Strapped into his seat in the lead chopper, Fraser’s hand drifted down to the item in the pocket of his fatigues. His recon team had recovered the small hard drive back at Zigzag. If not for the crushed remains of a laptop above it in the dirt, it might have been lost completely. Air Force One had been gone by the time his team had returned and given it to him. He told himself that’s why he didn’t turn it over directly to the president and his superiors on board, but that didn’t justify why he hadn’t told the president or his commanding officer that they had recovered it.
He hadn’t told anyone.
Not yet.
He would.
As soon as he determined who he could tell.
He’d only had time to review a few of the videos from Frederick Hoover, but that had been enough for him to realize the significance of this find. It also raised a serious concern—there was no way the president wasn’t aware of DARPA’s findings, not if Holt had had this. Surely Samantha Troy, as acting director of the NSA, knew. Why hadn’t any of it been discussed aboard Air Force One? Was the president keeping this information from his senior staff? Or worse—was his senior staff keeping it from the president?
He’d have to figure all that out when he returned to McChord. For now, he had a job to do. “Distance to the horde?” he said into his microphone.
“Twelve-point-six miles, sir. A little over three minutes,” the pilot replied.
“Maintain a ten-mile radius and circle around to the front of them. We don’t want to risk getting caught up in their audio backwash.”
“Copy that.”
“Sir, I’m already picking up the noise.”
This came from a soldier across from Fraser on the opposite bench, his face buried in a laptop. He looked to be no more than twenty-three or -four. Brown eyes and shaved head. He wasn’t a Ranger, but Fraser recognized him—he had worked with the communications officer once before in Afghanistan. His name was Mertz. He was frowning.
“What is it?”
Mertz continued to stare at the screen. “The sound emanating from the horde is measuring at 190 decibels.”
Prior to leaving McChord, Fraser had been told satellite readings confirmed the horde was somehow generating a noise comparable to the ones recorded in Barton. They had also recorded a similar sound with listening devices placed throughout Zigzag. They hadn’t determined how the horde was generating the noise, only that they were. Somehow that sound grew with their numbers as if emanating from the members themselves like human speakers.
“That’s damn loud,” Fraser said.
Mertz hesitated, then said, “Theoretically, no sound on earth can exceed 194 decibels due to a natural limit. Air pressure can’t drop below a vacuum, so the loudest possible sound would be a pressure wave oscillating between vacuum and plus two atmospheres. To the best of my knowledge, that’s never occurred naturally, only in a lab. For this group of people to somehow create a sound so close to physical limits is…well…unheard of.” He picked up the modified headphones sitting beside him on the bench and studied the speaker inside one of the cans. “I’m not sure these will be a hundred percent effective.”
“I’ve been assured they will be.”
“They’re using antiphase. That means they have to produce a sound of equal and opposite levels in order to cancel it out completely. At best, these max out at 120 decibels. That won’t be enough. We’ll still hear…something.”
“But it will limit our exposure, correct? Take the noise down to a safe level?”
“A typical conversation, the volume you’re hearing me at right now, is about sixty decibels. A chainsaw is around 120. What we’ll hear will fall somewhere in between. I’m not sure what would be considered a safe level. Will this be loud enough to damage our hearing? No. Will it be loud enough to infect us? That I can’t answer.”
There were nine Army Rangers on each helicopter. Six teams of three. Each in heavily armored body gear. Hard men who had seen their share of combat. While none said anything, they’d all heard this entire conversation, and several looked uneasy. It was one thing to face a known enemy on a battlefield, look them in the eye, a tangible target. These soldiers were being asked to capture American citizens while combating a sound. An intangible, invisible thing.
Fraser looked down the length of the helicopter’s interior. He studied each of their faces. “All of you were briefed before we left McChord. You know exactly what is at stake, and you know what we’ve been asked to do. The technology is what it is. This is the best we’ve got. It’s all we’ve got. That said, if any of you are having second thoughts and don’t want to participate, I understand. We can set down right here and let you out. In a moment, we’ll be entering what is effectively a combat zone, and there will be no turning back. I’m going in, and I expect those on my right and left to be as fully committed as I am. You’re Army Rangers, the best of the best, and your countrymen need you right now. Does anyone want to get off the bus?”
Nobody said a word.
“Good.” He picked up his headphones from his lap. “Now, as Mertz said, these will limit our exposure. I’ve been told we’ll be within safe levels. I’ve personally heard several recordings of the sound at levels near what our exposure down there will be, and I walked away without any lasting effects. That said, we need to move fast. I don’t want any of us to risk exposure longer than necessary to complete our mission, and our mission is simple—we are to safely capture and return to McChord three infected members of the horde. More, if we can get them, but no less than three.” He held up his headphones. “Once these go on, they stay on. No exceptions. Not even for a second. They’re linked to our communication system, and since we’re using bone-induction microphones, we should have no problem hearing each other without worry of retransmitting the noise. If for some reason audio communication is compromised, go to hand signals or flares.”
Fraser allowed that to settle in, then set down the headphones and picked up his weapon. “Each of you has been provided with a Pneu-Dart G2 X-Caliber assault rifle. This is the most powerful and accurate gas-based RDD projector ever built. While it may feel lighter than the weapons you’re accustomed to carrying, make no mistake—it is effective, accurate, and versatile. They’ve been modified to hold five darts. Each dart is loaded with ten ccs of midazolam. That is three times the recommended dosage to take down a two-hundred-pound human. From shot to drop should be no more than ten seconds. Do not use more than one dart on a single target.” He set down the gun and unclipped a large black cylinder from his belt—it looked like a heavy flashlight—and held it up. “Your secondary weapon is Lanthum Net Gun. This device will deploy a ten-by-ten net a distance of fifteen yards. Possibly farther, but at the cost of accuracy. You’ve got four shots total. Use them sparingly.” He returned the net gun to his belt. “Work in teams of three—dart, zip-tie, prepare for transport. Fast, efficient. In and out. When you’ve got one, launch a green flare and the chopper will come to you. If for some reason you need emergency evac and communications aren’t working, launch a red flare.”
When Fraser looked up, he realized none of them were watching him anymore. All eyes were on the port-side windows. He stood and looked out.
Even from a distance of more than ten miles, the horde was clearly visible, a wide stampede sending thick plumes of dust up into the air. It was enormous.
They’d picked a location that was fairly flat and open, flanked on one side by the Sandy River on the north, a heavy tree line to the south, creating a choke point.
Over the open comm, Fraser said, “Chopper Two, hold back. Follow our lead. Maintain your cargo until I give the order to go to ground. We’re going to take a run at this first.”
“Understood.”
To the pilot of his chopper, he said, “Circle around the front, keep your distance at no less than two miles. Each team will rappel out on the north shore of the river—I want to keep the water between our men and the horde. Three groups. One quarter of a mile between
each. I don’t want you in the thick of things until absolutely necessary.”
The pilot nodded, then swapped out his headset for the same noise-canceling model the soldiers had.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Fraser
The Chinook circled around to the front of the seemingly endless horde and dropped each team of three two miles ahead of the mass of people. Fraser watched the last soldier go out the door. Then he moved to the edge, snapped into the line, and jumped. The moment he was on the ground and free of the line, the helicopter pulled up and right and banked away, increasing its distance. The second Chinook shot by and followed at a height about a thousand feet above the first.
Fraser’s body armor was heavy but surprisingly flexible. It didn’t limit movement as much as he’d expected. He checked his rifle, then unsnapped the decibel meter from his belt and activated it. The device was linked to the others:
TEAM 1—43dB
TEAM 2—31dB
TEAM 3—28dB
The ambient noise level was 36 decibels where he currently stood with the two Chinooks still trailing off in the distance. He heard none of it through his headphones. “All teams, stand by.”
“This is Team One, we have visual.”
Fraser said, “Keep the water between you and them. Take your shots carefully. Just tag ’em and bag ’em. Don’t attempt to secure or remove your target until it’s clear to do so. Wait for the rest of the horde to run by, if necessary.”
“They’re close. Less than a quarter mile. We’re at 61 decibels now.”
Fraser glanced down at his meter and watched their level tick up to 72, then 81. It continued to climb. The other teams as well. He was at 41.
“This is Team Two, we see them.”
“Team Three here. Us, too.”
Fraser could see the dark cloud of dust now, as if a thousand vehicles were driving across the dry dirt.
“I…I can’t hear them, but I feel the ground vibrating. We’re reading 120 decibels.”
When Fraser looked back at his meter, Team 1 had ticked up to 141. All readers were over one hundred now, including his own, at 106.
“Do you guys hear it? It’s like…someone screaming over a deep hum.”
“Stay focused,” Fraser said.
“My nose is bleeding.”
Fraser wasn’t sure who said that.
“Mine, too,” someone else said.
“Stay focused!” Fraser repeated forcefully. “Team One, what’s their distance?”
There was no response.
“Team One?”
He looked down at the meter. There was no longer a reading for Team 1. Team 2 was at 168 decibels, Team 3 was at 134. “Team One, do you copy?”
“This is Team Two, they’re crossing the water.”
Fraser quickly said, “How’s that possible? It’s too deep. Do you have visual on Team One?”
“No line of sight on Team One. They’re just running into the water, trying to get to this side—trying to get to us. Holy hell, this is loud. Hurts. They’re…if someone falls, slips, the others are just running over them. The bodies are just building up, creating a bridge. We need evac—this isn’t going to—”
A red flare went up. Fraser wasn’t sure if it came from the first team or the second.
The pilot broke in over the communication channel. “Lieutenant Colonel, are we go for evac?”
Fraser pulled the binoculars from his belt and scanned the horizon but couldn’t see anything—he’d been dropped behind a slight bend in the river, and the trees blocked his view. The sky had grown dark, though, thick dust swirling above the tree line.
“Sir, they’re crossing the water! They’re—”
The voice cut out.
To the helicopter pilot, Fraser yelled, “Chopper One—Evac! Pick me up last—get our men out of there! We need to try something else!”
“Affirmative. Stand by. On approach.”
Without hearing even a hint of the heavy aircraft, Fraser felt the large Chinook shoot up from behind him and fly over. It flew in low and fast, no more than fifty feet off the ground. The displaced air swirled and nearly knocked him off his feet as it zipped by. He held steady and watched the chopper disappear behind the bend.
Another red flare went up, arched over the trees, and faded away.
“All teams, sound off.”
“Team Three here!” a voice shouted.
Nothing else.
Fraser said, “One and Two, respond.”
Nothing.
The ground at Fraser’s feet began to vibrate. When he was a kid, he used to stand on the train tracks, feeling the freight trains a mile or two away. He was reminded of that. He also remembered the pennies they would leave on those tracks—the paper-thin flattened pieces of copper they would find later. “Teams One or Two, respond.”
Fraser heard a low hum. He’d forgotten the decibel meter in his hand. The display no longer reported a signal from the three teams. His own reading was at 151 decibels. “Chopper One, report.”
A moment ticked by.
“No visual on One or Two…two members…of Three on board. Third…clipping in…now.” The pilot sounded like he was in pain, his voice low and choppy. Forced.
About a quarter mile away, Fraser spotted the Chinook. It climbed above the tree line for a moment, then dipped back down. A second later, it was climbing again. Someone was dangling from the paracord at the open door. The chopper rocked unsteadily, climbed higher.
The hum grew, took on this high-pitched whine.
Fraser’s decibel meter read 162 decibels.
He felt something wet on his upper lip, and when he touched it, he realized his nose was bleeding. He shuffled backward several steps, nearly tripped. “Pilot, get them out of there!”
The pilot didn’t respond.
The hum, the noise, this horrible sound, grew louder.
The Chinook hovered for a moment, seemed to steady as the man beneath climbed the cord and reached the netting hanging from the door. An arm reached out and grabbed him, started to haul him in, then the Chinook tipped awkwardly—the front end shot up, the back dropped. The helicopter rocketed forward and up, nearly vertical, crested about five hundred feet above the trees, then rolled in the air—the nose came down, the back end wobbled above it. For one brief instant, it froze there, and Fraser thought they might be okay.
The helicopter came down hard, like a rocket set on embedding itself a thousand feet into the dirt. Fraser heard none of it over the growing noise, but the impact knocked him to the ground. A giant fireball burst up, igniting the dust-filled air.
He scrambled backward on his hands and feet, shuffled like a spider before spinning, getting up, and bursting into a full-out run in the opposite direction of the approaching horde, the butt of his rifle slapping against his chest. “Chopper Two—evac now! Evac now!”
No response.
“Chopper Two!”
The second Chinook came in fast, dangerously low. Someone threw a paracord out the door. The end smacked the ground and dragged, kicking up dirt and weeds. They slowed only a little as Fraser jumped for the line, got his left wrist around one end, gripped the cord, and fashioned a loop with his right hand above that, and pulled his bulk off the ground. He got his leg wrapped around the cord and secured himself as best he could while simultaneously shouting, “Go! Go!”
The Chinook whipped in a hard circle, the back end rolling past the front like a car in a slide on a drifting track. Fraser nearly lost his grip as he was jerked around beneath the aircraft, tossed nearly thirty feet from one side to the other.
As Fraser hauled himself up toward the open door and outstretched hands, he caught a glimpse below as the horde came around the trees and crested the small hill, some on the north side of the river, others on the south, some in the water. A thick mass moving forward, unhampered by anything in their path. Twisted pain-filled faces staring blankly forward. He felt the heat of them, all those bodies. As the sound burned
at his ears, he fought the insatiable urge to let go, fall, and join them.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Fraser
Several hands grabbed him, pulled him over the lip of the Chinook’s doorway, and dragged him to the center of the aircraft, where Fraser collapsed in an exhausted heap. His hands went to the headphones, started to pull them off, and two of the soldiers batted his fingers away. When he looked up into their faces, they were pale, eyes wide with fright. Blood trickled down from their noses, their ears. One of them had blood in his eye.
The helicopter banked hard, and he rolled across the floor. Then they shot forward and up, increasing the distance between them and the horde as quickly as possible.
Fraser didn’t remember passing out, but he did. Only for about a minute, maybe less. The noise told him so—the loud, grating scream that threatened his very sanity vanished with a shudder of his eyes. All-encompassing one moment, gone the next, nothing left behind but a cold, empty void not unlike the day after a migraine. When his eyes opened again, he found nine new faces staring down at him from the benches of the second Chinook, and his stomach twisted into a knot as he realized what happened to the nine men who had been with him in the other helicopter.
He forced himself to sit up, got to his feet, and made his way to the front of the aircraft on wobbly legs, holding on to the netting fixed to the ceiling for support.
When he reached the pilot, the man didn’t look up at him. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. Blood had dripped out from the bottom of his headphones to the shoulder of his fatigues—three little red drops.
“Report,” Fraser managed to say, his throat horribly dry.
“What do you remember, sir?”
Fraser remembered more than he wanted to. “We lost contact with all three ground teams in rapid succession. Chopper One went in for evac. I saw them go down.”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Fraser waved an impatient hand at him.
“Best I can tell, they just got too close. I’ve known Cory, their pilot, since training at Rucker. Prior to going in, we agreed to switch to B-channel and run the letters. Do you know what that is?”
The Noise Page 22