"And no signs of Wells's mystery visitors?" Thunder asked.
"No, ma'am. But we will expand our reconnaissance west and south of the island based on the ship he saw. Odds are, it's long out of the area though."
"Keep up the search, Captain," Friez ordered. "We'll try and make sense of things on our end."
"Yes, General. Peleliu out," he said, and the line went dead.
Friez turned away from the desk and walked around the office. For a moment Thunder thought she saw a glimmer of sentiment in his eye. After all, this office had been his for years, until his promotion to Washington last fall.
"We'll try to make sense of things," she repeated Friez's last words to Campion. "Actually, I think it's starting to make a lot of sense."
"Explain," The general demanded.
"A crew comes in and cleans up the mess, then an eruption — or something like one — burns the evidence to the ground. It sounds to me like someone tested a biological weapon on Tioga Island and then tried to erase their tracks."
"Then you're suggesting zombies as a biological weapon, if Wells was right."
"Who knows what he really saw," she said. "Crazy people, something like rabies, who knows? Until we have some sort of hard evidence, all we have to go on is a short report from a soldier who has suffered extreme fatigue and heat exhaustion, and we're getting that report from the other side of the Pacific Ocean."
She spoke but Friez barely listened as he retreated to the far corner of the room and rested an arm on her filing cabinet. He seemed off in thought.
"General? Sir?"
He spoke, seemingly to himself: "Zombies as a biological weapon. Or something like that. Just thinking off the top of my head but that sort of thing is a whole new level of warfare."
"A whole new level of nasty, you mean."
He took notice of her again.
"Yes, very nasty. A weapon that turns people into a crazed mob. That sort of thing would have the potential to overrun a metropolitan area in short order, depending on rate of infection."
Liz felt a chill run up her spine. He had a particular look in his eye. Not quite a kid on Christmas morning, not quite a doctor sifting through microbes in a petri dish, but something in between. She had seen that look on the faces of military researchers before. Hell, she had had that look in her own eyes in the past. The result had been the loss of test subjects, an investigation, and the threat of a court martial.
"General, if you didn't know about this then I'm guessing we're not playing both sides of the same coin here."
"Rest assured, Colonel, if the defense department was experimenting with a biological weapon this revolutionary, I would have a file on it."
She did not like the way he said "revolutionary."
"I can't believe it. You are interested in this. As a bio weapon."
"I told you, we are not involved, Colonel."
"If not us, then obviously the Russians," Thunder said.
"What? I suppose that's a possibility."
She stood fast, pressed a finger into her desk, and insisted loudly, "It must be the Russians. They're the only ones into stuff like this."
Friez approached her, tilted his head as if studying her, and then said, "Of course. One mention of the Russians and unconventional programs would send you flying off the handle. This is not a time for your personal feelings to get in the way of your judgment."
"They’re not."
"Yes they are, Colonel. A few years ago you were running a program that was about as far out there as zombies as a bioweapon. Then things got really fucked up and one of your test subjects defected to the Russians."
"He didn't defect. He was abducted."
"Not the way we see it, Colonel. But I believe all that came out during the committee hearings. You pushed and pushed until your entire operation fell to pieces. How many dead? Six? Seven? So don't stand there and lecture me about nasty programs. There was a time when you were the Queen of Nasty at the Pentagon."
Liz took a deep breath, held it, and let out a long exhale.
"Good. Calm down, Colonel Thunder. The reason you are sitting here at Darwin isn't because of the Blue project, but because of what you did at Red Rock. Despite everything going on, you put the pieces together and stopped that place from falling apart. You redeemed yourself, at least in my eyes."
Liz looked at the ceiling, then the desk, then the ceiling again.
"Point is, Colonel, the Russians aren't always the boogeymen. There are a lot of rogue governments, crazy scientists, and even private entities that like to explore this type of thing. What we have to do now is concentrate on dealing with what we know. So you tell me. What's next?"
She sat down in her chair, folded her arms, and told him, "Campion starts aerial searches again at dawn to try and find Major Gant and Dr. Stacy. If there was a ship that left the island yesterday, then they have to try and find that, too. Because if they don't, General, all we have is a pile of lava and a burned out island."
* * *
The lights flickered on, turning the dark room into a very bright one instantaneously. In response, Major Gant exploded awake as if the light had physically slapped him.
He glanced across the square chamber and saw that Dr. Stacy had suffered the same reaction, sitting up fast on her bunk with her eyes blinking fast and breathing in fast huffs. She probably wished the whole thing had been a bad dream, going back months ago to when she had accepted the position of scientific consultant for the team.
For some reason their captors had allowed him to keep his watch, so while the windowless chamber offered no clue as to time of day, a glance at his wrist told him it was six in the morning, or 0600 hours military time.
"Rise and shine," he said wiping sleepers from his eyes and reaching for his BDU shirt, which he had taken off so as to be more comfortable.
Their "quarters" consisted of the one main chamber with a pair of cots on either side as well as a tiny bathroom with a shower stall. Lighting came from a bank of fluorescents and there were no decorations, no features, not even a ventilation shaft that might be conveniently large enough for Stacy to escape through (as she had joked, upon their arrival).
"Another beautiful morning," she quipped through sagging, red eyes. "I can't believe you actually managed to sleep."
"Who said I managed to sleep?"
"You snore, Major. Loud enough to wake the dead." She paused, considered, and then chuckled.
"Funny, I've never heard myself snore," he replied, using the same line he used with Jean time after time in response to her annoyance at the buzz-saw-like noises he apparently made when in deep slumber.
Stacy responded with a yawn.
Gant wondered what his wife was doing at that moment. Given that it was six o'clock in the morning — at least according to his watch, which was set to Tioga time — it might be as late as twelve noon in California.
She had recently taken up a part-time volunteer position with an adoption center, so perhaps she was grabbing lunch on the go. Or maybe she was at home, tending the garden or dusting the furniture or repainting the trim in the living room; she had mentioned wanting to do that the other day.
And here he sat, locked away in a "guest room" on another hidden island at the mercy of a couple of the most warped nut cases he had come upon during his time with Archangel. They would almost be comical if not for the backing of a mercenary goon squad and access to what appeared to be an organism perfectly designed for wiping out human life.
Monroe the idealist using what Gant guessed to be a tool of opportunity to forward his extreme rescue plan for Mother Earth, and Waters, a tormented, sick individual who alternated between brilliant doctor and sociopath on a minute-by-minute basis.
The long-term question was, how did these two come upon the recipe for this killer fungus? The short-term question revolved around survival, with the added hope of sending word to the outside about what was going on here. From what Gant had seen on Tioga and in Waters's test cha
mber, this infection held the potential to accomplish Monroe's fantasy.
"So how did you do it?" Stacy asked again. "Fall asleep, I mean."
"I was tired. Very tired."
After watching agent Costa die, the two had been sent to this particular room, where they had found a meal of noodles, rice, and chunks of pork, all seemingly microwaved but deceptively delicious thanks to their lack of food for nearly twenty-four hours. Of course Gant appreciated the bottles of water the most, and a hot shower had not hurt, either.
So they had eaten and then cleaned up with the separate bathroom providing some measure of privacy.
One of Stacy's first questions had been, "Why are they keeping us together?" Gant had told her the obvious: "Because the room is bugged and they want us to talk."
That had ended any discussion of Archangel, the hope that the support team would find them, or their personal backgrounds. Gant did not even feel comfortable trying to talk sports, fearful that his allegiance to the Atlanta Falcons football team might somehow lead the bad guys back home.
Avoiding conversation had ended up being surprisingly easy, given their level of exhaustion. Thom had fallen asleep at some point around midnight when he realized that whatever tests Waters planned would wait until morning.
It seemed Stacy had struggled, and he felt sorry for her, although he realized with some appreciation that her struggles came because she was not accustomed to facing death on a routine basis. In his book, that qualified on some level as "innocent."
A heavy thud announced the retraction of a locking bolt. A moment later the door swung open. A guard in a black military tunic stood there, with at least three more in the hall, as had been the case when they had retrieved the empty dinner plates. These guards, or so it seemed, would not fall victim to the usual ploys. They came in groups too large to be handled by the typical Hollywood action movie ruses.
The guard tossed in water bottles to both Gant and Stacy, followed by chocolate-flavored power bars.
"Gee, thanks, but I ordered the eggs benedict," Stacy quipped, trying to sound funny, although her voice quivered far too much.
Again the bolt slid shut, locking them in.
"Breakfast of champions," she said as she held the bar and examined it.
"Better eat," he told her. "You will need all the energy you can get."
She sneered and tossed the bar onto the small cot … but after a second picked it up, read the wrapper, and peeled it open.
"It's not bad, actually," Gant admitted after his first bite.
Stacy followed his lead and ate. She had just finished when the door opened again, and this time Dr. Waters led the security team. He stood in the open doorway, leaning on his cane, and offered his prisoners a sort of wry smile.
"Major Gant, I hope you got a good night's sleep. We have a few exercises for you to take part in."
Thom had known this moment would come; the moment when he would play the role of Agent Costa while Waters and his scientists watched, making notes of his struggle as if studying a germ under a microscope.
"I don't think I want to," he said. He got up off the cot and stood straight as he spoke, with his eyes on the guards' truncheons and assault rifles.
"I'm sorry, Major, but participation is mandatory."
"Honestly, Doctor Waters, I think I would rather be shot right here where I stand than be a lab rat in a test with no chance of winning. Let's say I prefer bullets to a morning of fighting off walking dead people until I am so exhausted I am overwhelmed."
The doctor's watery eyes grew a little wide for a moment. In fact, Thom thought he saw a hint of disappointment, maybe even fear. Yes, the fear that he might have to shoot dead what would otherwise be a valuable test subject.
Thom Gant had only one thing left with which to bargain. He decided to see what he could get out of it.
"Tell you what," the major spoke before Waters could gather his thoughts. "I'll be the best lab rat you could hope for, as long as Dr. Stacy here is kept out of the experiments. She is not military, and therefore her response will be the same as that of the islanders. You will gain nothing from testing her."
"I'm sorry, Major, but that's not negotiable. Besides, if I truly believed she was of no use I would have terminated her already. However, I can promise that she will not be subjected to the same type of tests that Agent Costa faced and you yourself face. You are correct in that she would not be of any value in that regard."
Gant glanced at Stacy and he wondered if what they had planned for her might be worse than the Costa test.
"Very well, then," Gant took a deep breath. "You might as well kill me here, in this cell. I consider that a better death than what I saw yesterday."
It seemed that, once he had overcome his initial surprise at Gant's obstinacy, Waters found some enjoyment in this particular game.
"What if I promised you a significant respite between each test? I know! What if I told you this test would involve your use of a loaded and fully functional firearm? Think of that, Major. I'm going to give you a gun. I know how soldiers like guns. That is a much better offer than I've ever made."
Stacy seemed on the verge of crying, but managed to maintain enough control to tell him, "We saw that on Tioga."
"Yes, yes you did," Waters responded. "Of course, I could just have the guards beat you to the point of submission and throw you into the laboratory."
"But that would skew your results. You want me in good health. That is why you are providing a breakfast, of sorts, and why you had us stay in relatively comfortable quarters for the night."
Waters smiled and nodded.
"You are correct. But my best offer is on the table. Take it, as they say," Waters turned to two of his escort, both of whom stepped forward with their clubs at the ready, "or leave it."
Thom looked to her, then back to Waters, then to her again.
The call to Tioga Island had been her first mission with the military detachment of Archangel. It seemed likely to be her last, and he would lose yet another science officer on the job.
"I think I am going to accept his offer. My choices, it seems, are limited."
"Thank you, Thom," she said and touched his shoulder. "For trying and all."
He respected how she struggled to maintain control over her emotions. She knew death waited for her that day, and most likely a rather horrible death in a bizarre dungeon surrounded by madmen. Most people would have broken down completely. She actually maintained some control. He hoped they both made it out of this predicament; he wanted to see what the future held for Dr. Annabelle Stacy. It seemed General Friez's recruitment of her had been a wise decision.
Thom felt the tap of a truncheon on his shoulder as two guards moved in and encouraged him into the hall.
"Don't give up, Doctor," he called back to her as he was pulled from the room. "Do whatever it takes to survive."
And then he was in a hall that seemed to cut across one end of the oval-shaped facility. He noted additional doors that might be offices and storage rooms on either side of the corridor, but not a lot of people.
"While I can guess what you have in store for me, what is on her schedule for the day?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I cannot discuss that. I'm sure you understand," Dr. Waters responded.
"Tell me something, Dr. Waters, do you really need all this detailed information prior to releasing your biological weapon, or do you just have fun treating people like test animals?"
They came to one of the main corridors and directed Gant to the left.
"I am a scientist. In order for our project to be successful, we must account for every variable. The data I collect today will have direct results on application of the organism in the field."
Gant stopped. A pair of clubs quickly touched his shoulders. The other two guards — the ones with AKMs — raised their rifles. However, the major did not attack or try to escape. He simply met Waters's watery eyes with a penetrating stare.
"You know wha
t I think? I think you are afraid. You are still back in your childhood village, facing the monster that came out of the river. On some warped, insane level you think that if you can create enough of your own monsters, then you will finally beat it."
The doctor's mouth opened but sort of hung there. His expression alternated between a hint of a crazy grin and something like a frown.
"You won't, you know. You won't ever beat it. It has already won, Doctor."
"You are forgetting, Major, I survived."
Gant shook his head.
"No, you didn't. It gobbled you up like everyone else in the village. You are just so far gone that you do not realize it."
The doctor stood quiet for a moment. He blinked once, then twice, and then he grunted and pointed his cane at a door along the wall. Two of the guards shoved Thom in that direction, a third stood off covering them with a weapon, and the fourth pushed a button that caused the heavy metal door to slide open, revealing darkness.
At that point the escort split, two going off to perform other duties, the remaining two following Gant and Waters inside into what appeared to be an observation area highlighted by a big rectangular window looking in on a test chamber similar to Costa's final resting place.
The outer door slid shut. Almost all of the light in the room came from the adjoining lab, which was, again, almost pure white and brightly lit. Gant could nearly see the future; a future where those white walls were splashed with his red blood.
Waters regained his poise and said, "Okay Major, it's your turn in the barrel."
One of the two guards in the room drew his sidearm, which Gant recognized as a Makarov pistol. The other used a hand and his club to direct Gant into the next room, where he passed a small, empty table.
"Against the wall, Major, just for a moment."
Gant did as instructed, placing his hands against the far wall, although before he did he noticed another door off to his right, this one with a big red label depicting the number fifteen.
He heard a sound — a rattle maybe — and sensed the guards retreating. A moment later the exit slammed shut with a corresponding clang.
Gant took his hands from the wall and turned.
The Cannibal Virus Page 19