by J. L. Bourne
USS George Washington
At about the same time Dean found sleep, a loud rap on the door woke Admiral Goettleman from his own rest, prompting a deluge of cursing as he pulled his legs over the side of the bed into his slippers. On his way to the noise, he looked up at the time—0300 hours. He cracked the door open to see his two guards standing like stone sentries next to Joe Maurer.
“Sir, I have a priority-one communiqué for you from the facility. I’m the only one onboard that has seen this and you are going to want to read it right away.”
Joe moved past the sentries and inside, closer to the admiral’s desk, and handed him the locked bag containing the message just received via secure wire.
“Close the door, Joe.”
After whispering something to the sentries, Joe did what he was told.
The admiral pulled the key out of his desk and unlocked the bag. Inside was a briefing folder with numerous classification markings. He put on his reading glasses and began to scan the cable.
BEGIN TRANSMISSION
KLIEGLIGHT SERIAL 205
RTTUZYUW-RQHNQN-00000-RRRRR-Y
T O P S E C R E T//SAP HORIZON
SUBJ: NEVADA SPECIMEN ALPHA REACTION TO MINGYONG ANOMALY
RMKS: BY ORDER OF COG AUTHORITY, THIS STATION EXTRACTED ONE OF FOUR DECEASED SPECIMENS FROM DEEP AND LONGTERM CRYOGENIC CONTAINMENT. THIS STATION EXPOSED SPECIMEN ALPHA (FIRST SPECIMEN RECOVERED FROM 1947 CRASH SITE) TO AMBIENT AIR INSIDE A CONTROLLED AND SECURE TESTING FACILITY ON OUTBREAK D+335.
BACKGROUND: HUMAN TEST SUBJECTS REANIMATE ON AVERAGE AT + ~60 MINUTES FROM TIME OF DEATH BASED ON ROOM TEMPERATURES—LOWER TEMPERATURE LENGTHENS REANIMATION TIME—AND NATURAL CAUSE OF DEATH (NO EPIDERMAL BREACH). REANIMATION FOR HUMANS WITH UNDEAD INDUCED EPIDERMAL BREACH NEAR MAJOR ARTERIES HAS BEEN NOTED ON MANY OCCASIONS AT LESS THAN ONE HOUR. LESS THAN THIRTY MINUTES FOR SMALLER SUBJECTS.
SUMMARY: UPON RELEASE FROM THE CLOSED CRYOGENIC CAPSULE STORAGE ENVIRONMENT, SPECIMEN ALPHA IMMEDIATELY REACTED TO THE MINGYONG ANOMALY, BEGINNING REANIMATION PROCESS INDICATED BY ERRATIC MOVEMENT AND VOCAL NOISE FROM A MOUTH ORIFICE. FULL REANIMATION WAS NOTED BY OBSERVATION TEAM AT FOUR MINUTES, TWELVE SECONDS. SPECIMEN ALPHA WAS SELECTED FOR TESTING BASED ON BODY CONDITION. MOST OF THE SPECIMEN’S LOWER TORSO WAS MISSING FROM INJURIES SUSTAINED IN THE 1947 SHOOT DOWN.
THIS EXPERIMENT RESULTED IN TWO CASUALTIES.
SPECIMEN ALPHA—DESPITE MISSING LOWER EXTREMITIES—WAS ABLE TO COMPROMISE THE STEEL DOORS OF THE ENGINE TESTING FACILITY AND KILL TWO SPECIAL OPERATIONS PERSONNEL BEFORE AUXILIARY TEAMS WERE ABLE TO DEPLOY COUNTERMEASURES ON THE CREATURE AND THE NEWLY REANIMATED OPERATORS. SMALL ARMS WERE NOTED AS MOSTLY INEFFECTIVE. ALTHOUGH DIFFICULT TO EXTRAPOLATE THE REANIMATED STRENGTH DEMONSTRATED BY SPECIMEN ALPHA, THE DESTROYED STEEL DOOR WAS RATED TO WITHSTAND PRESSURE FLUCTUATIONS OF EXPERIMENTAL ENGINE TESTING.
IT IS TACTICALLY SIGNIFICANT TO NOTE THAT SECOND ORDER MEDICAL EFFECTS WERE EXPERIENCED BY EXPOSED PERSONNEL IN DIRECT LINE OF SIGHT TO SPECIMEN ALPHA. THEY INCLUDE MIGRAINE HEADACHES AND EXTREME FATIGUE SYMPTOMS IN ALL PERSONNEL IN VICINITY OF THE CREATURE DURING THE TWELVE MINUTES OF REANIMATION. THESE MEDICAL EFFECTS SUBSIDED IMMEDIATELY AFTER SPECIMEN ALPHA’S BRAIN WAS DESTROYED VIA FLAME THROWER.
IT IS ALSO TACTICALLY SIGNIFICANT TO NOTE THAT THE REANIMATION OF THE TWO DECEASED SPECIAL OPERATIONS PERSONNEL OCCURRED ALMOST IMMEDIATELY. THE TWO REANIMATED OPERATORS DISPLAYED CHARACTERISTICS SIMILAR TO BASELINE UNDEAD THAT HAD BEEN EXPOSED TO HIGH LEVELS OF RADIATION FROM THE CITIES THAT WERE DESTROYED BY TACTICAL NUCLEAR WEAPONS. THE REANIMATED OPERATORS WERE ORDERED DESTROYED ALONG WITH SPECIMEN ALPHA.
SPECIMENS BRAVO, CHARLIE, AND DELTA REMAIN IN SECURE COLD STORAGE AND UNEXPOSED TO THE MINGYONG ANOMALY AS OF THIS TRANSMISSION.
T O P S E C R E T//SAP HORIZON
END TEXT TRANSMISSION
BT
AR
• • •
Admiral Goettleman spoke, eyes still fixated on the cable. “Looks like our theories were flat-out wrong. Our best minds bet on the Mingyong anomaly having no effect. The two creatures were at least twenty thousand years apart in evolution. The Office of Naval Intelligence is the originator of this report?”
“Yes, sir. One of their analysts drafted this up immediately after the experiment.”
“Who else knows?”
“The surviving COG, of course, the Nevada facilities, the remnants of the intelligence apparatus, myself, and now you.”
“Very well. Some of the senior officers onboard will be inquiring soon. We’ll need to tell them that the experiment was never carried out due to cryogenic complications. There is no benefit that I can see of informing them of this outcome.”
Reluctantly, Joe dissented. “What about Task Force Hourglass? It would increase mission success if we were to let them know what they might be up against. The creature in that report didn’t have legs, and was still able to wreak havoc—it killed two highly trained military personnel. Although not twenty thousand years old, the Nevada specimen was soaked and infused with preservative and flash frozen for decades before being reanimated by whatever is causing this. The creature inflicted massive damage—there is no question about that.”
Admiral Goettleman sat for a minute, staring down at his desk, before speaking. “Let’s hold off on this. Virginia is due in Hawaiian waters tonight and there’s no need to raise the alarm bells quite yet. Before we tell them what we know, that is if we decide to tell them, we’ll need to take that report and turn it into actionable intelligence. Case in point—fire may be the only way to neutralize CHANG, or whatever it is. Although fire didn’t kill Specimen Alpha instantaneously, it is the only validated means to destroy a reanimated gray—we’ve just confirmed that. I’m also a little puzzled by the psychological effects mentioned in the report. We’ll need more information. No need to go off half cocked without analyzing the data.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Get some sleep, Joe, you look like shit. It’s three in the morning, take what you need. Thanks for stopping by with this. When you get the chance, not now but later, brief me on the things we’re holding back aft. What are they calling them? Was it Bourbon or something like that?”
“Causeway and Downtown. They were named after their capture points. The Downtown specimen received hundreds of times the radiation of Causeway in the blast. The eggheads are measuring the effects. Soon, they’ll be in final phases of experimentation. They’ll alter brain function—surgically. Also, they are suspicious that this, whatever it is, causes some type of vision enhancement.”
“Yes, well, more about it when you wake up. Better turn in.”
“Will do, sir, see you in a few.”
Joe departed the room under a different mind-set. He felt more concerned than ever for the members of Hourglass. Also, there were whispers onboard. Talk of a young boy and his claims that he heard the moans of the undead—likely Downtown or Causeway—in an area aft through a fan room bulkhead. Rumors that he’d need to brief the leadership about after getting some sleep. Joe’s boot heels clicked on the glossy blue tile as he made his way back to the SCIF to destroy the compartmented report.
30
USS Virginia
Captain Larsen sat in his chair at the conn. All navigation instrumentation indicated that USS Virginia was off the northern shore of Oahu. It was 2300 hours local Hawaii time, full dark.
“COB, up periscope. Let’s have a peek.”
“Aye, sir.”
The master chief proceeded to use the night-vision capability of the periscope to reconnoiter the coastline.
“What do you see?”
“Sir, there’s fire in the distance. I’d switch to another spectrum, but I don’t think it would help. I see palm trees bent and blasted in our direction like an explosion snapped them over. I’ll scan the shore a bit.”
“Very well.”
The master chief slowly panned along the shoreline. What was a mile offshore seemed like only a few feet with the sub’s p
owerful periscope optics. Except . . .
“There’s something wrong with the scope, Captain,” said the COB, still glued to the eye shields.
“What do you mean?”
“The shoreline is grainy. I can’t focus on it.”
“Move aside.” The COB stepped down from the periscope, allowing the captain to have his first look at Oahu in the three years since he was last in port on another boat—the one before he took his current command.
Captain Larsen peered through the optics, out at the shoreline, allowing his eyes to adjust. “I can’t see anything, COB, what do you mean?”
“Captain, the shoreline is grainy. Like something is wrong with the software.”
“Well, I missed my eye appointment this year, so my prescription may not be up to date. Remind me to make that appointment if we ever get back to the mainland.”
Some laughs spread around the conn between the sailors.
“I’ll do that, sir.”
The captain looked around the conn for younger eyes and saw Kil standing there in coveralls, holding a cup of coffee.
“Commander, why don’t you have a look with those aviator eyes of yours?”
“You got it, Skipper,” Kil said to the captain, attempting to pull some humor from the old man.
“I thought I told you this wasn’t a goddamned ready room.”
“My apologies, Captain, force of habit,” Kil replied with a half smile as he approached the periscope.
Kil leaned down to the eye shields just as the COB reached over to adjust the height. Kil nodded a thanks and had a look.
“Oh shit.”
“What’s the situation?”
“Captain, there’s nothing wrong with your periscope . . . those are mobs of creatures on the shoreline. It might look like static to those of you not fortunate enough to have twenty-fifteen vision. Looks like thousands of them.”
“How could they know we’re here?! We came in at the dead of night on a goddamned fast-attack nuclear submarine!” the captain said angrily, addressing the whole conn.
“Captain, I don’t think they did.”
“Then how can this be?”
Kil stepped up to the grease board and began to illustrate.
“Captain, this is a rough representation of Oahu. Although not quite a circle, it is obviously an island. To understand why the dead are on the North Shore is to understand why they move, and the rudimentary way in which they think—so to speak. I, of course, don’t mean they think in the same way we do, but in the way one of those automatic robot vacuum cleaners might move, or perhaps a child’s toy. Do any of you know the term diaspora?
One of the sailors raised his hand and said, “I’m Jewish—I’ve read about it.”
“Well, then you’ll likely know what I’m getting at. In all my travels in and across undead-infested areas, I have learned their priority of movement. The number one influence to undead migration is sound. The number two is visual stimulus from something they identify as alive. If sound is not present, I think they may spread in much the same way as a good break in a game of pool: outward.”
The captain had the appearance of a student in a college classroom, suddenly interested in the subject matter being presented. “Are you saying that the dead have spread to the shore all the way around?”
“With Oahu being a relatively small landmass with a relatively large population per square mile comparatively, I think what we see on the North Shore is not an anomaly. I’d be willing to bet that if we steamed around the entire island, we’d see creatures on every open beach. They have spread out as far as they can go. There may be inland pockets but the majority of the undead, based on what we’ve seen, are likely spread out around the edge of the island. Strange that they’re not in hibernation like many I’ve come across, but it could be that the sounds of the waves are keeping them moving.”
“All right, Commander, if what you hypothesize is true, what are your tactical assessments for the incursion?”
Kil answered without much hesitation. “If the SOF team can punch through this belt of undead, they may experience a lighter density as they move closer to the center of the island. This of course assumes they don’t gather too much attention on their way in.”
“You’re starting to earn your place around here instead of just taking up good bunk space and drinking our coffee.”
The crew in the conn murmured a few laughs again at the captain’s humor.
“Yes, sir, I’ve already started my submarine qualification. Looks like I’ll earn my dolphins before we get back to CONUS.”
The captain nearly spit out his coffee. “Like hell!”
Kil suspected that his respectful banter with the captain might be good for crew morale. The submarine had no executive officer, and the old man had his hands full cracking the whip and managing the health and welfare of his crew.
“COB, order the Scan Eagle crew to unpack their gear and get ready for UAV launch at sunup tomorrow. We’ll get a look for ourselves.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Kil took another look through the periscope and adjusted the focus. There was no doubt: the North Shore crawled with creatures forming a dense barrier of death. It reminded him of playing Red Rover as a child.
Red Rover, Red Rover, send the warm bloods right over, he imagined the creatures saying with raspy dead voices while he watched them mill about on the beach.
31
Arctic North
Crusow sat shaking from the blood-freezing cold he had endured at the bottom of the gulch—the place where Bret had met his fate a few hours earlier. Crusow wore insulated long johns while he sipped hot tea. Mark and Kung sat beside him. Larry stared from across the metal research table, wearing a face mask to protect the others from the serious illness he continued to endure. Everyone heard Larry’s labored breathing; his lungs sounded as if they were full of rocks.
Coughing violently, he flamed at Crusow. “What the fuck happened? Were you settling a score down there?”
“No. Why don’t you simmer down a minute before you get yourself worked up—it’ll just make you worse off than you already are. We can all see the shape you’re in.”
Larry slammed both fists on the table, leaning over into Crusow’s face. Larry was a tough read, as the mask concealed everything but his cold, bloodshot eyes. “I was there when Bret said those things about your wife. I saw how pissed you got. You sure some of that didn’t come out down there at the bottom?”
“Larry, my wife is gone. And yeah, I hated Bret because he’s a military asshole, just like you’re a military asshole. That doesn’t mean I’d murder him like an animal, no matter what he said about Trish.”
Larry leaned back and sat down on the cold bench. Although his face was mostly hidden, everyone noticed him slowly spinning down from his rage over Bret’s unexpected death. He’s probably delirious, Crusow thought.
“Larry, we’re not military like you. I know you guys don’t talk much about yourselves, and none of us really know why you are really up here anyway, but I think you’re still human despite all that training. For example, if you were a selfish prick like Bret, you wouldn’t be wearing that mask.”
Larry adjusted his mask, tightening the straps. “Well, if we lose your sorry ass, we’re all dead anyway.”
Mark jumped in to defuse the situation. “Larry, that’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk to anybody here, except your military buddies. They’re all gone now, pal, so you’re going to have to start opening up some if you want to work together.”
Even though none of them could see Larry’s face, his eyes acknowledged that Mark was onto something.
“What were you guys looking for out there before all this shit happened?” Mark asked.
Larry looked down at his hands, tracking them as they reached for the teacup. “Ice cores. We were drilling goddamned ice cores. We have a rig set up a few klicks southwest.”
“What’s so damn Secret Squirrel about that?”
“I haven’t spoken about this to anyone because I signed an agreement that would put me in prison if I did,” Larry said, coughing heavily into his mask. “Remember back before all this shit, some asshole on that watchdog site leaked those government documents? He got his, but not before the economy started coming apart. I don’t know exactly why we were drilling for the cores, but I do know a few things. I suppose since I’ve confirmed that the whole world is fucked, there is no reason why I can’t talk.” Larry was pale, looking as if he might need an IV bag, and twenty hours in his bunk.
“So what the hell are you waiting for? Go on,” said Mark.
“Me, Bret, and the others weren’t told much, just that there might be something of national security interest in the ice. Not just anywhere though.” Larry hesitated for a moment, standing up and limping to the other side of the room to remove his mask and take a sip of tea.
He put his mask firmly back in place and walked back to the table. “Me and the other military folks were here for security and to make sure there were no leaks if we found something strange down here. We were told to expect anything. We were also informed that the core drillers were ordered to take the bit down twenty thousand years into the ice.
“Our chain-of-command was pretty specific. They wanted the ice from twenty thousand years back. Give or take a few hundred. The orders came down from the White House NSC, directly from the intelligence community. Apparently they were searching for something there right before all this shit went down. I got nothing linking any of this together, but me and the other cleared people suspected there was some sort of link. The timing was too suspicious. Half of this facility’s military and civilian crew jumped ship last spring. I think a few of them knew more about all this than I did. That’s all I know.”
“Damn,” Crusow said, spitting a stale sunflower seed shell into an empty Solo cup. “You don’t think that something out of that ice did this?”
“I don’t see how—the world was crawling with undead and we didn’t drill anything out of that ice but a few core samples. We didn’t have time, everything happened so quickly. Those useless cores are locked in that shipping container, ready for transport. That’ll never happen. I’m not saying that anything we were after caused all this shit, I’m just saying that the timing is strange. I’ve never seen orders like this.” Larry’s cough was getting worse.