by S A Gardner
In case of dispersion, we were talking a total overwhelm of healthcare systems and millions dead. Tens. Hundreds. As many as the masterminds behind this wanted.
But even worse, far worse, was the ability to target specific victims or even demographics, and tailor the attacks to them. If the sweeping pandemic on its own didn’t do it, the ensuing worldwide paranoia alone would lead to the total collapse of modern society.
Evil genius didn’t even begin to do it justice.
I knew of only one evil genius of this caliber.
Oh, wow. Logic meltdown here. Talk about hopping-to-another-galaxy far-fetched. Another realm even.
The realm of the dead.
But, oh God, was it any wonder it all reminded me of Jake?
The very ingenuity of the biomatrix’s design, combining a biological agent with a chemical agent or two, hiding all within an undetectable and unstoppable messenger, compounding damage with chaos.
It all had the hallmarks of Jake’s frightening efficacy and clinical cruelty, the totality of his intellect and visualization, and the farsightedness of his convoluted mind.
The arguments against the very possibility were; One: the deaths he’d been responsible for in Russia had had different presentations and were infective; and Two: he was dead!
Problem was, I had answers to these arguments.
One: Russia could have been phase one of his projects. Two: his work might have outlived him.
I’d never found out what his deadly weapon was, only knew that it had scared even biochemical terror scientists stiff. It could well be the biomatrix itself.
That biomatrix was the answer to every terrorist’s dreams.
The only reason the world wasn’t overrun by chemical and biological terror strikes, was that every potential lethal agent was limited in effectiveness and utilization.
Chemical weapons were limited by their very nature, and their degradation by physical influences made dispersion over large enough areas an impossibility. The strikes had to be limited, and therefore ineffective. Biological weapons paused monumental difficulties in harnessing them, leading to the same result. Also, those who deployed the latter could never be secure it wouldn’t go out of control, with the infection reaching unintended victims, or even themselves.
With the biomatrix, agents in any combination, limited only by availability and the attacker’s plans, would overcome all those shortcomings, would reach only the specified victims inside their nano-fortresses, performing any level of predesigned damage.
Another argument for the beyond-the-grave theory, was that while Jake’s base had been on the other side of the world, Russians had well-known dealings with Colombians. He had said his work was coveted by more international outfits than I could imagine.
He had assured me, just before I’d killed him, that destroying the Russian base had been part of his plan, to get rid of his imprisoning allies. He’d said he’d then turn to those willing to provide him with anything he needed, to produce an unbeatable weapon to use in their bid for chaos and power.
So had he perfected the method in his life? Had he sold it long ago, and was it now in more hands than we could imagine? Or had one of those outfits managed to obtain his research and perfected it? If so, were they now testing the method, before a much bigger strike?
Straying, St. James. There was no proof Jake’s weapons were the ones involved here.
But—it was just this gut feeling.
Yeah. Sure. We all know how reliable that is!
But dammit, it wasn’t only churning guts talking here.
Jake had constituted a global threat, enough to warrant the elaborate plan Damian had staged to take him down. Even if according to Jake, said plan had been Jake-manipulated all along. I might have failed to recognize the sheer depth of his psychosis while he lived, but I shouldn’t overlook his damage potential now.
Of course, I could also be way off base. This could all be my guilt, trying to validate my execution of Jake again. My mind could be just too scrambled by everything that had happened since I killed him.
I hoped it was. I would give anything to be wrong.
But whether I was or not, one thing remained certain. This had started with desperation for my friends, with intensely personal stakes. Now the stakes had become global.
And we might be the only thing who could stop the world as we knew it from ending.
Twenty-Nine
An hour later, we reentered the ML to find the discussion still in full swing.
Char’s voice was the loudest among the chaos. “For protection against a new attack, we must be ready with anticholinergic antidotes!”
“What about the VEE vaccine?” Ben asked.
Savannah chewed her lip. “Isn’t that not licensed for public use? I heard it’s only available to people at risk.”
“And that would be us,” Al exclaimed.
Char chuckled. “Chill, Al. We do have enough doses of the live attenuated TC-83 vaccine with us. Cali told us to come prepared for anything, so we did.”
I joined in with my own concerns. “But in the event of a widespread attack, the world is not ready with the quantities needed for the population at large. Probably never will be.”
Di shook her head. “Global panic to produce mass quantities of vaccine isn’t the answer. Even if made available everywhere, that would just make the attackers switch viruses. The biomatrix is capable of delivering any known, or still unknown, virus. They could switch the combinations of agents within it ad infinitum. The world could never be ready for that.”
I pressed a fist to my temple. “Of course. You’re right. I already thought the real danger is the biomatrix itself, not the agents it contains.”
Di nodded vigorously. “And that’s why our counterattack must target it, not the agents within. I determined that the best thing to do this is to stop the conglomeration of the biomatrix nano-capsules in the first place. They’d be excreted within hours from the body, before they have a chance to release their load, no harm done. But executing that procedure will require far more equipped labs than what we have right now.”
Savannah gaped at her. “You mean you know how to beat this thing?”
Di puffed out her sizable chest. “Yup. I have it all worked out, step by step, right here.” She patted her laptop lovingly. “Anything can be taken apart, Savvy. Once you know how it was put together.”
It took two hours to get our act together.
Getting vaccinated, distributing “antidotes,” updating the rest on the home-front.
Then I went after Damian. We had to talk.
He found me first. As usual. “Feeling better now?”
I turned to him. “Now that my friends are out of fatal danger and hopefully with minor damages, with measures of counteraction all mapped out? Yeah, sure. Still doesn’t mean a thing to potential victims. Not until we do secure those measures. We have to get those bastards before they launch any major attacks. And then there’s this thing that keeps niggling at me…”
And I told him. Everything I suspected. Feared.
From his grimness—or was that his fed-up face, the face any mention of Jake provoked?—my theories weren’t meeting with his unqualified approval.
Still, when I let him have a word in, looking in the distance he said, “It no longer matters where it originated—or who created it. It’s here, and it’s got to be wiped out. At any cost. And it will be. My team located the plant. Ed is sure this time. We’re moving in.”
I grabbed his arm. “We?”
His frown panned down at my hand, before rising and slamming me between the eyes. “Do I really have to answer this? You’ve done all you came here to do, Calista. Now take your team and go home.”
“Now I send my team home, and join your team, Damian.”
“I always liked the sound of ‘no’ with ‘way,’ Calista.”
This would only escalate into a conflict we didn’t have time for. Distract him. “Say, how about we
get my team out of this mass graveyard first, then argue about it?”
He was on to me, didn’t budge. “No arguing, now or later. Gather your team. I’ll explain everything, shake hands and then you’re gone.”
I decided not to argue, for now. I couldn’t wait for my team to leave, too. I’d accompany them, and no doubt Damian would too, only until they were safe. So I did call them.
Everyone gathered in minutes under the midday sun, in the best mood since this harsh dip—or should I say drag-over-thorns—in Colombian reality began. They all felt it. Their approaching release. Probably couldn’t believe they were still in one piece. I wondered about the odds all the time myself.
My eyes burned, my chest itched. I had to get it done and send them off. Fast. This would be my goodbye speech.
“We began this show with me in the pits,” I began, my voice thick and impeded. “Thinking no one can ever stand by me like my core people. But you guys were beyond everything I could have hoped for. Every single one of you is a hero a hundred times over. You should be very proud of yourselves. I am. I can never tell you how much.”
“Aw, Cali.” Di giggled. “It’s been a fun challenge in a macabre sort of way. You sure know how to give a gal the time of her…”
I saw the red blotching her lush breasts first, her shock, uncertainty—panic second. I heard the gun thunder last. No!
No!
“Take cover!”
The scream ripped me, from me. A gun materialized in my hand, my body launching in the air, diving for cover, gaze panning in an arc, seeing everything.
The coming-out-of-hiding hunters. Two of our guards, convulsing with the staccato of machine-gun fire. Rafael scrambling, jerking with the brunt of a bullet, but keeping on, reaching cover with others.
And Damian.
Both hands wielding silent guns, firing, flying sideways, riding the airwaves, landing behind his Jeep. A nanosecond before he disappeared, the side of his head exploded.
Thirty
Crimson. Everything was crimson. Horror, rage, blood, carnage. Suffocating, deluging, crippling crimson. Damian dead…
It’s over. He’s over. Just give up, die…
No. Not now. Now avenge him. Avenge Di. Protect the others.
I ran out of hiding, exposed, gun blazing, unerring shots finding the treacherous monsters’ heads—
No! Banish these impulses. They would only get you killed. Die and you don’t protect the others, don’t avenge Damian…
I slithered below the ML, jutting rocks shredding my flesh, unabated gunfire hacking at nerves long burnt. Keep going. Get weapons. Destroy the sons of bitches.
But oh, God—I didn’t even see him die!
Stop it. Get inside the ML—now!
Couldn’t access it through the opening on the other side. Had no guarantee they didn’t have us surrounded by now. I’d last seen them pouring from the foliage-covered, cloud-shrouded mountain. Had no doubt their snipers hung back, protecting their charging team’s frontal assault.
Use the bottom entry. Matt had asked for one. They’d made one.
I found it, slid the panel back, hauled myself in, rabid eyes slamming around. What to get—what?
Hadn’t counted them, had to assume they were too many. Must get all I could, leave them no chance of retaliation.
Think. What would do maximum damage? Without catching my team in the fallout?
We’d mixed gelatin explosive from antifreeze, baking flour and smokeless powder, plastique from aspirin, battery fluid and sodium nitrate. Both had explosive power rivaling nitroglycerine and TNT. But I must have those thugs together to get the needed result.
So lure them inside and detonate them.
I’d detonate me, too. Not an issue. I was dead anyway. This way, I might save some.
No—no kamikaze tricks. Damian would kill you if you execute one. Damian…
Stop. Think!
Okay. Okay. I’d get them in here, do something else. Greet them with a refreshing cloud of sarin gas. Char and Di had made the nerve agent from the insecticides we had with us, had it pressurized now, masquerading as the fire extinguisher.
Once I unleashed it, it would storm the murdering bastards’ bodies through skin and lungs with their next exerted breath. Then fun began. Drooling, tearing, cramps, vomiting, convulsions, respiratory paralysis. Agony, panic, then death. Way better than bullets. They didn’t deserve the mercy of bullets.
I ran for bag-valve oxygen mask, goggles, gloves, atropine/cholinesterase re-activator auto-injector, the antidote in case of skin contamination or the volatile vapors getting past my mask. Now, for an invitation they couldn’t refuse.
I retrieved my cyanide blow-darts from my heels, slid the door open just a crack, took aim at the man about to round a trailer’s corner where my teammates were hiding, blew. I didn’t watch him fall, turned to another, then another. Then opened the door and let them see me, see what I was doing.
Come and get me.
They came. Throwing myself behind the central steel lab counter, I waited for boots to stop thudding up into the ML, all who’d attend the party. They didn’t shoot. Didn’t want to damage the pricey equipment, huh? They thought I’d gambled, lost, was now cowering, that they could always blow my head off if I showed it again to give my blow-darts another go.
Ready in goggle and gloves, nose and mouth clamped with the bag-valve mask, I let them have it.
I left the lethal nerve gas blowing full steam, rolled to the floor opening, tried to slither through.
But my body was swelling—or the world was shrinking—mouth filling, eyes, too, chest tightening…
The sarin—I’d absorbed some—the antidote—God where is it? I thudded to the ground, over something hard—my gun—nausea imploding me… The antidote…
Fingers were spastic around something—smooth, cylindrical—a syringe? Already hallucinating—do it now before it all stops making sense!
Guess I did. A penetrating jolt—the three-inch needle into my thigh—pain—the hard rush of fluid between my muscle fibers. Would take time to work, time I didn’t have—get away—nerve gas seeping through the opening…
I crawled, weighed down, spikes lodging into me, like a hundred times before, in training, with Damian in pursuit, pushing me to overcome my limits—Damian, oh God…
Anger erupted, a geyser of strength and focus. Got me to the ML’s end, peeking out to assess the situation—and—oh!
Damian!
Alive!
Oh God—oh God—alive—running backward to the open STS, firing an automatic rifle, someone—Al—on his shoulder. Arms reached to receive his burden.
Yes, yes. He was almost safe. Get in. Drive away. Run!
He didn’t, just rolled on the ground, exploding from one cover to another, roaring for me.
“Calista!”
I tried to scream to him, whimpered instead. I staggered up from beneath the ML, expending the last of my bullets, buying him more cover, blowing my own.
The ground zoomed up into my face. He roared, stood up in plain sight.
My scream made it out of my swollen insides this time. “Save the others….”
Shadows fell on me—too solid, one kicking the gun, almost my hand off with it, another ramming me beneath my ribs, compacting my viscera into my spine.
Blue-white nothingness flashed, went supernova, razing me. I stumbled over my enemies’ arms, staring into a black hole with a hurtling away truck kicking up a blinding cloud in its middle.
Still saw Damian, distorted, slowed down, blood covering his left shoulder, roaring my name, threats. I think I called out again.
“For me—save the others….”
Me—they had me. It was over.
Thirty-One
Panic hit first. Robbed me of five seconds.
Over three dozen charging mercenaries, three hundred feet and closing, high-powered, scoped, night-vision rifles targeting me warranted a five-second panic, I’d say.
Couldn’t afford more. Think. A counteroffensive.
But—they weren’t firing. So it was capture and interrogate. I could let it play, wait for Damian’s incursion…Sure—and cripple him and end every possibility of winning this. Blow them up, then, run for cover, pick the remaining off.
Yeah. Blowing Damian’s team’s element of surprise right along, saving myself and endangering the whole thing—but—what element of surprise? Had no idea how, but our cover was blown. Still, they could be coming only for me. A blowup now would be a diversion, a heads-up, a distress call.
I waited until they were in throwing range and let them have it. I ran as the detonations went off, shock waves pummeling me like body-sized fists. Damian had said to keep on running. No way. I’d reach good foliage cover, climb a tree, pick them off, wait for Damian’s backup or go back him up—
Something snagged at me, hauled me back. Damn—my disaster bag, caught on a branch. I fought the imbalance, my momentum lost. I slammed on my back, the bag taking a bit of the brunt before my head hit the ground sideways. The usual explosion of pain and disorientation followed.
In a minute, I was looking up at a dozen automatic rifle barrels.
My heart fired. They didn’t.
So they still wanted me in one piece, after I’d blown some of them to pieces? Okay. So they got me. I could still use this, help Damian from the inside. Wasn’t much fun finding myself captive for the second time in less than thirty-six hours, though.
The guerrillas, or whatever they were, hauled me to my feet, all nice and helpful. One of them told me in mutilated English to please come with them as others carefully disentangled me from my disaster bag, frisked and disarmed me, as usual missing the important stuff. The unusual thing, the downright weird thing, was how courteous they were about it. Hell if I could find another way to describe their behavior…
I walked ahead of them, my head still ringing, my back throbbing with echoes of the mercenary’s kick and this latest fall, getting a better view as we approached the plant. An installation made to be erected in days and dismantled in less. Probably one of many in their bid to confuse intelligence, and hop to another location at the drop of a pin.