The Tide (Book 5): Iron Wind

by Anthony J Melchiorri

Images of one of his favorite movies, Apocalypse Now, filtered through his head. The initial scene of Martin Sheen being flown in a helicopter over the Vietnamese coast was one of his favorites. He wished he were flying in one of those birds over the ocean, the jungle. Whatever. Anything was better than driving a goddamn bulldozer over a Skull-infested highway.

  He began to whistle Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”

  Frustrated growls cut through the music and the sound of the diesel engine. Frank glanced behind to see the silhouettes of Skulls still stubbornly following his trail in the pale moonlight. He noticed one, smaller than the others. It had something strange growing out of its scalp, like a misplaced duckbill. He soon realized it wasn’t a growth but a baseball cap. The Skull’s devil horns had grown right through the hat. As the creature sped up, gaining on the bulldozer, Frank recognizing the stylized white “N” representing the Washington Nationals, DC’s professional baseball team.

  A painful knot formed in Frank’s stomach, and all his forced good humor faded. He felt foolish and guilty all at once. His son, Philip, had been wearing the same hat when he’d last seen him. And for a second, he thought the small Skull might even be Philip.

  But that, at least, was impossible. Philip had been long gone before the Oni Agent outbreak. When he joined the crew of the Huntress, he had told them that his wife had taken his kid in a nasty divorce. He’d talked up what a shitty father he was, cataloging all the birthdays he’d missed and the ballgames he’d forgotten, because that was easier than admitting the truth.

  Frank wasn’t a deadbeat dad. He wasn’t sure he could call himself a dad at all anymore.

  Years ago, he’d been teaching a flight class at the Manassas Regional Airport, and his wife, Marie, and Philip had surprised him by dropping by for lunch. He’d been in the middle of a safety lecture—oh, the irony!—so his buddy Gerald had offered to take them up on a quick sightseeing flight while Frank wrapped up his class. That had been the day an aneurysm had chosen to burst in Gerald’s head like a goddamn land mine. The chopper had crashed less than a quarter of a mile from the airport.

  There had been no survivors.

  Only one man knew the truth about Frank’s past, about the guilt and grief that was eating him alive even as he cracked jokes and slammed down one too many beers with the crew. Dom knew everybody’s secrets aboard the Huntress.

  He needed to get back to Dom now. And to do that, he needed to get to the Manassas Regional Airport. As the bulldozer crested a small rise leading to the highway, he recognized the familiar landscape smothered in evergreens. A strip mall stood near the airport exit, where his favorite hole-in-the-wall Chinese place was. He hadn’t been to Happy Wok or the airport since the day he’d lost his family. It felt only fitting, when all the world had gone to shit, that he returned now. The bulldozer followed the ramp onto the highway, and Frank weaved between cars, shoving through them when he had to, losing precious momentum as he did. He glanced around the cab, flipping various switches. One turned on a fan in the cabin. Another switched on the CB radio, which hissed static. Finally, one switch lit up the road ahead with wide swathes of brilliant white light.

  Frank also discovered an ancient paint-splattered boom box tucked under the seat. He hit the eject button, and a tape popped out.

  Black Sabbath. Excellent!

  He replaced the tape and cranked it up. “War Pigs” filled the cabin, joining the cacophony of monsters chasing him.

  Skulls ran over the abandoned vehicles, hunger glinting in their eyes as they rushed the bulldozer. He locked the throttle into place and lowered the blade. The dozer pushed cars out of the way. An SUV’s fender got caught on the bucket, and the smell of burning rubber wafted from its tires as the bulldozer strained to move it.

  It seemed the valiant dozer had finally met its match.

  Frank was only a few yards from the far side of the highway. He judged the odds for half a second and then opened the door to the bulldozer’s cabin and leapt out, leaving the machine running and the boom box blaring. He scrambled over the cement Jersey wall and dove into a dense thicket of bushes. Branches snagged on his clothes. As quickly and quietly as he could, he army-crawled under the foliage.

  Risking a look, he saw Skulls pouring through the woods toward the bulldozer. Soon they were crawling over it like ants devouring a watermelon. He crept through the coverage of tree trunks and bushes, ducking whenever he heard a Skull sprinting to investigate the commotion he’d caused.

  His distraction had worked beautifully. The creatures had been so focused on the bulldozer they hadn’t noticed him sneak into the woods. Their sensitive ears didn’t seem to detect the occasional snapping branch or rustling bush over the roar of the engine and the relentless onslaught of Black Sabbath.

  Maybe the Skulls were all metal heads.

  Rock on, Frank thought. Just as long as you stay the hell away from me.

  It took almost thirty minutes of sneaking and skulking through the forest until the trees opened up and the crisscrossed runways of the airport welcomed him back to a place he’d tried to forget. But where once it had held only painful memories, it now held salvation. Frank rushed through the shadows, his heart pounding. He stopped at the perimeter of the airport, which was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence that had been broken and bent in several places. Several helicopters sat on the tarmac, all waiting for him. He could already picture the office pegboard where the keys to those choppers would be—and which bird he’d try flying first.

  Just a little farther to go, and then he’d be back where he belonged. He could almost taste the freedom of the skies once more.

  Frank Battaglia, you’re cleared for takeoff.

  -8-

  The Goliath gazed at them as if surprised by their arrival.

  “Everyone on the Zodiac,” he said. “Run to the east wall of the warehouse. Let me and Miguel take care of this asshole.”

  They ran off, leaving Dom and Miguel to face of the twisted creature. It looked more boulder-come-to-life than human-turned-monster. Rounded plates covered its flesh, and instead of long horns and spikes, it had bumped nodules. Each plate seemed to be a good inch or two thick, meaning this thing was built like a wrecking ball, and Dom didn’t doubt it took its job seriously.

  “What you looking at, you big ogre?” Miguel said.

  The Goliath thumped its chest then charged. Dom and Miguel fired at the creature. Bullets cracked against its armor, but still it ran, seeming to gain speed with every direct hit.

  “Move, move, move!” Dom roared. He and Miguel turned and dashed through an aisle of crates and equipment, passing another dry-docked sailboat. They hurdled over Skull corpses, and the occasional spent round case went pinging against the floor when they kicked it. This wasn’t the first time Skulls had faced humans in this hellhole. Heavy thudding footsteps followed their every move. The bellow of the Goliath sounded out, reverberating in the aluminum roof of the shoddy warehouse.

  They passed a pile of destroyed crates, and Dom swiveled to unleash a flurry of rounds into the Goliath. It swatted at the gunfire like it was trying to ward off a swarm of gnats. Still, it churned forward, shielding its face, and stomped over the crates and Skull corpses beneath its heavy feet. Even with armor-piercing rounds, the thick flesh and huge muscles throbbing around the creature’s limbs and torso protected it. The bastard was still somehow on its feet.

  “Come on!” Dom yelled.

  “I got this!” Miguel said, racing past Dom. He let his rifle drop to his side and aimed his prosthetic arm at the creature. The small nozzle Chao had installed sprayed a concentrated stream of acid in the Goliath’s face, sizzling against bone and melting its eye. The monster bellowed in a mixture of rage and anguish.

  Miguel shot another acid burst at the Goliath, and the burning liquid cut through the monster’s plates, exposing singed flesh and sinew. Dom fired at the weak spots and was rewarded with another howl from the giant.

  But despite the monster’s evid
ent agony, it barreled toward them, its huge arms swinging like a gorilla’s. Each loping step it took shook the floor and sent fractures fissuring through the concrete. Gunfire would not stop the giant anytime soon.

  “Run!” he yelled.

  He and Miguel sprinted to the others.

  “We’ve got company headed your way!” Dom said over the comm link.

  “On it, Captain,” Glenn said.

  The Goliath let out a roar that shook Dom’s eardrums. Warm globs of spittle slapped the back of his neck and drenched his fatigues. The creature was fast on their tail. He and Miguel weren’t going to outrun it, and bullets only made the creature angrier.

  Instead, Dom pointed to a dry-docked tugboat, its hull so badly rusted that holes had formed in it. Miguel gave him a subtle nod, and once they reached the tugboat, they slid under it. The slick floor carried them halfway along the length of the boat. They ran in a half-crouched position the rest of the way.

  Then, abruptly, the hull above their heads disappeared. The Goliath had picked the whole thing up and was holding the boat above its head. Wrenches and a welder fell from the upturned deck.

  “Duck!” Miguel yelled.

  The tugboat sailed over their heads and slammed into a stack of oil drums, knocking them over like a professional bowler scoring a strike. The drums bounced; some crumpled and others cracked, spilling viscous liquid in dark pools. Dom and Miguel avoided the spreading oil and ran along another alley of shipping containers. The Goliath’s broad shoulders scraped against the steel, slowing it slightly—but not enough for Dom’s comfort.

  Miguel sent a burst of rounds into the creature’s chest. Blood drizzled out of the acid burns and bullet holes, but the monster appeared not to notice. Dom thought he could see the outline of one of the Goliath’s lungs pressing against its exposed flesh. The spot was less than six inches in diameter, and it would be impossible to hit while both he and the beast were running.

  Dom stopped and shouldered his rifle.

  “Chief! Come on!” Miguel said.

  But Dom ignored him and timed the creature’s gait, predicting where the weak point would be in the next millisecond. He fired. The bullets pinged against the plates surrounding the wounded area, and for a moment, Dom thought he’d failed. Then a loud hissing sounded, and the Goliath stumbled forward. Air spurted from a freshly bored hole in its exposed chest. Bubbles of blood frothed around the wound as it struggled to breathe.

  He’d scored a direct hit and punctured the monster’s lung. Miguel followed up Dom’s attack with his own devastating volley. The Goliath fell to one knee and caught itself with its gargantuan right hand, still struggling to stand.

  Dom and Miguel fired until both had emptied their magazines. And somehow, through the hail of gunfire, the Goliath staggered to its feet. It ran again, unsteadily at first, crashing into the shipping containers, and then more steadily, straighter, heading toward Miguel and Dom.

  The creature picked up a metal crate.

  “Miguel, look out!” Dom yelled. The crate careened toward the Hunter. Dom tackled Miguel. The crate crashed onto the concrete near them, breaking apart. Bags of grain tumbled out of the busted crate. Several tore and spilled across the concrete.

  Miguel was already pushing himself to his feet. He helped Dom up, and they continued their flight away from the rampaging Goliath.

  Another crate flew at them, but this time they were ready, and both dodged it with ease. The crate smashed into a wall of shipping containers. Its sides split, and straw and glass bottles spilled out. The bottles exploded against the concrete floor. The biting odor of alcohol wafted over Dom and Miguel as glass shards stabbed through the air like shrapnel.

  “Jenna, Glenn, Terrence!” Dom called between gasping breaths. “Get ready!”

  He and Miguel zoomed around another corner. The other Hunters perched in positions along a catwalk.

  “No explosives!” The warehouse was an inferno waiting to happen. Between the oil and the alcohol, they’d have one hell of a blaze.

  The Hunters on the creaking catwalk let loose a fusillade of gunfire that cut across the Goliath’s chest and face. Bullets plunged into the gaping wounds already torn by Miguel’s acid spray, and the Goliath slowed again. It struggled against the incoming bullets like a person fighting gale-force winds. Its eyes still gleamed in hatred as its mouth chomped and an angry bellow shook the walls—and Dom’s ears. One of the Goliath’s eyes exploded in a gory mess. Its head twitched, and for a second, Dom thought that was it.

  But the Goliath wasn’t ready to give up. It summoned animalistic fury from somewhere within its ruined body, and it charged. Dom dove out of the monster’s path, barely making it in time, and the Goliath ran into a huge shelving unit full of metal drums. It fell hard to its right and landed on the Zodiac amid a cascade of oil drums. The impact crushed several of the packs, and the skeletal blades jutting from the Goliath’s arms cut into the Zodiac. Hissing air gasped from the wounded sea craft, even as a ragged death rattle escaped the bloodied, cracked lips of the Goliath.

  For a moment, no one said a word. They surveyed the damaged Zodiac and the giant corpse.

  “Oh shit,” someone whispered over the comm link.

  Dom glanced at the Zodiac. It was damaged beyond repair, no more seaworthy than a plastic tarp lined with cement blocks. Dom could hear the shrieks and scratches of Skulls outside the warehouse. It seemed that they were surrounded.

  But for now, they were still outside—and Dom hoped to be long gone before they found a way in. He rushed to the Goliath and listened. Nothing. The gored mess that had been its chest lay still.

  The other Hunters gathered around cautiously, each of them scanning the darkness, anticipating the signs of an ambush from the shadows.

  All was quiet.

  Glenn broke the silence. “So we gonna find another ride, Captain? Didn’t come all the way to the Congo to check out a boathouse.”

  “Yeah,” Terrence said. “I’m dying for some action after Doc kept me cooped up in the med bay.”

  Jenna grinned. “I haven’t killed near enough Skulls today.”

  Dom couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride. Despite all the odds stacked against them, despite the Zodiac’s demise, his team still wanted to move forward. The Hunters finished what they started. To them, every problem, every challenge, no matter how seemingly impossible, had a solution—often one that involved high-caliber ammunition.

  The Hunters would risk it all to accomplish their mission, so it was Dom’s job to be the voice of reason. He looked at each of them, watching the sweat roll down their foreheads and their constantly roving eyes. They talked tough, but they were on edge.

  He tried not to let the Hunters’ unwavering faith and support sway his decision. Rationally, their next step regardless of whether they pressed on or scrapped the mission would be the same. Whether they were going to travel along the Congo or return to the Huntress, they needed a mode of transportation, something that could handle the river or the choppy waves back to the Huntress.

  “So what now, Chief?” Miguel asked.

  What now?

  “We find ourselves a new boat,” Dom said.

  -9-

  Lauren leaned over a microscope and peered into the eyepiece. She twisted the coarse adjustment knob to focus her view. The fuzzy specks and blurred lines in the tiny plastic dish coalesced into something recognizable. This was it. The first experiment to assess whether the synthetic compound Kara had found via her FoldIt simulations had worked. This experiment would determine the future of Operation Phoenix, the pie-in-the-sky, moonshot project with the potential to stop the Oni Agent.

  If the test worked, it would not only kill the nanobacteria, but it would destroy the infectious protein component of the Oni Agent—the prions. By doing so, it would allow an infected patient’s brain to have a chance to recover from any neurological damage and fight the Agent. And if a patient was injected with the Phoenix Compound as a vaccine before they
ever got the Oni Agent, then the Phoenix Compound should drastically reduce, if not eliminate, their risk of Skull mutation.

  This might be it. Humanity’s salvation.

  Kara stood beside Lauren. Ordinarily, she did not invite spectators into the lab, but the girl deserved to be here since she was the one who’d discovered the theoretical Phoenix Compound. The rest of the medical research team—Peter, Sean, Divya, and their newest member, Navid—were also circled around the scope. Lauren could almost feel their tension.

  “All right, guys,” Lauren said, “remember to breathe. Can’t have you all passing out.”

  “Then kill it with the suspense. What do you see?” Divya asked.

  Lauren flicked a switch that activated the scope’s camera, and an image displayed on a computer screen next to the device. Long cells stretched across the monitor, forming tentacle-like connections with other neighboring cells.

  For Kara’s benefit, Lauren pointed at them. “These are neurons.”

  “And they look healthy! They actually look okay!” Navid said, his eyes brightening as he stared at the screen. “Did it work? Did we do it?”

  Lauren laughed—a rare sound these days. “I think we did.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Sean said. “I can’t believe it. I mean, it’s almost too good to be true.”

  Kara didn’t seem to share in the others’ excitement. Instead, she leaned forward and examined the cells. “Okay, so the neurons you’re growing in this plastic dish are healthy. But what does that mean? The cells look alive...for now.”

  Lauren didn’t know Kara well enough to judge whether her skepticism was an innate trait or something born from her recent experiences during the outbreak. Regardless, Lauren approved. Skepticism was well suited for an individual interested in exploring truth through scientific experimentation.

  “You’re right,” Lauren said. “It is probably too soon to get our hopes up. At the very least, it looks like the Phoenix Compound can sustain the viability of the neurons in the presence of the Oni Agent.”