Emergence (Book 4): Eradication

by Sawyer, JT

  “I got tackled hard a few times playin’ football in high school and bruised my ribs bad—that’s not fun.”

  Carl rolled the window down and leaned out to spit a stream of chewing tobacco. “Never could get into football. Wrestling was my thing in school—good enough to get me a scholarship to U of Georgia. That’s how I dinged up my other shoulder, though not as bad. I was wrestling this big fella from Raleigh when he…” Carl paused, his jaw hanging open as he slammed on the brakes. A massive pine tree was resting across the road, its recently shattered branches splayed out in every direction.

  Carl slid the stick shift into park and then swung open the creaky truck door and stepped out. He removed the Remington shotgun from the seat and ambled over to the tree while Dylan walked alongside him.

  “Lightning bolt, maybe,” said the younger man.

  “Nah, there’d be a streak of fried wood snaking its way up the trunk, plus the crown is still pretty intact and it’s not smoldering at all.” He walked towards the snapped-off section of the tree to the right, its jagged edges resembling the ends of a shaggy mop. A few feet away, along the edge of the road, was the upright section of the base, eight feet high, its roots still intact. “Looks like something that would happen in a windstorm.”

  He heard some branches snapping behind the vehicle and spun around, swinging his shotgun up. Dylan followed suit and both men cautiously walked around to the passenger’s side of the truck. Carl could see a squirrel darting across the road but kept his shotgun leveled ahead. “Sounded too big to be a critter but I don’t see anythin’ else out there.”

  He looked at the dwindling ribbon of black smoke emanating from the tailgate bucket. “Why don’t you refill that thing with some rubber strips while I get the saw out and see about cuttin’ away some of the branches so we can get around it.”

  Carl leaned inside the bed of the truck and moved aside a crate full of canned goods to retrieve a thirty-inch bucksaw. He would have preferred to use a chainsaw but the noise was too much of a safety risk. He and his group of seven other survivors had learned that sound discipline was essential, which meant no generators, chainsaws, or appliances at their cabin. They used candles after dark and had blotted out the windows of the thirty-by-thirty structure while living like 19th century pioneers for the past eight days.

  He removed the saw and walked along the road, cutting off to the left once he reached the tree. He followed it to the canopy, which was partially shrouded in a clump of saplings that had come crashing down around it. Weaving through the cluster of mangled branches, he stopped at the terminus of the pine tree, his eyes noticing something glinting in the mid-day sun. Carl moved closer, squatting down on one knee. He saw a large section of steel cable lashed around the ten-inch section of the trunk, its edges having dug deep into the bark. What the hell?

  He rested the saw against the tree then got up and followed the cable through the undergrowth until he came to a swath of tracks in the muddy soil. He could make out a dozen separate footprints that had dug deeply into the soil alongside the end of the cable, which appeared to have tiny bits of skin attached to the steel fibers. He glanced back at the full length of the tree trunk where the other end of the cable was attached. Shit—this tree didn’t fall over.

  A shrill sound filled the air, causing a flock of mourning doves to scatter from their roost in a nearby maple tree. Carl’s senses prickled as they had during the past week of assaults by the monsters. He turned to run back to the road, hearing a single gunshot followed by a high-pitched shriek coming from the truck. His breath quickened as his pace increased. Dylan, hang on. He stumbled through the maze of splintered branches, arriving at the edge of the road beside the front bumper of the truck. There were four creatures standing over the limp figure of Dylan, the young man’s forehead bleeding profusely.

  Carl gulped down another breath, his chest barely able to contract. He figured he could blast most of them, injuring enough with the buckshot and maybe killing one or two. He narrowed his eyes and studied the gangly creatures as they hunkered over Dylan. Why aren’t they tearin’ him apart? That’s what they always do when they get someone.

  Carl readied his shotgun then saw several dead oak leaves flit through the air, coming down around him. He glanced up and saw the sun blot out for a second as something leapt from the trees. The impact on his back sent his face forward onto the gravel, driving the shotgun from his reach. He was sure he heard his nose break from the crushing force and felt the sting of road rash along his right cheek. Instinctively, he hunched into a wrestler’s pose and spun around to rush into the thing that had struck him. He didn’t move like the young athlete he remembered being in his prime but the muscle memory was sound and he connected with the waist of the thing, flinging both arms around and clinching it for a throw. His arms felt like they were wrapped around a block of granite and he struggled to keep his footing while futilely trying to push the creature back and down. Carl felt his coat collar pulling against his throat as he was yanked up into the air, his huge hands tearing loose from the beast. The tall creature was gripping him around the neck with both hands, its gray eyes staring at him like a curator in a museum inspecting something delicate from a showcase. He could smell the putrid breath emanating from its flaring nostrils and see numerous parasites wriggling beneath the surface of its nearly translucent skin, like fine threads coursing below a sheet. Unlike the other mindless creatures that he had encountered during the past two weeks, he saw an intelligence in its eyes and knew it must be one of the more advanced mutations he’d heard others talking about on his ham radio.

  Carl was gasping for air as he tried to flail his fists at the abomination, wondering why he hadn’t been killed yet. He could feel the squeeze on his carotids and sensed his consciousness fading. He had choked out enough people during his wrestling days that he knew there was a fine line of control between safely putting someone under and crushing their trachea, and he marveled at the seemingly gentle grip on his neck. The creature pivoted to the right, long enough for Carl to see Dylan being loaded onto the shoulder of one of the drones before he felt the sunlight fade from his vision and his heavy eyelids slide shut.

  ***

  When Carl awoke, the stagnant, damp air was the first thing to penetrate his psyche. It held a tinge of decay, and the repugnant aroma reminded him of a well-used horse stall. He heard the whispers of other people around him as he pried his eyes open. Some were moaning while others muttered to one another. Somewhere behind him a young woman was crying. Besides the throbbing in his head from being choked out, he felt a searing sensation in his wrists and ankles. He rocked himself up into a seated position and saw a vertical shaft of sunlight streaming down through the rock-hewn ceiling above. Carl shook his head then squinted, trying to focus his bleary eyes. Around him were a few dozen people of all ages. Everyone bore bruised, soiled faces, with some looking more gaunt than others. He tried to wiggle his hands but found a thick coil of silver wire constricting his wrists.

  “Sit still and you’ll bleed less,” said a gruff man’s voice to his right.

  Carl shimmied around on the muddy ground and saw a sixty-something man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He had intense blue eyes that were accentuated by the dirt on his tan cheeks. The man thrust his chin up to the stone archway in the distance, where a cluster of drones were standing, facing the captives. “You struggle with your restraints too much and you bleed—it sets off those bastards and makes ’em hungry.”

  “What the hell is this place?” said Carl as he craned his head around the rectangular chamber, which resembled something out of a medieval castle.

  “We’re underneath some huge estate in the country.” The man rubbed his chin on his knee, trying not to shift his bound hands too much. “All I know is me and three others were hauled in here like sacks of cabbage two days ago. They brought us in from upstairs, through the front doors of this fancy mansion, then dragged us down past probably three levels of stairs to here.”<
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  “You look pretty good for someone who hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in a while.”

  “That’s the weird part—they feed us twice a day.” He licked his dry lower lip. “By they, I mean others like us—other captives, but they aren’t shacked up in here like we are. They work for those things.”

  Carl was wondering if he was locked in some kind of nightmare, and kept waiting to get jolted awake. He blinked hard then swung around to search for Dylan or any other familiar faces from his group. He saw the drones stepping aside from the entrance as a woman in jeans and a fleece pullover nervously walked through the crowd. She had a clipboard in her hand and moved slowly amongst the other survivors, finally squatting down in front of Carl. She gave a sideways glance at the drones while her pale white fingers clutched a pencil.

  Her lips trembled as she spoke and Carl could tell by her soft hands that she was someone who had probably never worked with her hands. “Please know that this isn’t me doing this. I’m so sorry. My name is Rose and how you answer my question will determine if your friends upstairs will live.”

  “What—what do you mean? What’s going on here?”

  “Dylan, Amber, and your other friends from the cabin you were hiding in—they told him everything, including about you. Please, just answer my question.” She glanced sideways at the drones. “They have my brother and will feed him to those creatures if I don’t help. I don’t have a choice. Neither do you, if you care about your friends.”

  Carl shifted his gaze around the room, taking in the other forlorn captives, then looked back to the cluster of drones that blocked his only route to freedom. He returned to the taut face of the woman, whose expression was one of abject terror. He swallowed hard then nodded to her, agreeing to help.

  “Do you have medical training—advanced skills in the area of wound care and trauma management?”

  He figured his twenty-three years as a veterinarian applied at least enough to allow him time to figure out a plan to get out of this place. Carl cleared his throat. “Yes, I worked as a veterinary doctor for many years and can help you—but who is injured?”

  She held her chin up towards the ceiling, trying to hold back a tear. “No one. He wants people with medical skills to assist with his undertaking.”

  “Who is this person and what’s going on here?”

  “Not a person—not anymore.” She motioned with the clipboard towards the drones. “One of them, but intelligent beyond any of the other creatures—and he will want you for his work.” The woman stood up, removing a pair of wire cutters from her back pocket and then snipping his restraints. She motioned for him to follow as she kept her eyes affixed on the drones ahead, her shoulders hunched forward and her gaze averted. “As to where you are—it is a place beyond even the depths of hell.”

  Chapter 7

  MacDill AFB, Tampa, Florida

  President Karen Hemmings stood with folded arms in the briefing room on the lower level of the tac-ops center, scanning the computer-generated graphics on the numerous wall monitors. With each scrutinizing glance at the projections for food and water supplies for the base, she felt her nails digging deeper into her sleeves. She heard the swish of steel doors behind her open and turned to see General Dorr enter. The thick-bodied commander moved alongside her, his weary eyes peering up at the monitors, the red-and-black graphics dancing across his weathered face.

  “I’m still trying to get my head around how the hell we are going to sustain our current population here for more than a few months, given the influx of civilians since this pandemic began,” said Hemmings. “Over twelve hundred military and civilian personnel were already straining the base’s infrastructure and resources, and there are bound to be more survivors coming this way over time.”

  “As I mentioned in my briefing yesterday, I have three helicopter wings scouring the coastal regions and smaller towns for supplies. Since the death toll was so staggering during the first week of the pandemic, food and water are still plentiful as long as we can get to them. The real issue, however, is fuel for our helos and transport vehicles. Operation Overlord is going to further strain those resources, not only here but with the outlying bases that will be involved in the mission.” He ran a leathery hand across the back of his neck, letting out a sigh. “Hell, before the pandemic, we had a cap on fuel expenditures that was connected to budget constraints. Even then, we had fuel trucks rolling in almost every day to keep our helo wing operational. We’re lucky to even get three eighteen-wheelers in here this week, which required nearly a garrison of men in armed vehicles riding along for escort to blast a path through the drones in the cities.”

  “What are the military options in place in case we can’t sustain ourselves here or…” she paused, thrusting her hands on her hips, “if this base should get overrun.”

  He narrowed his eyes, clearing his throat. “You would be quickly extracted along with other high-level personnel to a small armada of ships in the Gulf of Mexico. There’s a handful of Navy and Coast Guard vessels in addition to dozens of civilian frigates stationed twenty miles to our west, not far from the Lachesis.”

  “And you—you’re ‘high level’—are you planning to stay behind?”

  “Only until the last of my people are safely away,” he said in a monotone voice.

  She knew the man was utterly exhausted from the past two weeks of combat operations and the strain of losing so many people at the base, now Tampa was teeming with creatures. If she was now the figurehead of the United States, Dorr was the iconic leader behind the scenes, commanding the military and advising her on strategy against their new enemy. Before she arrived at MacDill, thanks to Jonas Runa’s timely rescue in Virginia, it was Dorr who had taken over as commander of the remaining forces in the U.S. He had been coordinating intelligence gathering with other leaders in Great Britain, Europe, and Africa. His reputation as a special-operations commander was legendary, and she could see the respect those people under him had whenever he entered a room or gave a briefing. It was his efforts and considerable experience that had enabled MacDill to weather out numerous assaults from the drones to the north while managing to uphold the dwindling morale of the military. With her taking the oath as president almost a week ago, she now felt the mantle of that responsibility crushing down on her shoulders, and she needed Dorr’s advice and guidance more than ever. With the politics of the old world swept away in a matter of weeks, she wasn’t even sure what her role should be, since Dorr and other military leaders like him were what was needed now, not some public image on the broadcasts designed to reassure people that the country was going to recover one day. This was a war for the survival of the human species and her skills had been honed in the realm of politics and humanitarian work, not fighting tactics, which made her all the more grateful for Dorr’s presence.

  The general stepped forward and activated another monitor on the wall. It showed the forward staging area on the airfield a quarter-mile to the south of their location. Hundreds of operators and support personnel were busy loading supplies onto the Blackhawks or doing weapons checks in preparation for Operation Overlord, which would be commencing in sixteen hours.

  “Everything is underway for the mission,” said Dorr. “I’ve been coordinating with our tactical units around the country to ensure each assault on the nuclear plants occurs at precisely the same time. I just wish we had more people—my operators were stretched thin even before all this, and more have been killed in the past week on resupply missions elsewhere. This bioweapon couldn’t have come at a better time.”

  She and Dorr had received the encouraging news from Doctor Munroe that the bioagent was a success against the drones in Phoenix, but large-scale production to enable mass distribution to military units around the country was going to take weeks, though his staff on the Lachesis had already begun producing quantities for use at MacDill and surrounding regions. Dorr’s intel staff had informed him that eleven of the largest nuclear plants in the U.S.
were nearing dangerous thresholds from lack of emergency venting and needed to be secured within the next two days to prevent catastrophic meltdowns. The only problem was the army of drones and alphas nestled inside the facilities. Selene surmised that the mass exodus of creatures to the facilities had been in response to the air-strikes performed on alphas in key cities around the U.S. days ago. Dorr’s plans to complete a larger air-strike on the remaining alphas had been scuttled overnight, and now they were faced with Operation Overlord instead.

  “If we’re successful, this will avert another major disaster in our nation and further reduce the enemy,” Dorr said. He ran his hand through his hair then tried to form his lips into a faint smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “If only there was a way of facilitating a partial meltdown and destroying those bastards—that would make everyone’s life easier. The alphas there must be completely unaware of the impending crisis at their locations or they would have fled by now.”

  Hemmings raised an eyebrow. “The flip side of this attack is, if we are successful, our enemies will have gained further insight into our strategies and will plan accordingly for future attacks, not to mention they will still be in possession of the other nuclear sites around the country.”

  “True, but those sites are of lesser value and won’t have the effect of devastating an entire region of the country and causing massive atmospheric fallout like these eleven would.” He looked at the armaments being loaded onto the Blackhawks on the monitor while slowly stroking his black-stubbled chin. “Besides, the longer we wait, the more the alphas could evolve into something even more frightening, and I aim to wipe these sons-a-bitches from the face of the earth before then.”

  A young army officer entered the room, making his way directly to Dorr. “Sir, we’ve lost contact with one of our small outposts in Georgia. I was speaking with the civilian contractor who was heading up a resupply mission to a pharmaceutical facility when they came under attack after happening across a group of drones and an alpha exiting the building.”