The Source: A Wildfire Prequel

by Marcus Richardson

  For the past few weeks, he'd begun thinking of his guards as fellow prisoners with little to no information about the outside world. He was fortunate that Dr. Boatner was so willing to talk with him.

  When at last they'd gotten the day's samples, Boatner left the room and the nurses unhooked him from the myriad machines surrounding his table. Chad helped himself to some cookies and juice knowing that in only a few more minutes he'd be back safe in his room and able to check the bathroom.

  Chad laughed at the thought: toilet message. One of the nurses cast a glance in his direction that made it clear she found nothing funny. Ever. Chad cleared his throat and downed his juice.

  Back in his room, he struggled to keep his excitement in check as he thanked his guard/escorts and waited for the door to shut and lock. Mindful of the cameras Sgt. Reeves always warned about, he paced his room for a few moments to wind down per his daily routine.

  He thought about the message. Why now? He'd seen the bags under the eyes of a few nurses. He assumed they'd pulled some extra shifts lately and the soldiers seemed a little more tense than normal now that he thought about it. Chad grew more convinced by the minute that something was up.

  He entered the bathroom and closed the door before sighing in relief. It creeped him out to no end that someone, somewhere on the base, watched him all night long while he slept. He lifted the heavy tank lid and plucked out a new message. Sitting on the counter in his usual spot, he read Sgt. Reeve's blocky handwriting:

  Chad,

  You need to be careful. Rumor has it there's a mole. Someone has infiltrated the base…

  Infiltrated the base? Chad looked up and stared at the white brick wall. Who could pull off sneaking into this place? All of San Antonio was on virtual lockdown, 24/7. Dr. Boatner complained of the super-strict security so often, Chad had thought it was how all military bases operated. He looked back to the letter.

  …there is serious concern you're the target. We hear a lot of chatter about 'the Source'—that's you, by the way—from guys on sentry detail. They’re under orders to shoot trespassers going forward and the local civilian population is about ready to riot. Someone let it slip you were here and the doctors can come up with a cure or vaccine or something for the virus using your blood. You know they don't let us see much more of the outside world than you, but from what you told us and what we can see of San Antonio, it's bad out there…real bad.

  Chad let the note rest on the countertop and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Dr. Boatner had said Russia and India went dark only a few days ago. Canada dropped off the grid just yesterday. It was only a matter of time before America went dark too.

  There's not much we can do to protect you other than hope someone we can trust is on duty when they strike. Stay alert and be ready to run. I know it's not much, but it's better than walking blind into a trap, right?

  Remember, you can trust me, Garcia, Sgt. Pillar, and Lt. Daniels—he's my CO—the rest of the guys are probably okay too, but you can always trust the four of us. If you have anything you need help with or questions, ask a guard to speak with Lt. Daniels—he's been assigned as your liaison officer and he's Dr. Boatner's partner in the lab. He can get a message to Boatner faster than anyone.

  Me, Garcia, and the others will do what we can to protect you as long as possible.

  Stay safe.

  Chad went through the message at least ten more times and memorized the new names before he flushed it. He put the lid back on the toilet and sat there for a long while lost in thought. What could he possibly do if someone attacked the base? More importantly, why would anyone else want him? He was already part of the government's program to stop the virus and that was already a global effort to help everyone.

  It's not like they would develop a cure and then not share it…

  CHAPTER 29

  VX

  DANIELS IGNORED THE SWEAT trickling down his back as he approached Fort Sam Houston's Security Command. He swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. What he was about to do would not only be murder, but also treason. He meant to kill 26 men and women, brothers and sisters in arms. Just like him, each one of them had sworn a solemn oath to defend and protect the Constitution against enemies foreign and domestic.

  He grimaced. Today, he would be that enemy: domestic, with a hint of foreign treachery.

  Daniels double checked his watch. The Source, as everyone called Huntley now—should have been returned safely back to his room hours ago. The only way forward was to extract him, and the only way to do that was through swift, violent action.

  He walked by the main entrance to Security Command without hesitation. After months on base, the guards barely glanced at him as he walked by. He wore the uniform of a soldier, but he was still just a scientist to them. Daniels frowned at the thought.

  He turned the corner from Security Command and walked to the end of the hallway near a supply closet. By now, Lord Murata's men had hacked the base's interior security cameras to show a video loop of the empty hallway he’d just entered. Should that fail, vicious malware had been uploaded and was ready to cripple the electronics in Security Command.

  There were no immediate threats on base, so standard security protocols were still in effect, but Daniels knew time was running out. At 0700 the president planned to increase DEFCON levels at every base in the Lower 48. Lord Murata had assured him on the phone the night before that it would happen. How the old man found that out, he'd never know, but it didn't matter—Albert Daniels had a job to do.

  As he reached the supply closet, Daniels wondered what the strike team, hidden in the barrios of San Antonio, was doing at that moment. He smirked. Probably hiding—the area just outside Fort Sam Houston crawled with soldiers on high alert for anything threatening the Source. If the team launched while all systems were up and operational, they'd be exterminated.

  It fell to Daniels to disable Security Command and, like Murata had said, he was a virologist, not a fighter. Daniels stared into the closet, lit only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  I live to serve.

  He shut and locked the door. The schematics Murata's people had sent were precise—he easily located the air duct behind a cabinet of cleaning supplies and quietly removed the cover with his pocket knife.

  Daniels winced at the squeak of metal against metal. After counting to 60 and hearing nothing outside the door, he opened his bag and pulled out a small remote-controlled car with a silver canister attached. He checked the wiring and the timer—everything appeared operational. Ever so gently he placed the car with its deadly payload on the air duct's thin metal sheeting and activated the timer.

  Daniels had the overwhelming urge to wash his hands but forced himself to take a slow breath instead. He didn't even bother with gloves because he'd have needed a full chemsuit to handle the package properly. If there was any defect in that canister, however microscopic, he would have about a minute to live regardless. Not only would he die, but he would die a suffocating, convulsing, terrifying death—VX gas was the worst of nerve agents. He knew by the markings on the canister it had been "donated" from some Soviet stockpile to the Council. Daniels swallowed. He trusted 60 year-old Soviet machining tolerances about as far as he could spit.

  Daniels put the vent cover back, adjusted the shelves of supplies, then filled his bag with paper towels and a few bottles of floor cleaner. His watch showed the elapsed time at two minutes, twelve seconds. He took a deep breath and relaxed. Daniels wasn't going to die—not yet, at least. But he still had to be out of the building before the canister detonated.

  He unlocked the door and quickly exited the supply closet. It wasn't easy, but Daniels forced himself to act like nothing was out of the ordinary. As he strolled toward the main entrance, a sentry stopped him.

  "Excuse me, sir," he said, raising one hand palm out in front of him.

  Daniels stopped and hoped he didn't have sweat stains under his arms. "What is it, Private?" he snapped.

&n
bsp; "Can I ask what you're doing, sir? We’ve been having issues with the security cameras—I'm sorry, it's just they're making me ask everybody, sir."

  Daniels rolled his eyes. "Of course they're having security camera issues. Why wouldn't they? It's only when I have to do something…" He sighed and then waved off the soldier. "No, no, I'm sorry—it's not your fault. It's been a long 24 hours." He handed over his ID badge, catching a glance at his watch as he did so.

  I'll die like everyone else in this building if I don't get outside in the next 60 seconds.

  The guard looked between the ID and Daniels’ face. "Dr. Daniels, can I ask again why you're here, sir?"

  He opened his bag for the guard to inspect. "We've got everyone working on the latest genetic recombination matrix simulations. We’ve…well, my colleagues and I…have been a little too busy to take breaks to eat and sleep. Spilled coffee, that sort of thing—it's getting messy over there,” he shrugged.

  “Honestly, I…didn't really have anything to do at the moment since my computer is occupied…so I came to get supplies.”

  “Supplies, sir?”

  “So we can clean up." Daniels suppressed a frown. Smooth.

  "Sir? Aren't there supplies over in your building?" the guard asked, handing back Daniels' ID badge.

  "I……" Daniels shook his head. "Okay, you got me. I give up."

  "Sir?" asked the guard as he stepped back and put his hand on the pistol at his side.

  "I had to get out of there. You know what kind of pressure is on us right now? The fate of the world literally rests in our hands. And…I don't know…" He sighed. "I just don't know if we're gonna be able to pull this off."

  The guard relaxed immediately. "Sir, you can't give up. Everyone out there is counting on you."

  Daniels exhaled.

  "Thank you…" He looked down at his hands. "I just…it's good to hear that, private. I just needed to get out and walk—clear my head, you know?"

  "Of course, sir. But might I make a suggestion?"

  "Please," said Daniels. Just hurry the fuck up!

  "I wouldn't stray too far from the research facility going forward." The guard looked over his shoulder as if he expected to see the base CO behind him.

  "I hear we're going into lockdown at 0700. Once we get to that point, I don't think they'll allow you to just walk around, sir."

  Daniels nodded. "Thanks for the heads up—I appreciate it. And thanks again for your confidence. It means a lot."

  "Anytime, sir."

  Daniels walked away and tried not to throw up as he turned the corner and disappeared from the sentry's line of sight. Finally outside in the cool air, he leaned against closest brick wall and tried to force his breathing back to normal.

  That boy trusted me. He thinks I'll save us all.

  Daniels thought about the cloud of VX gas he was about to release inside Security Command. He wondered if the sentry standing at the edge of the blast radius might survive.

  Probably not.

  He swallowed his guilt and walked briskly back to the lab. When his watch chirped, he reached into his pocket and depressed the only button on a small key fob.

  He picked up his pace. By now, the remote-controlled car had moved down the air duct. Laser proximity sensors on its nose would guide it to its final destination in the ductwork over the command and control center.

  Daniels checked his watch as he walked. He had less than a minute to escape the area. He flagged down the first motor pool car that drove by and had the corporal driver take him back to the lab.

  His attack on Security Command had been so complete, so swift, and so unexpected, the first alarm was not raised until he was safely back at his desk. The lights in the room went out, replaced by red emergency beacons. All the doors in the building locked with a familiar magnetic click-clack that hadn't sounded so menacing before today.

  He jumped up from his desk along with the rest of the scientists and feigned surprise.

  "What's going on?"

  The man closest to the door turned and called out, "The doors are locked!"

  A loudspeaker in the corner of the room blared to life: "Active shooter alert. Attention all base personnel. Level IV lockdown procedures have been initiated. This building has been sealed for your protection. This is an active shooter alert. This is not a drill. Active shooter alert. Proceed to the nearest safe zone and implement your personal safety routine. This is not a drill… Active shooter alert. Attention all base personnel…"

  "What do we do?" shouted Boatner, hands at his ears.

  "It's an active shooter!" Daniels hollered. In a room liberally sprinkled with civilians, as a lieutenant, he was the highest-ranking military officer in the immediate vicinity. He climbed onto his desk and took command.

  "The base must be under attack!" he shouted, arms wide. "Everyone find a desk and hide! Nobody come out until the coast is clear!"

  He followed his own orders and dropped below his desk before he pulled the chair in behind him. Now we just sit tight and wait.

  CHAPTER 30

  Extraction

  CHAD LOOKED UP FROM the diary. He stared at the wall, unsure if he'd felt the ground tremble or if it had been his imagination. He grunted and looked back down at the book—whatever he thought he felt must have been just his imagination.

  February 17th.

  Friday.

  It's getting really bad now. Dad coughed all night so I didn't get much sleep. Seb has a runny nose now too. I don't know how, but the flu got inside our house. Mom was a nervous wreck today, constantly checking on Dad and worried I'll get sick too. So far I seem to be healthy, but I'm getting really scared.

  I haven't been able to talk to Chrissy in two days now. The last text I got from her was this: I have it. OMFG, so scared. Hard to breathe. I can't talk.

  I don't know how much more I'm going to write in this journal…I just want this all to go away.

  Chad looked up again. He definitely felt the floor shake that time. Closing Jess' diary, he placed it on the bed and stood, taking the opportunity for a stretch. He padded in bare feet across the cold floor as he rubbed the insides of his elbows. He knew the door was locked, so he didn't bother to try the handle. Instead, he leaned his head against it and listened.

  Muffled words on the other side were silenced by a dull boom that caused him to jerk back. Chad was sure he felt the floor vibrate again as he took a cautious step away from the door. Automatic weapons crackled in the hallway and someone screamed.

  The notes—Reeves was right!

  Chad had no idea what was going on, but he wanted no part of it. He slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. Trapped in a much smaller room now—without even a window—he had no way to escape even if he had somewhere to go.

  A tremendous crash from the other side of the bathroom wall put him on notice that he was out of time. He stepped back as far as he could from the door and waited.

  "Where is he?" a rough voice shouted.

  "Door on the left!" answered a second voice.

  Chad held his breath. The bathroom door crashed open and a man dressed head to toe in black tactical gear stepped through and brought his rifle up.

  "You Huntley?"

  Looking down the barrel of the rifle, Chad was so scared he barely managed to nod.

  "Got him!" the soldier called over his shoulder. He rushed forward and latched a black-gloved hand onto Chad's arm.

  "Come with me," he said as he ushered Chad out of the bathroom.

  Two other men, similarly dressed in black, first stood in the main room and were standing guard at the door. A fourth stood next to the bed and thumbed through Jess' diary.

  "Well, there you are," he said calmly.

  "Meigs?" asked Chad.

  "Thought you could get away from me, huh kid?” he replied with a wicked smile.

  "We got him—let's get outta here!" growled a man across the room.

  Segel. I knew I recognized that voice.

  "You g
uys made it!" Chad said as they shoved him into the hallway. He tripped over a body and gasped. The floor was slick with Sgt. Reeves' blood.

  "Wait—" he began.

  "For what?" growled Segel.

  "We need to be going…" said one of the others, eyeing the corridor to the left.

  "Clear right," said the man on the other side. "I don't know for how long, though. Clock’s ticking, Meigs."

  "I don't even have shoes on!" pleaded Chad.

  "Yeah, you won't be getting away from us this time, you little shit," said Segel. He shoved Chad down the corridor to the left. "Move!"

  "Go on, get going," ordered Meigs. "We're a little pressed for time and I don't want to miss our ride."

  Chad stumbled down the hallway behind the black-clad mercenaries. If he slowed at all, Segel shoved his rifle into Chad's back. Everywhere he looked, Chad found wounded soldiers on the floor or dead bodies. He'd never seen so much blood—it was like someone had come through and painted the walls and floor red.

  "How's the time?" Segel asked.

  "Right on schedule—keep moving!" replied Meigs.

  As they approached the end of the hallway, a wall of smoke obscured everything beyond the corner. The lead man held up his fist and Segel grabbed Chad’s shoulder to stop him. The man in front disappeared into the smoke.

  "Where did he go?" Chad asked.

  "Shut up," hissed Segel.

  "Don't blame Segel," grunted Meigs. "Your little stunt back at that roadblock cost the lives of half my team. David just holds a grudge longer than I do."

  He winced in pain as Segel squeezed his shoulder.

  "Me and Diallo went back a long way, you little bastard. We did a tour together. Went to the same high school—we been friends our entire lives. And he died trying to get you out of Grapevine, but you didn't even stick around. How many people we lose today, Meigs?"