The Gemini Effect

by Chuck Grossart

  “I want you to close your eyes . . .”

  “. . . Okay . . . ohmygod, ohmygod . . .”

  “. . . And I want you to imagine something for me, real hard, okay?”

  “. . . Okay . . .”

  “I want you to imagine that I’m there with you right now, Laura. I want you to imagine that I’m right there. I’m right there, Laura, can you imagine that for me?”

  “. . . Yes . . . Daddy, I’m so scared . . .”

  “I know, I know . . . I want you to reach out your hand, Laura. Reach out your hand and imagine that I’m there and I’m holding your hand. I’m holding your hand right now, Laura . . . Can you imagine that?”

  “. . . You’re right here and you’re holding my hand . . .”

  “That’s right . . . I’m right there and I’m holding your hand, Laura. I’m right there. Can you feel my hand? Just like when I walked you to school. Do you remember that? Do you remember when I held your hand when I walked you to school on your first day of second grade? Do you remember that, honey?”

  “I remember . . . I was so scared . . .”

  “You held my hand so tightly because you were scared, but it was all right, wasn’t it? It was okay, wasn’t it, Laura? You were safe with me, you were safe with me, Laura. Do you remember that?”

  “Oh, Daddy, what’s going to happen to me . . .”

  She was crying. “Shhhh . . . Hold my hand, honey. I’m there holding your hand. I’m kissing your forehead, honey. I’m there and I’m kissing your forehead and I’m telling you that I love you . . .” A single tear rolled down his cheek.

  “I love you, Daddy, I love you . . .”

  She screamed as the first bomb exploded overhead with a terrible loud crack.

  “What’s happening? What’s happening, Daddy! What’s happening!”

  “It’s all right, little one.” He knew it would only be seconds now. “I love you, Laura. I’m there with you, baby. I love you. I love you so much . . .”

  “Daddy . . . it’s raining! I’m getting w— Ohmygod—I—”

  Ray Smythe listened to his daughter die on the other end of the line. It was a sound no father should ever have to hear.

  There were no more words.

  There was a gurgling sound.

  A sickening choking noise.

  A loud crack as the cell phone hit the pavement.

  Through the still-open connection, General Smythe listened to the rapid succession of thump thump thumps as the bomb casings split apart and spilled their deadly vapor through the air. He heard people screaming—loudly at first, and then more quietly, as if the screams were bubbling up through throats full of honey, thick and heavy.

  In the background, the rumble from the B-52 slowly receded as it left the target area, banking to the south to recover at Barksdale. The rumble from its eight mighty engines was replaced with a strange clicking noise, a wicked chattering. Incredibly loud. Incredibly evil.

  He held the receiver in his hand for what seemed like an eternity.

  There was silence in the NMCC. Everyone in the command center knew what had just happened.

  A father’s heart had been ripped from his chest.

  The sound of the general’s phone being gently placed back in its cradle could be heard from every corner of the room. People stood in shocked and respectful silence for the man who’d led them through so many bad times.

  The silence was broken when General Rayburn “Scythe” Smythe, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, decorated combat veteran and proud United States Marine, removed his sidearm, placed the barrel in his mouth, and gently squeezed the trigger.

  CHAPTER 45

  “Carolyn, I think it’s dead.” Rammes stood just outside the thick Plexiglas containment wall, staring at the crumpled body of the mutated rat. It hadn’t moved for over forty-five minutes, and the biometric sensors were still blank.

  “I think we can go ahead and get it out of there. I want to make a thorough examination.” In the back of her mind, however, Carolyn didn’t believe the thing could’ve died so easily. Since the Gemini agent was the foundation for this mutation, the creature should’ve mutated in response to the soman nerve gas. “Only one person goes in there, and they must be armed.”

  “What are you thinking, Carolyn?” Garrett asked.

  “This doesn’t make sense. I honestly didn’t think the soman would kill it. All the data I’ve seen from the Soviet experience with Gemini led me to believe the creature would’ve mutated. It shouldn’t be dead.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “No, not disappointed. Just a little confused.” She looked at him through her plastic face mask and smiled. “I don’t like to be wrong.”

  “I guessed that.”

  “Lieutenant Ewing, open the door,” Rammes ordered. “Sergeant Wilson, get in there and get it to the examination container as quickly as you can. If that thing so much as twitches, I want your men to fill it full of lead.”

  “Hooah, sir.”

  Carolyn couldn’t resist any longer. “General, just what the heck does hooah mean?”

  “It can mean a lot of things, Carolyn. It can mean yes, it can mean great, it can mean shit hot, it can mean fuckin’ A, it can mean—”

  “Okay, sir. I get the idea.”

  “It’s just a very strong affirmative.”

  “Got it, sir. Hooah.”

  “Very nice, Carolyn. I’ll make a trooper out of you yet.”

  “That may be harder than you think, General. I don’t like guns.”

  “That’s okay. Neither do I.”

  Josh Ewing opened both sets of doors, and Sergeant Wilson, rifle at the ready, walked confidently into the room toward the dead beast. He inched up to the body, holding his rifle barrel right next to the thing’s head. “Jesus! This thing made one hell of a mess. I’m glad I don’t have to smell this shit.”

  “Pick it up and get the hell out of there, Wilson,” Rammes said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sergeant Wilson tried to pick the creature up with one gloved hand, but found it was stuck to the floor by the congealing mess of bodily fluids that surrounded it. He stood, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and stooped down to grab the body with both hands.

  Carolyn saw the eyes first.

  Two bright, fiery yellow orbs.

  Before she could scream a warning, the thing was raising itself off the floor, clumps of its hair ripping away, stuck to the mess on the floor.

  The biometric readings spiked.

  It was alive.

  “Get out of there! Get out!” Her warning was too late.

  Sergeant Wilson was startled. He lost his balance and fell back on his butt, kicking with his boots to get some distance from the thing, trying desperately to untangle his rifle strap and bring his weapon to bear.

  In a blur, the creature jumped at him and sank its fangs deep into his leg.

  Sergeant Wilson let out a bloodcurdling scream. He raised his rifle above his head and brought down the butt of the weapon square on the thing’s head.

  It wouldn’t let go.

  “Jesus! Get this thing off of me! Get it off!” he screamed.

  It was too late. The transfer had been made. The mutation of Sergeant Randy Wilson, United States Army, began almost immediately.

  The other soldiers ran through the first entrance, rifles at the ready.

  Sergeant Wilson fell back onto the floor, his head bouncing with the impact. His back arched, and he let out a tortured scream. Even now, just seconds after the infectious bite, the sound that escaped his trembling throat didn’t sound entirely human.

  The creature released its vise-like grip on its victim’s leg, and crouched, preparing to jump.

  Garrett pushed Josh Ewing out of the way, sending him sprawling through the air to l
and in a tangled heap against one of the examination tables, and mashed the button to close the inner door. It slammed shut just as the soldiers reached it, and just as the creature flew through the air, slamming onto the door with a sickening thud.

  “Garrett! What are you doing! We’ve got to get him out of there!” Carolyn tried to reach the button herself, but Garrett held her back.

  “He’s already dead, Carolyn! He’s already dead!”

  Rammes ordered the remaining soldiers out of the entrance and closed the outer door. He walked to the Plexiglas and watched as the mutated rat jumped at him, slamming into the thick wall with a muted thud, snarling at him around oversized fangs, a foamy mass of blood—Sergeant Wilson’s blood—ringing its mouth. A red smear ran down the inner surface of the Plexiglas to the floor, where the creature had landed.

  A few feet away, Sergeant Wilson’s body twitched and contorted in a macabre dance of death—but it wasn’t really death, it was a transformation. Rammes watched in horror as what was once Sergeant Wilson tore at the environmental suit, ripping it into shreds with his new hands, now clawed and built for tearing.

  Carolyn quickly walked to the soman control panel. She adjusted the dials and hit the release button. Within seconds the room was shrouded in a fog of deadly nerve gas.

  Through the cloud, two sets of burning yellow eyes shone back at them, one set at floor level, the other at eye level. The transformed Sergeant Wilson was standing. He was now a thinker.

  CHAPTER 46

  The president called an emergency session of his war cabinet immediately after learning of Ray Smythe’s suicide.

  Assembled in the situation room were Hugo McIntyre, Tank Stone, Secretary of State Adam Williamson, and Jessie Hruska. The vice president and the directors of the CIA, the NSA, and the FBI were all video-teleconferenced in.

  Jessie sat immediately to the president’s right.

  “We’ve suffered a terrible loss this evening. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs—and my good friend—Rayburn Smythe committed suicide in the NMCC upon learning of his daughter’s death.” He paused, unsure of what to say. He knew a good man had lost his daughter directly because of his decision.

  “Mr. President, it had to be done,” Jessie said. “The creatures were already on top of them—they’d almost reached the traffic jam where his daughter was stuck. She told her father she could see them coming closer.” She gently placed her hand on the president’s thigh, under the table. Out of sight. “She couldn’t be saved, Mr. President. None of them could.”

  “How many did we lose?” the president asked, to no one in particular.

  “Mr. President, there are no—” Hugo stopped midsentence.

  “Go ahead, Hugo.”

  “All the evacuees from Omaha and Lincoln are dead, Mr. President. We don’t have exact numbers yet, but the troops on the ground aren’t reporting any survivors.”

  Andrew pushed that terrible news aside for the moment. He had to. “Did we kill the things?”

  “Looks like it, sir. They dropped in place when the soman hit them. I think we’ve done it, sir. I think it’s over.”

  “We’ve still got three more waves hitting us from the air, Hugo.”

  “Yes, sir, but now we know how to kill them.”

  “You want me to drop soman gas all over three—no, four more—cities that haven’t had a chance to evacuate at all yet, and hope that we kill every single mutated bird in the air?”

  “We can release the soman in the air, Mr. President. Defense is looking at modifying some of the old National Guard aerial spraying aircraft. Some are being used by the forestry service, a couple are in ready-use status at the boneyard, and—”

  “How long before they can be used?”

  Tank answered, “We can have a couple ready by tomorrow night, Mr. President.”

  “How much soman do we have left?”

  “That’s not a concern, Mr. President. The Soviets had enough of the stuff to blanket the entire globe a couple of times.”

  “Well, Tank, I guess I should thank the Russian president the next time I talk to him, then.”

  The secretary of state took this chance to interject. “Mr. President, the Russians are getting a little antsy. They’re concerned that this situation may get out of control—and spread. And they’re not the only ones.”

  “What have we told them?”

  “They’ve been watching CNN just like everyone else on the planet, sir. They’re not, however, aware of the Gemini connection. They’ve inquired about helping us—humanitarian relief, border security, that sort of thing.”

  “I think those bastards have helped enough already.”

  Adam Williamson continued. “Like I said, sir, the Russians aren’t the only ones showing concern over this. Our allies—especially Canada—are especially concerned about the spread of the mutations. Most countries have cancelled all international flights to and from the United States. Mexico and Canada have stated they’re going to station troops along their borders, as well. They haven’t closed them yet, but once Canada learns of the Minneapolis attacks, we can expect them to close their border.”

  “We have to stop this before the spread reaches outside CONUS.” Andrew rubbed his face with his hands, the scruff of his day-old beard sounding like sandpaper against leather. He turned his attention to his CIA and NSA directors. “Jake, Steven, what are we showing on the threat boards?”

  The director of the CIA, Jake Kesting, spoke first. “There’s still no evidence, Mr. President, to assume a state-sponsored attack. We’ve been digging hard into the terrorist organizations; other than sending messages back and forth about how this is a message from Allah that the end is near for the Great Satan, there’s been no chatter whatsoever claiming responsibility. Same for the domestic groups—they’re silent.”

  “Sir, we have been intercepting some troubling communications from the Chinese,” Steven Jacobsen said. “NSA has seen increased message traffic to their regional commanders over the past few hours. The units they’re talking to are those units we assume would be used in an attack against Taiwan.”

  Andrew’s gaze grew suddenly fierce. He focused it on his secretary of state. “State, you tell those bastards that if they even twitch toward Taiwan—if they even take a piss in the Taiwan Strait—I will not hesitate to blow their whole fucking country right off the face of the earth. You can use those exact words, Adam.”

  “Understand, sir.”

  “Tank, we need to get a new chairman up and running to take Smythe’s place.”

  “Sir, right now the vice chairman is running the show—Admiral Burns. He’s the logical choice to step up to the pla—”

  Jessie cut him off. “General Metzger, sir. He’s the right man for the job.”

  “Metzger?” the President asked. “Isn’t he at STRAT?”

  “Yes sir. General Thad Metzger is the commander, United States Strategic Command.”

  “Ms. Hruska,” Tank said, his voice cool with contempt, “Admiral Burns, for the sake of continuity in this time of crisis, is the right—”

  “Thad Metzger is a warrior, Mr. Secretary. Admiral Burns is a politician, a yes-man. He’s not the kind of leader we need right now.”

  Andrew couldn’t help but smile. He knew Burns personally from their days together on the Pacific Command staff, years ago. Jessie was right about him.

  Tank didn’t like being called on the carpet at all, especially by Jessie Hruska, and especially in the situation room in front of the president. His voice boomed low and loud. “Mr. President, with all due respect to Ms. Hruska, I strongly recommend Admiral Burns for this position.”

  “Tank, you know as well as I do that Don Burns is an administrative genius. I knew him when he was a captain on the PACOM staff. He’s a hell of a staff officer, but he’s one of the most uninspiring officers I’ve ever met. We need
a leader, Tank. Get me General Metzger on the horn. Right now.”

  Allison spoke. “Mr. President, I agree with Mr. Stone that—”

  “Not now, Allison. Tank, make the call.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The president had made his decision. The time for arguments was over.

  Allison watched, dumbfounded, as the president made another decision without even a whiff of consideration for what she thought. It was his prerogative as commander in chief, surely, but never had she seen him so blatantly disregard his own secretary of defense. Or her.

  Allison didn’t think Donald Burns was the right choice, either, but Metzger? Not her first choice. As well as she knew—or thought she knew—Andrew, Metzger shouldn’t have been at the top of his list, either. Hruska made the suggestion, and Andrew had hopped right on board, almost like he was her friggin’ lapdog.

  Not the Andrew she knew. At all.

  The Russians were getting concerned. The Chinese, getting frisky. Old allies beginning to turn their backs. The American Midwest had turned into a massive killing field. A crisis like no other, and the president no longer seemed like the man beside whom she’d agreed to serve.

  Now high over eastern Wyoming and heading north onboard the E-4, Allison was glad she’d listened to her hunch. Something was definitely wrong.

  She had a bad feeling it was going to get worse.

  CHAPTER 47

  General Rammes stood at the Plexiglas wall, watching as the thing that was once one of his soldiers walked right up to him, its face clouded by mists of the soman gas, staring right at him. Burning, yellow eyes. Full of hate, full of hunger. Full of intelligence.

  The thing let out a low moaning sound, its lips parting to reveal row upon row of black, triangular teeth. Serrated at the edges. Like a shark’s.

  Without breaking his stare, Rammes said, “Carolyn, the soman isn’t having any effect this time. Why isn’t Sergeant Wil—” He paused, correcting himself. “Why isn’t this thing going through the same death throes that the rat did the first time we used the gas?”