Hard Road: Deadly Horizon (Dark Plague Book 2)

by Bradley West

  * * * * *

  Back at the maintenance station, Tina Francisco was numb with exhaustion. The surgery had taken three hours. “Before operating on Travis two nights ago, I hadn’t practiced medicine in the four years since I shifted into research,” she said to Carla. “I quit being an ER doctor because I hated the pressure of playing God. I couldn’t sleep knowing that my decisions—my mistakes—killed or crippled some patients. I just don’t have that mindset.” She took a drink of black coffee. Her pretty face showed a mix of Spanish and native features from her Philippines homeland. She reattached the N95’s strap over her ear and reverted to masked anonymity.

  “What’s the prognosis?” Carla asked.

  “The bullet caromed around his chest cavity before exiting under the ribcage on the left side. The shockwave damaged several organs. I removed his spleen, plus half his left kidney. I repaired several arteries and veins, so at least he’s not bleeding anymore. Amrat sponged the excess blood out and assisted, but he’s not a surgeon. I determined his lungs and heart were intact, and I . . . I sort of gave up and sewed him up.”

  “So, he’s a goner?” Travis was awake after a four-hour nap, but his spirits hadn’t improved.

  “No, he’ll live, but I’m not trained as a thoracic surgeon. He’s a young man and his vital signs were stable throughout, so I could have spent another two hours in there tidying up and double-checking other organs. The head nurse is a real bitch and she kept second-guessing my decisions. ‘Are you sure, Doctor? Don’t you want magnification or a sponge, Doctor?’ In truth, I wasn’t sure. I was rusty and I’d lost my confidence. The last hour, I just wanted out of there while he still had a heartbeat. It could have gone bad at any time, and they would have blamed me.”

  “Sounds like you did everything right thing and he’ll make it,” Travis said.

  “So long as they transfuse uncontaminated blood and Kelvin avoids a secondary infection, he should recover. But he should undergo another operation to ensure there’s no more internal bleeding and, subject to another X-Ray, remove any remaining bullet fragments. Apparently, he was the captain of the basketball team, and now he’ll be lucky if he walks normally again.”

  Jaime said nothing but listened with satisfaction. The 5.56mm M193 green tip bullet had done its job, bouncing around inside the ribcage like a pinball on steroids. Returning fire at people who were trying to kill him bothered him not one iota: Kelvin should have stuck to shooting hoops.

  Carla spoke to the group: “Tien and I will drive over and inspect the rooms where they suggested we site the two labs, and I’ll look at their equipment. While Tina operated, I talked with the clinic’s head of admin. He said the south wing never had Covid patients, and they disinfected it just today. He’s confident we can use the two rooms and sounds credible.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Travis said. “Arkar, jock up.”

  “You and Arkar need to stay put. We’ve loaded the Telluride with equipment for the batching process. Derek will drive us over and come back with any pieces that they’re missing. We have duplicates of most items.”

  “In the SEALs, there’s a saying: ‘Two is one and one is none.’ Don’t give them anything. Canada’s a long way away and even if we don’t need it now, someday we’ll be able to trade that fancy equipment for something vital like our lives.”

  “I’m in charge and it’s my call.” Carla’s voice was firm. “I’ll inspect what they’ve assembled and maybe they won’t need anything from us. There’s no point in teaching them the extraction and purification process if they can’t actually make the Dark Cure.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? There’s nothing to stop those people from taking you hostage—”

  “Remember, we still hold their leader.”

  “Okay, consider this. They let you make the vaccine, then they take it all for themselves. Have you thought about that?”

  “Yes, but I’ll only show them how to make most of the Dark Cure. I won’t show them the last steps in the lab.”

  Carla’s sneaky side surprised Travis. “That gives this a different flavor. Please elaborate.”

  “The difference between teaching high school biology and being the lead scientist at a Biosafety Level-4 lab isn’t just the equipment, it’s how you use it. I already wrote out the full process steps, and will hand over three-quarters of the instructions as a goodwill gesture without telling them I’m holding back anything. Separately, I detailed the finishing touches and put them in a second envelope that I’ve left with Sal, along with a videorecording of a walkthrough of the final stage so they can do it themselves. They only receive the last instruction set and how-to recording once we’re safely away with the treatments.”

  “Good idea,” Travis admitted. “We can hand that to Vargo ten miles out of town. By the time he’s hiked back and made contact, we’ll have taken an alternative route and we’ll be tough to follow if that’s their plan.”

  “We’ll leave as soon as we pack up our lab equipment.”

  “Sounds like you have the angles covered.” Travis knew that Carla was smarter than he was which was part of her appeal. “But before you go, let me give you code words to signal certain situations. If you’re stressed, talk about low tire pressure: one tire for the lowest level and all the tires if it’s extreme duress. If someone mentions ‘overheating’ or ‘dashboard lights,’ that’s the sign for us to come get you, but not urgently. If you need an immediate evacuation, say ‘brakes’ or ‘taking a break.’ We’ll be in contact every hour at five minutes before the hour. If you miss one contact appointment, we’re on our way.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little elaborate?”

  “If it’s too much to remember, I can write it down.”

  “I got it,” Carla said acidly. “I appreciate your concern, but our group priority is to produce the adjuvant and Dark Cure in parallel. It may take up to six hours from when the lab’s set up to finish turbocharging the remdesivir and converting it into a vaccine. The actual assembly process isn’t complex, but we need to be extra cautious since there’s no room for wastage or miscalculation. With that in mind, Tien and I need to get moving.”

  “Keep comms with you at all times,” Travis said. “We’ll have a rapid response team on standby and, if something’s not right, contact us rather than try to sort it out yourself.”

  Derek climbed into the driver’s seat. Arkar followed him over and offered his M-4, which the former tournament fisherman declined. “Carla was insistent: we go in unarmed.”

  Arkar shrugged and looked at Travis. His boss just shook his head and walked away.

  Yonten backed the semi up far enough to expose the opened gate, then pulled the big tractor-trailer back into a blocking position.

  “Honey, we’ve barely spoken in days,” Barb said to Jaime. “I’ve been so frightened and you’ve been out risking your life. Maybe we can spend a little time together tonight? I’ll smoke a joint and we can get frisky?”

  While it was good to know that the ice had thawed, Jaime was too preoccupied to think about sex. “Not tonight. I need to clear the air with Travis before this expedition goes to hell. We’d all be better off if Greenpeace wasn’t in charge. It sounds like you’re part of that as well.” Jaime stalked off and Barb’s hopes for a reconciliation crashed.

  Jaime’s first stop was Melvin, standing next to Pat with hands clasped and eyes closed in quick prayer. “Hey, Screaming Eagle. I need to speak with you.” Jaime caught Arkar’s eye and made a gesture. He searched in vain for Johnny Gratton, but his jarhead brother was nowhere to be seen, probably either nursing a bump or bumping a nurse.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dark Thoughts

  Thursday, July 16, 2020: Berkeley, California; Douglas County, Nevada; late afternoon into evening

  Burns felt anything but like a new bride as Muller manhandled him through the doorway and left him to hop over to the nearer of the double beds. The effort of supporting the Brit up six flights of s
tairs had reopened Muller’s wound. Muller collapsed on the adjacent bed and clutched his side, his hands sticky.

  Burns was the first to recover from the ordeal. “Doctor . . . park . . . Nat Guard . . . There . . . wallet . . . watch . . . thumb drive . . .”

  Muller lay flat on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The pain was intense, but he didn’t want it to diminish. He would remember the agony in a day, a week, or a month when he repaid the Elephant Man. “Take first watch and track every motorcycle. The hotel promised power from 15:30 to 17:30. If you get online, check Tor for the order book. I’ll be back after dark.” Muller fought to his feet and lurched out the door to find medical attention and work on a long shopping list.

  Burns sat in the dim room and contemplated his fall from the playboy CEO of a biotech startup with a big salary and a new wife to a maimed, penniless murderer and kidnapper. Making the cure for Covid-20 was a grand scheme and it might garner millions, but it was foolish to overlook that his new partner would have tortured and killed him last night had the Maggios not attacked when they did. Since then, he’d suffered a devastating bullet wound to his face and twice had been left for dead. Burns lay back and tried to sleep, but his mouth kept filling with blood.

  At 15:45, the lights and A/C flickered to life. Burns was up with a start, charging and booting up the laptop. As soon as he saw the home screen, he understood why his on-again, off-again frenemy had left the PC behind: it was bait. Muller had installed a new login password to block his access to his former dark web activity. The only way to inspect the Dark Cure order book would be to download a Tor browser and then reconnect to sites, bulletin boards, and chatrooms that Muller’s keylogger malware program tracked.

  * * * * *

  A cocktail of emotions churned as Travis watched Carla drive off. Yes, she was clever, but she was also reckless and didn’t know the first thing about operational security. He’d already pointed out that they lacked the manpower to protect two sites simultaneously, and the noncombatants and wounded at the DOT site took precedence. On the other hand, her recklessness might be so foolish that it was smart: Two technicians with a carload of fancy lab equipment presented no threat to the militiamen who’d suffered three deaths, one wounded, and a captured leader in the past ten hours. Nerves on their side would be raw, and what could he and Arkar accomplish even if they tagged along? Only signaling distrust and provoking their potential adversaries even further. The die had been cast when Carla had insisted on assembling the adjuvant/vaccine/whatever offsite. After that decision, Carla and Tien were better off unarmed and flying solo. The realization did little to quell his unease.

  His thoughts drifted to four other innocents living eighteen hundred miles to the east and south in Nacogdoches, Texas. His ex-wife Sally, eight-year-old former stepdaughter Louise, and twin five-year-olds Les and Paul were at the mercy of either the mob or Sally’s new live-in boyfriend. Surly Luke had one saving grace, that of being a prepper who had built a bunker pre-Covid behind Travis’—make that Sally’s—big house on five acres outside town. The one time they’d spoken after Covid-20 hit, Travis had told Sally to buy a ham radio and had followed up by emailing her the wavelength to monitor, plus instructions to tune in to it every day at 9:09 her time for three minutes. If she was in trouble, she should let him know via direct broadcast or play Jerry Jeff Walker’s version of “Up Against the Wall Redneck Mother.”

  On the table sat two Skywave SSB model ham radios courtesy of the townspeople who had ransomed Melissa Vargo. Travis had until just after eight tomorrow morning local time to figure out how to operate the radio well enough to at least listen, if not actually transmit.

  Jaime jolted the East Texan out of his introspection. “We need to talk.”

  Travis looked up to see Melvin and Arkar standing behind the tough Mexican. One look at Arkar’s face and Travis knew Jaime wasn’t here to deliver an award.

  Travis stood up and faced Jaime who was six inches taller, fifty pounds heavier, a dozen years less experienced and sporting two fewer holes. In a brawl, he figured Jaime had a fighting chance, albeit a slim one. “I’m listening.”

  * * * * *

  The maintenance station wasn’t the only spot where tempers ran high. July afternoons in Gardnerville-Minden were all the same: plus-90˚F (33C), blue skies, and slight breezes that only moved the heat around. More than two dozen face-masked and socially distant adults baked in the Douglas High School teachers’ parking lot and argued. At the forefront stood the captive’s wife, Karen Vargo. “We need to free Hugh now. We know where he is, and from my daughter’s account, they have fewer than ten men under arms. Several of them are wounded too. What’s the matter with you people?”

  Her reluctant debate partner was the high school principal, but this furious woman left him searching for words. “They’ve promised to show us how to make a Covid cure. Why would we attack them when they might be telling the truth?”

  “They were supposed to be back at the center at four. It’s almost five and we’ve heard nothing from Amrat. He’s from India, so I can see why he doesn’t have any stomach for a fight, but the rest of you are Americans. What will it take before you defend yourself again the people who killed three of our own and crippled poor Kelvin?”

  A babble of competing voices erupted. The principal tried to speak over the noise to no effect. His handset sounded off and everyone shut up. “Yes, this is Jim Upchurch. Dr. Amrat? Yes . . . yes . . . only two of them and unarmed? . . . Promised to inspect our lab equipment and make good on our shortfalls? Yes, thanks for the call. Keep us posted.” The walkie-talkie went back into Upchurch’s pocket and a forearm swiped across his damp forehead.

  He addressed the angry people with relief in his voice: “The scientist and a Chinese man showed up with a truckload of equipment a half-hour ago. Amrat and the others helped them unload it. She’ll inspect our centrifuges and filtration equipment. If they have any equipment we’re missing, she said they’ll make another trip and bring it over. She gave Amrat the Dark Cure’s process description as well. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

  “You’re fools if you place your trust in this traveling medicine show,” the OR critic and senior nurse objected. “Their so-called surgeon was a joke: She was so nervous, she’d have left a retractor behind if I hadn’t pointed it out. The feds and the state government lied to us from the outset. Look at us standing in a school parking lot, hoping for a miracle. There aren’t any! Half our neighbors are dead and the rest are either ill or waiting to catch the virus. The only valuable thing they have is their vaccine. They’ll use our sterile facility to batch it, and then they’ll inject it and drive away. We’ll be the lab monkeys they leave behind who can amuse ourselves by playing with centrifuges and injecting phony cures until we drop dead.”

  “What do you propose?” Upchurch asked.

  “They’ll be done sometime tonight. We have cameras hidden in both rooms and once they’ve finished, we’ll confiscate the vaccines and take them prisoners. We’ll keep the vaccines and let the scientists go once the rest of them leave town. They won’t come back if we don’t harm any of them. But if we attack the maintenance station, all bets are off.”

  “Carla said that there’s only enough for thirty doses,” Upchurch said. “We have several thousand sick people in the county. What good will thirty doses do?”

  “Thirty shots get us going,” the nurse said. “We’ll use the blood from those we vaccinate to create a proper convalescent plasma treatment. That’s not rocket science and we’ll have the process on tape anyway.”

  “We’ll leave the medical planning role to you,” Karen said. “But we need at least six volunteers for the DOT site raid tomorrow. We’ll move after their scientist finishes the two vaccines. A lot of you lost kin this morning to that big Mexican. Here’s a chance for payback. What do you say?”

  A chorus of enthusiastic voices greeted her challenge, drowning out the nurse’s and Upchurch’s objections.

 
; * * * * *

  Remdesivir is an antiviral drug developed to treat Ebola, but it failed and was sidelined. When Covid-19 broke out in early 2020, the drug was widely available at the cost of $500 a vial and $3,000 per patient course. Remdesivir also failed to treat Covid in the pandemic’s early days, but the lead research scientist at Nabokov Pharmaceuticals didn’t take no for an answer. In Nancy Jacobs’ spare time, she paired remdesivir with a variety of adjuvants—other chemicals that can increase a vaccine’s effectiveness—and found two substances which, in combination, transformed a humdrum Ebola disappointment into a Covid-20 killer when catalyzed with a burst of high heat. When heavily pregnant Stephanie was near death, Sal snuck a dose of Nancy’s experimental treatment into the ICU. Stephanie recovered, Tyson was born uninfected, and mother and son became Covid-20-immune.

  Dr. Jacobs died at an arsonist’s hands but not before recording her formula and the distillation process and passing this information to her boss. Sal handed it to his niece Carla, and she and her team duplicated Nancy’s work in Livermore. Upon learning that the president wanted all the vaccines shipped to D.C. for distribution to politicians, donors and cronies, Carla and her team fled the lab and joined her uncle’s caravan north. With much less sophisticated equipment and only a single assistant, Carla felt the weight of the world as they set up shop in a small room.

  Carla had told everyone that preparing the vaccine was a much longer process than it actually took. She’d produce a test batch using ten percent of their scarce ingredients. If they combined properly and responded to the heat treatment, she and Tien would create the balance in under three hours.

  As soon as Carla had ushered Amrat out of their room, she put on her game face. She scribbled down Assume we’re bugged, and Tien nodded in reply. Look for cameras while I set up, she added. While Tien snooped, Carla created a decoy batching array decorated with traditional adjuvants such as ASO1B, squalene and CpG 1018. Anyone spying on their work would focus on the wrong processes and ingredients. Less than ten minutes later, Tien had found and switched off two GoPros, one pointing down from a hole in an acoustical ceiling tile and the other hidden inside a tabletop-level ring binder perched on a windowsill.