Earth's Survivors: box set

by Wendell Sweet

  “Fuck,” David Johns said. “That is not good at all.”

  Kohlson got up and left the room. A minute later he was back with two diet colas. He handed one to David Johns and then sat back down. Johns glanced down at the cola. The top was open already. He looked at Kohlson and Kohlson stared back unblinking. They kept the supply of the virus compounds they were testing in there, but the med supplies cabinet was also in that closet. They had talked it over once. They had decided that... He pushed it away and focused on the low whisper of the air exchange

  “You think they will outright kill us,” Kohlson asked after a few long minutes of silence.

  “Gabe... I think they will, Gabe.” Johns said after a hesitation. He tried to stop himself, but he glanced down at the cola in his hand. It was half full. White powder floated on the surface. Clumped and drifting like tiny icebergs across a cola sea. “Probably... No. They're listening in right now, I'm sure. Listening to see where our minds are at: As soon as those flunkies in there are finished with that job they'll be in here to finish up the clean up.” He swallowed hard.

  “Yeah. I guess that's how I see it too,” Kohlson agreed. He raised his can and tapped the side. “Been good knowing you, Dave.”

  Johns stared him down for a few moments and then sighed. “Yeah, same here.” He raised the can in a salute and then downed it. Kohlson followed suit. Silence descended on the control room.

  Project Bluechip:

  Watertown NY: Subterranean base.

  Commanding: Major Richard Weston

  Major Dick Weston read the report slowly. This was not the first hitch in SS. Last year they had lost a whole ward, three test subjects compromised, two doctors, and three control rooms, six enlisted personnel there that had to be terminated because of it, and three civilian employees.

  He rocked back in his chair and pulled at his lower lip as he read the report. So it had some drawbacks, but there was too much focus on the problems, and not enough on the positives of V2765. Of all the compounds they had tested, this one did exactly what they needed it to do. It prolonged life far past the point of termination. Grave wounds, starvation, dehydration, nothing mattered. This compound changed the cells and made them able to adapt to the consequences of war. The only drawback was that it did its job a little too well. It continued to allow the subject to live after death. Everything stopped and then everything started up again. Usually with a much diminished capacity for understanding. Just the basic low end survival instincts any animal had, eat, protect, eat. And it did those things very well.

  Some doctors at the third level, men whose reputations would be on the line very shortly when V2765 was released on a squadron of troops bound for the middle East, in fact, wanted a brain biopsy. They had studied the video and decided that good Old Doctor Christmas might have been hiding something with the secrecy he had afforded the previous brain autopsies. On top of that one full reiteration of this virus was missing. Four pieces total: two virus, one antidote and one Rex, the compound that ended life within the dead. He suspected Doctor Christmas had taken the samples for his own use. Maybe they would turn up, but it was little or no consequence if they didn't. There was no way they could have made it off the base. Security, his security, was too tight. No, if they really ever existed they were right here somewhere and he would find them.

  As for the virus itself, he had what he needed. He could deliver what was expected of him to deliver. That was what really mattered. He stopped pulling at his lip. Leaned forward and fed the paper sheaf from the incident into a shredder.

  The thing is there was a secret. Major Weston had no idea what it signified, he was no doctor, but he had found the good doctor's private files and brain biopsy reports on the previous candidates. Significant structural change to the brain cells. Not just slight modifications as the virus did when it infected the host, no, something deeper. A mutation. That file lay nearby on his desk too. He reached for it. If that information got out there would be a fast end to SS, and he could not have that. SS was not his baby, some General he had never even met had that honor, but Bluechip was his base, and SS was a feather in his cap. It meant jobs. It meant growth. It meant over a mile of top secret base three miles below ground. These were things that could not be compromised. If, in the field, there were incidents, so be it. They could be isolated. Tests so far showed that very few came back after actual death. Destroy the brain and it destroyed whatever life had kicked back in. And if there were a large outbreak, they had spent the last fourteen months working on an antidote to kill the V virus itself, Rex.

  REX34T could easily take care of a large outbreak. REX34T took it all back to normal. The doctors had nicknamed it Rex. Rex, like a trusty dog that could get the job done, but what sort of job did Rex do? He didn't know. Rex seemed to reverse the process that V2765 started. It could not undo the cell changes, but it did not leave a single trace of the V virus when it was finished. The dead died. According to this report, there was a counterpart to REX34T that was meant specifically for the living: The antidote. Release it in the air, same as Rex, and it affected only the living, reversing the changes that the V virus had made, and the living went on living, maybe. The testing insinuated that the longer the process that V2765 initiated had gone on the more of a shock to the human body it was when it was removed. It suggested that some might not survive the withdrawal of the V virus.

  He glanced down at the three containers that sat on the edge of his desk. Evaluation units. Below, in one of the storage areas, there was enough of each to reverse the entire world population ten times over if need be. If, he reminded himself, if. He looked down at the three containers where they sat on the desk. One small vial filled with dark red liquid. The other two were small aluminum cartridges that reminded him of small inhaler refills of some kind. They looked so innocuous, so everyday ordinary. He beat out a nervous tempo with his fingers on the desktop and then picked up the three vials and slipped them into a plastic bag. He set the bag on the desktop, withdrew the test results from the drugs from the thick file and then placed the bag into the file itself. A second later he placed the file into his personal file cabinet and locked it. He called up the same report on his monitor, excised the three pages of reports, and then saved the file. He pulled a fresh file folder from his cabinet before he closed and locked it, then dropped the pages into the empty folder. He hesitated and then fed that smaller file into the shredder too.

  No problem, no liability, because if there was an acknowledged problem that was preexisting in this lawyer happy atmosphere, every ex-soldier would be suing when the first x-ray showed the alteration in brain cell structure. No higher climb up the ladder for Major Richard Weston, and probably General whoever he was too. And that would be a long stop from where either of them wanted to be.

  “Alice?” He looked over at his secretary.

  “Major?”

  “I want you to take this out and burn it.” He pulled the wastebasket free and slid it across to her. “I guess I've thought it out. Those two fools who took the overdose on morphine?” He waited for her eyes to meet his. “I think it was a mistake to try to save them. I would like you to take care of that personally, Alice... Doesn't matter how. Let me know if you need anything.” He held her eyes for a moment. “That will be all,” he finished.

  “Sir,” Alice said. She picked up the wastebasket and started to leave the office.

  “Oh, Alice?”

  She stopped and turned back.

  “Have that med closet removed. Stupid to put it in an interior control room... Have it moved to the very outside. From now on when they need something like that they can damn well get it walked in by our boys.”

  “Sir,” Alice nodded. She turned and left the office.

  Two months before:

  Rochester New York

  Ben Neo leaned back from the monitor and waited for the numbers to change and confirm that the amount had been wired. It was a foregone conclusion that it would be wired. It was Jefferson
Prescott after all.

  He had spent most of the previous week working the job and had come up with nothing that pointed anywhere, but tonight he had gotten proof. It was not the sort of proof that Jefferson had hoped for, but it was the sort of proof he had suspected, and he had been right.

  To Neo it wasn't personal. He did his work and he was paid well. It truly didn't matter what the work was. It was all the same. He had drawn lines when he had first come down the road years before, but after redrawing those lines so many times he had finally stopped drawing lines.

  He wasn't an animal like Jimmy West. Jimmy was employed by Tommy Murphy too. A problem solver as Ben himself was, but Jimmy did what he did crudely. It was a wonder to Neo how he never managed to be caught. How he drenched himself in blood and violence, lost himself completely in it at times, yet had the presence of mind to save his own ass on occasion. Always seemed to walk away just at the right moment. Like he could sniff the air and smell his demise: Skipping out just before the ax fell.

  The problem with that was the unknown. If you didn't plan, you didn't know what you needed to be safe. And how long could you play that game and live? Walk away? For Jimmy, almost 15 years now.

  Neo believed in plans. He stacked his deck as completely in his favor as he could every time, but he didn't get complacent. He didn't trust to his plans completely. He trusted his head and the knowledge it contained. He watched himself and everyone who came in contact with him.

  He guessed if he were to be honest, that he did have a few lines left. He would never do the sort of work that Jimmy West did: Never, but Tommy Murphy seemed to know that and had never asked Neo to do that sort of work. It wasn't that he couldn't do wet work. He could and did almost every week, but there was a difference in the contracts he took and those that Jimmy was given.

  The other line he wouldn't cross was working with Jimmy. And that had never happened either. Tommy knew without asking. The same as he knew about the types of work. In Neo's mind Jimmy was a paid serial killer. He would've been out there doing those sorts of crimes, the way he did them, for free. He had simply been fortunate enough to find a way to get paid to do them.

  The numbers changed on the screen and he picked up the phone and dialed the number he had been given. He had sent the photos as an attachment hours ago, shot from a rooftop a half mile away that had a clear view directly into Jefferson Prescott’s Manhattan penthouse. He had received Jefferson's reply in the contract. It was only details now. When, how and whatever else there might be.

  The phone was answered and Ben Neo listened. His mind worked that way. He could hear it once and that was all he needed. A phone number, a license number, a street address. It didn't matter what the information contained, he could spit it back out verbatim whenever he needed it. And when he was through with it he could flush it out of his head just as if he had erased it from his memory for good. He listened, he said nothing until the end.

  "It's not something I would do," he said. He listened as the voice persuaded him. It wasn't exactly a line he was asked to cross: It was subjective, and after a few minutes of listening he came to believe it was necessary.

  "Okay," he said at last. "When the time comes let me know." He hung up, shut down his laptop and closed it.

  One week before:

  Tommy Murphy stood at the rail of his deck and looked out onto the pines in the forest below. Jefferson had his place in Ecuador, this was his place in New Paltz. It just wasn't so far away, and he spent every extra moment here that he could.

  He owned 1600 acres, and the house, all cedar shakes and black glass, sat right in the middle of that. A private road led in and out, and when he was here, which was nearly every weekend he could manage, and any time in between that he could get here, his men patrolled the road and the woods. He was never disturbed by an errant hunter or hiker. After a few years of discouragement, the hunters and the hikers had begun to leave the entire area alone: Which was just the way Tommy liked it: Wanted it.

  He sipped at his drink and then puffed at the cigar he held in one hand. He turned from the rail.

  "Carlos," he said. "I know that Jefferson has talked to you and I'm so glad to see you will be with us next week. It is a... A large deal... One of our largest. Neo," he nodded at Neo, "will be along to keep things straight for me... He is my best, and it is good to see that Jefferson has sent you... His best... His right hand man... Like his own son, he tells me... You work out all the details with Neo?" Tommy asked.

  "Of course, Mr. Murphy," Carlos said.

  "Carlos... Tommy... My friend's son... So close to me too, call me Tommy."

  "Of course... Tommy," Carlos said. "I'm sorry."

  "Carlos, never be sorry... Fuck 'em, right, Neo?" he asked and laughed. He cut his eyes to Neo who nodded, and then back to Carlos. "Never say you are sorry. In this business it means you are not up to snuff. Not good enough. Not able to get the job done. We say, "He's sorry." It means he's washed up. You see?" He nodded at Carlos. "A man should never apologize, never... Leave that to the women," Tommy said.

  He looked out over the deck rail for a moment longer and then turned back to Carlos. "Carlos, could you excuse Ben and me for a few moments? Go on down to the main room. There are several young ladies here for the weekend... Enjoy yourself. Tomorrow the two of you will leave to take care of business." Tommy nodded as Carlos got up and left the room. He waited until Carlos was gone. He turned to the huge bodyguard at the door. "Jack, I want you to speak to Kim. Put her on to Carlos. Make sure he has a good time. Tell her I said so... And Jack, when you come back give Neo and me a little time. We have some business to discuss." Tommy smiled.

  "Certainly," Jack said. He left and closed the door.

  Tommy smiled at Neo. "You're quiet, Ben. Everything okay?"

  "Yeah. Everything is good, Tommy," Neo said.

  "What do you think of our boy?" Tommy asked.

  "Polite," Neo said.

  Tommy laughed. "Well, I guess he's not too fuckin' polite, huh?"

  "Guess not," Neo agreed.

  “Everything is a go? No problems?" Tommy asked.

  "None at all," Neo agreed.

  "There will be, ah, three packages. They will be inside two very large bales of pot. A significant amount of cash, several bricks of product... I figure hide it in plain sight. You, me, Prescott and of course his contact in Watertown who picked it up, that is it. Nobody on this little trip will know where it is, except you... Just another drug deal as far as everyone else is concerned. You got the little bonus I wired?" he asked.

  "I did... It was very generous, Tommy. Thank you," Neo said.

  "Eh," Tommy said, and shrugged. "We all gotta eat. Watch out for me, this is the biggest thing I've ever done. Believe me when I tell you that the merchandise amounts to nothing in comparison to those three packages...” He opened his desk drawer, retrieved a small silver cartridge, and held it between two fingers. “Looks like nothing... An inhaler... Or one of those small CO2 cartridges we used to use in our BB guns when we were kids... Something like that.” He fingered the red tab on the top and then handed it to Neo. “Much more than that though... There are three small, aluminum cases... Uh... You talked to Jeff?" Tommy asked, finally getting around to asking what he had wanted to ask in the first place.

  "I did," Neo said. He twirled the cartridge back and forth. He knew nothing about what it was... A new wonder drug, a new street drug or anything in between, but whatever it was it had to be big for both Jefferson Prescott and Tommy Murphy to be involved. Very big. He rolled the cartridge between his thumb and forefinger. It felt neither cold nor hot. What it did feel, was out of place in his hand, something about the feel of the metal made him apprehensive. He handed the cartridge back to Murphy.

  Tommy Murphy nodded as he took the cartridge and slipped it into one pocket. "He thought Jimmy, but I told him not Jimmy. Jimmy shouldn't be spoken of in the same breath as you. He needs understanding and your unique skills... So I said okay if you agreed... You
agreed?" Tommy asked him. He tossed off his drink, looked at Neo, "Drink, Ben?" he asked.

  "Please," Neo said. "I agreed... It's not the same as what Jimmy does. And I see the reasons."

  "He paid you well?" Tommy asked.

  "Very," Neo agreed.

  Tommy poured the drinks and came back across the room, handing Neo his. "One thing. He wants you to bring the uh, some items back. That means it's probably best to do it here, not there. You see?" Tommy asked.

  "I do," Neo agreed.

  "Good... Good... One more thing... There is this man... A cop... He's on our payroll, has been for some time, but he is a potential problem, this man. A potential problem that I thought you might personally take care of for me,” Tommy Murphy said.

  Ben Neo nodded politely. “It can be dangerous to take out a cop,” he said quietly.

  Tommy nodded back as if in full agreement with Neo. “It is. It is, but it is also dangerous to leave that cop around once he knows too much. And this last deal he was involved in at our request,” he spread the fingers of his hands in what Neo took to be a sometimes things happen and have to be dealt with gesture and then shrugged “Well, he may have learned too much. There is no way to know for certain, just a feeling really, but I've been where I am for too long not to take those little feelings seriously... And,” he spread his hands in a helpless gesture, “Unfortunately for him the local prosecutor is looking at him a little funny because he was sloppy in some help that he gave to us when we last needed it. Prescott thought we should take two birds with one stone. Of course I would be very generous and appreciative of your help in such sensitive matters, as would he.” He seemed to consider a moment. Then reached into his desktop and retrieved a tinfoil wrapped brick, nearly an exact match to the bricks of cocaine Neo normally saw coming from Prescott’s Ecuador clans. Different markings, he noticed. “Yes... A clan that works for Prescott’s competitor,” Tommy said when he saw that Neo had noticed the difference in markings. “Actual product. Hard for me to come by, believe it or not. You could plant this on the cop?”