags and fatigue trembled in her voice. Worse, falling asleep in her office chair during the night had left her with a pain in the lower back and her left shoulder feeling numb.
Across from her stood General Albert Friez. He had spent all night traveling across the country from Washington to Fort Irwin with a few stops in between. If he suffered from a lack of sleep or physical fatigue it did not show. Then again, he seemed less a man and more a walking, talking uniform, particularly with his hat pulled down tight above his eyes. It seemed his clothing served the same purpose as a suit of armor; to protect the wearer. From what, she did not know. It was possible that his emphasis on rank and appearances was one way he managed to keep the nastiness, dirtiness, and downright horrifying aspects of his job at arm's length.
I wonder if he sleeps soundly, or if he has nightmares.
Captain Campion's voice came over the speaker phone on top of the desk.
"The doctors onboard say that his only injuries are dehydration as part of overall heat exhaustion and fatigue."
"But the other bodies you found were killed by gas?"
"That's the preliminary opinion of the medical team onboard the Peleliu, but they've only taken a look at a handful of the bodies so far. Given the eruption and all, they are guessing sulfur dioxide poisoning as the likely cause of death. But that is preliminary."
Thunder glanced at a note lying on her desk, then to Friez, who said, "That might not be the case, Captain."
Liz picked up, "According to the USGS, there are no indications of an eruption on Tioga Island. They did monitor a tremor in that area, but nothing on the scale of an eruption."
"With all due respect, Colonel, I've been to the island. I'm no geologist, but there is no doubt that there are lava flows. The task force is holding about ten miles away from Tioga and we can see the fires burning on the island in the dark. It's like some Old Testament image of hell. Just about everything on land has burned to the ground. Everything I saw tells me that this volcano went up, and that's also what Wells said when he started mumbling during the night."
"I understand that, Captain," Thunder answered. "I'm no geo
logist, either. But the people who are geologists say their instrumentation does not indicate an eruption in the traditional sense. That doesn't call into question what you're seeing on the island, but it does question why you're seeing it."
"I don't follow," Campion said.
"She's saying," Friez spoke, "that the lava flows and fires you're seeing do not appear to be the work of natural volcanic activity."
Thunder asked, "Wells told you he saw some kind of armed force on the island?"
"Yes, Colonel. He also says he saw zombies."
She looked to the General again, who leaned closer to the speaker and replied, "Is it possible he is suffering from delusions caused by his condition?"
"I suppose so, sir," Campion answered, "but I doubt it. I mean, he is very tired and pretty much bedridden at this point, but he's been very consistent on that. He said he, Gant, and Dr. Stacy actually got into a firefight with the things and they were difficult to destroy until some kind of plane flew overhead and dropped a chemical or some type of compound from the air."
Friez stood straight again. Liz relaxed in her chair.
Campion went on, "Wells said he saw a ship docked at the island prior to the eruption, loading, well, sounds crazy, but they were loading bodies."
"Bodies?"
"Yes, General. Wells says he saw a ship docked at the island and that armed men in biohazard gear were cleaning up bodies around the island with heavy equipment and dumping them onboard a freighter."
Thunder said, "And then came the eruption? Or, what appeared to be an eruption?"
"According to Wells, yes ma'am."
"Okay, Captain, what is your status right now?"
Campion answered the general: "As I mentioned, the task force is only a few miles offshore. We'll start running sorties again when dawn breaks here, but I don't know if things will have cooled own enough to send in shore parties. From what we saw last night, the lava has done a good job of burning everything to the ground. Lots of fires still, and lots of heat, although it looks like the amount of stuff coming from the volcano has slowed to a trickle."
The Cannibal Virus Page 18