Zeke tried the handle. It was locked. We could call Spooky in to try to pick the lock, or we could break in.
Sticking to the plan, Zeke decided to break in as quietly as possible. The building was filled with the low rumble of the generator and the rushing sound of the air system, so there was a good chance we could get away with it.
Zeke pulled a crowbar out of the small of his back, where he had had it taped. He fit it between the door handle and the jamb, leaning his weight on it slowly until it popped with a muffled clang. He immediately shoved the door open and swept the left side of the room.
I followed him in and swept the right. Each of us moved to our sides, out of the death funnel of the doorway.
A dark figure on the lower bunk of two rolled heavily out, tangled in blankets. “Wha-“ I heard before Zeke stepped forward and gave him a left-handed whack on the head with the crowbar. The man dropped to the thin-carpeted floor like a sack of potatoes.
The room was lit only by the dimness of the corridor and the green numbers of a clock-radio on a night table. It read 3:17. Perfect.
I poked the upper bunk with the barrel of my weapon, finding nothing and no one there but bedding.
Zeke whipped out zip cuffs and hog-tied the fallen man, then taped his mouth shut. He popped a pillowcase over the man’s head then taped that loosely around his neck.
I checked his pulse. Good and strong. Zeke knew his club work.
“One hostile neutralized,” Zeke reported over the net. “Still quiet.”
I hoped that was true, and I hoped it stayed that way. I rolled the man under the bunk bed, out of the way. If he was smart, he would stay there until it was all over.
There was a door with a mirror on it in the wall to the right. Logically that would be a bathroom or closet. Zeke reported quietly, “Interior door. Opening.” It was a closet, with some security uniforms and civvies in it. The wall at the back seemed solid, made of the same thin industrial steel construction as the rest of the building. Too bad. If it had been drywall we might have tried to breach it through to the next room.
“Emerging left,” Zeke called, and we moved back into the corridor. It was going to get harder fast, because the next door on the right had a big square window in the top half, with wire mesh inside, the kind designed to let people look into the room before entering. Or vice versa. But this window was dark, and I hoped that meant unoccupied. The next one up on the right was lit.
Our door to the left was not going to be as simple as the last one. There was an external deadbolt fitted, like an afterthought. Maybe it was meant to keep something in, not out. We retreated back to the room we were in before, and spoke in low tones.
“That must be Elise’s cell,” I offered.
“Maybe. What if it’s a berserk gorilla with the XH in it they are keeping for experimentation?”
“Ugh,” I said. “Yeah, point taken. We can’t be sure. All we know is it’s built to keep something in, not out.”
“Jury-rigged for that, anyway. So we clear the rest of the building and tackle that door last, with more information.” Zeke’s tone brooked no argument.
I nodded in agreement.
Zeke called softly, “Zeke to Larry. We’re changing to the right side of the corridor. Emerging left.”
We moved out into the corridor and Larry moved behind us up to the open door of the bunkroom. We went back to the windowless door on the right side of the corridor. It turned out to be a half-full storeroom with lab supplies and machinery in it, unlocked. We came back out.
Zeke and I edged up the right side and he looked in the dark window for a long moment. He shook his head, unable to see anything. He reached over to test the door handle. It turned. He pressed it gently inward, and it opened a tiny bit. He nodded, then gave me a three count with his fingers; one-two-three and in we went.
Murphy always wins, they say. Nothing ever goes smooth. All hell seemed to break loose inside that room. Screeching sounds, zoo sounds, howls and a clattering of metal together. Something soft and smelly spattered on the wall next to me, and it was only lack of targets in the dark that kept me from firing.
I flipped on the light.
Monkeys. Apes, animal figures in cages stacked along the far wall, and a never-ending racket.
“We’re blown,” Zeke spoke into his mike. “Execute Bravo.” That was plan B. Always good to have one of those, because Plan A never survived contact with the enemy, or even with Murphy.
Zeke led the way back into the corridor, fast. We hugged the right wall to the lighted-window door and he dove across the doorway to the other side, low, below line of sight. From there he reached up to the door handle, gave us a quick three-count and went in low from that side, flowing around to the left.
I went in right and higher, trusting to my helmet, vest and XH. I was the biggest target, and an alert enemy would have had ten seconds to prepare.
Elise was standing inside, her mouth agape, getting ready to yell. I held up my left index finger to my lips in an emphatic gesture for silence. I closed with her quickly, crossing the big laboratory in two seconds, still holding the finger to my lips.
She backed up in alarm, but not fast enough, and I let my M4 fall to my side on its retractable sling to free up my hands, making the “shush” sign the whole time. Funny how most people obey emphatic, familiar signals.
I gently tackled her in a modified martial arts move I dredged out of my subconscious, which ended up with us both on the ground out of sight behind a big heavy lab bench. I covered her mouth with my hand and said into her ear, “Stay down, don’t interfere. This is a rescue.”
She nodded, her eyes wide. Big blue eyes, a splash of freckles across her nose, straight brown hair, and a delicate scent that made my mouth dry up like a lovestruck teenager. I started to get dizzy.
Oh God please no. Not now. I had the weirdest feeling, like I had known her all my life and she had known me too, déjà vu times two. With an effort of will I pushed her and the feelings away and went back to the job. As I was turning back toward the door, gunfire exploded in the corridor.
I saw Larry, framed in the doorway, open up with his AA-12. Shots roared out as he walked the gun from floor to ceiling, shooting at something down the corridor to the right. The recoil kept the barrel climbing up, up and then all the way over with his hand spasm-locked on the trigger.
Time seemed to slow down with my adrenaline surge, and I saw pieces of Larry’s armor blowing off in chunks as he got slammed by return fire. It was something big and heavy and deadly, because I saw his back plate lifted off his body and flap like a sail as something went all the way through him from the front.
My whole being launched forward like a Border Collie bolting for a frisbee, every reason for my existence condensed into one pure moment, driving for the goal. That Others May Live thundered in my head as I sprinted for the doorway.
Larry’s automatic shotgun stopped firing and fell out of his hands, and then he was on his knees, going down slow and heavy.
Before he hit the floor I threw my body into the kill zone, between him and the shooter. I wrapped my hands behind his neck, grabbing the carrying handle of his armor between his shoulder blades. I felt a hot tearing burn in my thigh and then in my side below my ribs as bullets ripped through me. One round hit the SAPI plate in the center of my back and punched like a fist into my spine, but the armor held. At least they weren’t hitting Larry. I ignored everything but the job.
As soon as I had a grip I put up a foot against the opposite wall, pushing off of it like a gymnast. I threw my whole weight back through the doorway into the lab, dragging my wounded teammate with it and out of the line of fire. I screamed with effort and pain. My leg was filled with liquid fire and my muscles burned. I scrabbled on the floor, dragging him backward like I was in a strongman competition. I frantically hauled and lifted and jerked almost four hundred pounds of gear and bloody dying man back behind a heavy lab bench. I dropped him, popped the quick-release
on my ruck and pulled out my aid bag; I went to work, ignoring my own wounds and my suddenly acute need for food.
Zeke took the door position and yelled on the net, “Hostile, hostile, southwest corner room. Man down, man down. Skull, put a few rounds through the corner of the building.”
I immediately heard heavy, measured popping sounds begin, metallic and deadly, 7.62 rounds punching through the thin lab walls. I hoped he knew where he was aiming.
I glanced up over the bleeding mess to meet Elise’s eyes, kneeling there. She looked horrified.
I pulled out Gramps’ blade and she shrank back, but I ignored her and cut the body armor off of Larry. The knife sliced through the armor’s straps and seams and in ten seconds I had his shell off in pieces. My hands moved with the practiced speed of my younger days as I slid the pig-sticker back into its sheath and ran my hands over his body, searching for the trauma in his flesh. I would have to let the other three deal with the hostile if I was going to save Larry’s life.
The worst injury was a sucking chest wound, front and back penetration. It looked like a large-caliber full metal jacket round, maybe coated with something to defeat armor, .50 caliber or .44 magnum. I cursed all fans of big-bore handguns as I grabbed Elise’s bare hand and put it against the bloody hole in his chest.
“Pressure, hard, HERE.”
I rolled him onto his side to keep the fluid buildup in his lungs under control. Air wheezed in and out of the puncture in his back as his body struggled for breath. I needed to seal that up.
By this time Zeke was squeezing off single shots left-handed in the doorway, firing down the corridor to the right, suppressing the hostile. With part of my mind I heard the electric-chainsaw sound of Spooky’s P90, slim 5.7mm rounds shredding in short bursts like hail drumming on a steel rooftop. Then I heard a flash-bang go off, and Zeke moved out into the corridor. He and Spooky assaulted the shooter.
I had unrolled my aid bag and was reaching for the tools of my trade when Elise leaned over and planted her mouth full on Larry’s.
No time for smooching and no need for mouth-to-mouth ran through my head unbidden. My fingers slowed down as my disbelieving brain watched her lay the mother of all French kisses on Larry, like a drunk chick at a Saturday night meet-market. The uncomprehending part of me was suddenly jealous. I heard the snake giggle from somewhere deep inside.
She lifted her head, coughing and retching, and I saw her expression, a mixture of horror and hope, as she wiped her mouth out with the sleeve of her lab coat and stared down at Larry.
Was this an attempt to transfer the XH to Larry? It was the only thing that made sense.
I had to put that question on hold along with many others as a tall cabinet in the corner behind her swung inward. It had hidden a door from the next room. A man stood thus revealed, a scarred man with a very, very large handgun in a shooter’s grip. He fired two more quick shots back into the room he was leaving and then turned toward us.
I dropped my right hand to my thigh where my trusty XD was holstered, drew and fired, double tap. Unfortunately the hard rubber bullets I had loaded with stung him but didn’t put him down. My experiment had betrayed me, and I frantically pulled the trigger over and over, peppering him with nonlethal rounds at close range. I saw one hit his face and tear a hole in his cheek, but the ones that bounced off his arms and chest did little but annoy him.
The XD’s slide locked open and I was out of ammo.
The gunman, who had been shielding his face with his raised arms, began to bring his weapon back to shooting position. I released my pistol, snapped my hand to the blade on my calf. I drew the knife with my fingertips and in one motion extended my hand with a flip of the wrist. It was poor technique but he was very close, less than ten feet away. Gramps’ legacy turned end for end once. The razor-sharp tip of the blade punched right through the meaty part of his left forearm, between the radius and ulna.
Unfortunately he was right-handed. He gritted his teeth and his right hand kept swinging that hand cannon in our direction, and I knew this was going to hurt. I prayed for God to save me and the XH to save me and surged to my feet to rush him.
But it was neither God nor XH, it was my own angel that saved me. Elise was closer and wasn’t carrying a load of gear. She bounced up and stepped in front of that damned murdering gunman and I saw the explosion as the first round blasted through her shoulder upward, a spray of red that covered me in a fine mist. The bullet, slowed, thumped off my kevlar helmet, staggering me.
He fired the second and last round just as she got her hands on his weapon. It tore through her right upper arm, to plow into the wall somewhere off to our rear. Impossibly, she hung on to the big black automatic with a death-grip, preventing him from firing with her fingers jammed through the trigger guard, for just long enough.
What an amazing woman. If I wasn’t in love before, I sure was now.
He struck her weakly, once, with his wounded left arm, my knife still sticking out of it like some bizarre fashion accessory. Then I had him.
Without thought or planning my right hand had dropped to the pistol grip of the M4 hanging on its retractable sling and I lined it up between his eyes. I didn’t fire, though, as I would have a few days ago, before my conscience started acting up. Instead, I punched the weapon forward, driving the tip of the barrel into his forehead. I had to hit him once more before he finally slumped and let go of his gun, wheezing on the floor. I kicked it aside. Desert Eagle, like I had thought. I pulled Gramps’ blade out of his flesh, wiped it on his pants leg, and slid it back in its sheath.
Just then Zeke came through the same secret door. He took in the scene and pulled out his zip cuffs again.
“Double them,” I said, turning back to Larry. “He’s one tough son of a bitch.” I was worried about Elise but the triage medic in my head made me work on the wounded man first. Besides, she had the XH and had survived worse – worse that I had inflicted.
Zeke dragged the hog-tied hostile out of our way.
With the corner of my eye I saw Elise sitting on the floor bleeding, propped against another lab counter, both arms hanging flaccid. Zeke pushed his M4 back on his sling and knelt down to attend to her. I saw Skull appear in the lab doorway, having come to join the fight.
He looked disappointed, until Zeke yelled, “You and Spooky clear the rest of the building.” He needn’t have shouted, since we were all still on the tactical link, but sometimes you do things in the heat of battle that don’t entirely make sense.
“You guys all right?” Vinny broke in. He had been pretty restrained until now. Of course we had emphasized the importance of no chatter, but he finally couldn’t help himself.
“Larry’s hit, but I think I got him.”
I lied. He was bleeding out fast. The delay dealing with the last hostile had cost him, and I was in a race for his life.
I made sure his airway was clear, got plugs into the chest wounds front and back, and wrapped him tight and quick, putting him on the wounded side again to keep him from drowning in his own fluids. Then I slapped pressure bandages on his other wounds, the new type with the infused clotting agent. A large-bore IV of saline was next, into a vein. I looked around for something to hang it on, and found Elise there.
She grabbed the bag with her left hand and held it high. Her wounds had closed fast, much faster than I had expected.
My own remembered need for food cramped my gut, almost doubling me over. I grabbed my rucksack, opened one of the pockets to pull out a handful of protein bars. I ripped the wrapper off with bloody hands and held it out toward her face. Our eyes met, understanding passing between us.
She grabbed the bar with her free hand and stuffed it in her mouth, chewing furiously. She moaned with pleasure, a sound that reached me somewhere below the belt.
A part of me marveled at the human male’s ability to think about sex he hadn’t even had with someone he didn’t even know, even in the middle of a death struggle. Maybe because of the death s
truggle. I dropped the rest of the bars on the floor within reach, then went back to treating Larry.
I had got out another IV and was prepping whole blood when Elise asked, her mouth full, “You got dextrose?”
I nodded.
“That’s what he needs, more than blood.”
That made no sense to my training, but something about her look convinced me she knew what was she was talking about. So I prepped dextrose instead and slid it into his femoral vein, the biggest available vessel in the body and the way to get it in him fastest. It drained rapidly through the short tube as I held it up.
Elise fed me a chunk of protein bar. I gobbled it from her fingers. It was unbelievably sensual, like that first taste of water when you’re parched in the desert. She fed me another.
“More,” I gasped. I worked between bites.
“Give him more,” she said, gesturing at the dextrose.
“That would be too much. It could make him hyperglycemic. He could go into shock.”
“No,” she disagreed. “The Eden Plague is taking hold of him already. Look, his wounds are closing. He just needs to be fed. Give him more, now.” Her tone brooked no argument.
My mind’s eye flashed back to the bizarre lip-lock she had given Larry. That confirmed it. She had passed the XH, the…the Eden Plague she called it. Just like a bite, only a bit gentler. I was right, this stuff would put me out of a job. I didn’t have time to care about that right now. I switched out the empty for a full bag. “This is the last one of dextrose. Just whole blood and saline left.”
“Wait,” she said. She stuffed one more piece of protein bar into my mouth, then hung the saline drip on a drawer handle next to her. Standing up, she ran to the other side of the big laboratory, rummaging in a glass-fronted medical refrigerator. Larry looked like he was stabilized, breathing easier and not bleeding much.
She came back with four one-liter IV bags of something nonstandard, a pale pink liquid I didn’t recognize. It had ‘NS’ handwritten on it in black marker. “It’s a nutrient solution they use for the primates, when they do tests. It’s better than dextrose. It’s IV food in a bag. Only for Eden Plague carriers.”
The Eden Plague Page 9