Silence the Living (Mute Book 2)

by Brian Bandell

  By the ranger’s expression, more like he’d been waiting online at the DMV than at a scene with nine homicides, Colon figured he was either in shock or forcing calmness to conceal something.

  “Brigadier General Alonso Colon, U.S. Air Force,” he announced with a salute. Treating him with mutual respect might make him more cooperative.

  The ranger didn’t lift an arm. “Blake Natonaba, New Mexico Park Ranger. Where you stationed? Kirtland up north? Or are you a guest of the Army in Fort Bliss?”

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose my base of operations, otherwise I’d invite you over for a beer,” Colon said.

  “I’m guessing that’s not a keg you’re hauling in that bird.” The ranger nodded at the strike helicopter. His self-assured gaze didn’t waiver. A dozen tanks couldn’t chase him off his turf. “That’s a lot of firepower for some border jumpers. I was expecting Border Patrol or National Guard.”

  The woman from the science team, a Centers for Disease Control veteran converted into an alien nanotech hunter, carefully disembarked from the helicopter. Her white coat making her profession a dead giveaway, she slipped on latex gloves and strapped on a particle filtration mask and goggles as she approached the first body.

  “You have any extra masks like that for me?” Blake asked. “Or does she have mighty bad allergies?”

  The soldier shrugged. With the TERU team classified, Colon couldn’t explain what they were up to. The man must have an inkling, what with the bloodless, precise way these bodies were beheaded. Until now, Colon hadn’t seen it in person. His soldiers in Florida were slain in combat, not harvested. The victims that had their heads and organs stolen, they had been the first batch.

  A tingling ran down Colon’s spine as he recalled the sequence that led to an underwater alien habitat breeding mutants by the minute. These bone-dry badlands seemed like the worst place on Earth for an aquatic species. What could they possibly take out here?

  Colon wished he had the Lagoon Watcher with him, loony as he was. While the CDC scientist could compare these bodies to the records, Trainer could call upon his firsthand experience. Colon didn’t regret letting him stay in Florida, not after Pierre’s team reported the mutant sighting in the springs. He checked his phone. Nothing yet. He hadn’t heard from Pierre since they began their underwater dive. If Stronge hadn’t been so insistent on the Southwest as the new front, he’d have left Pierre more backup.

  The CDC woman returned with a close-up photo of a gaping neck wound. Purple welts were clearly visible. They were here.

  He thought of the rows of houses he’d seen while flying overhead, all the families and children thinking they were secure in their little castles.

  “Should the people ‘round here be worried, general?” the ranger asked. “It would be a tragedy to keep us in the dark.”

  “It’s brigadier general, ranger. I recommend you don’t tell the public about this just yet, but we should encourage people to be on guard.”

  “On guard for what?” He asked the question with the look of a man who knew the answer.

  “When did you find them?” Colon asked.

  “Been here about 15 minutes.” The ranger cut in before Colon could ask the next logical question. “I didn’t see what happened. All I can tell you is those are coyote tracks. Most of the bodies have bite marks, but I don’t think that’s what killed them. Coyotes don’t leave leftovers, especially a feast this large.”

  A pack of infected coyotes were the most efficient, quick strike killing team the aliens could hand-pick for hundreds of miles, Colon thought, excluding humans.

  “Next time you see a coyote out here, stay far away from it,” Colon said.

  “I’ve worked this land for decades. I know how to handle those critters.” Blake patted his rifle.

  “You don’t anymore. I thought I knew all about warfare, then we got some little visitors from another planet and I find out I don’t know shit. We can’t go on living like we did before. We have to assume the worst when we encounter anyone or anything behaving unusually. Every man, woman and child is in this fight whether they like it or not. Now tell me…” He pulled up a photo of Moni Williams on his phone and showed the ranger. “Have you seen this woman?”

  Narrowing his eyes, Blake leaned in for a closer look. His pupils moved back and forth as he studied her face. After several seconds, he said, “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” he replied immediately. It sounded like a forced denial.

  “Her name’s Monique Williams. She’s a cop in Florida, or she was until she betrayed her badge and helped launch the invasion. We have reason to believe, strong reason, that she’s infected.”

  Colon had just dropped a bombshell, giving him information about the continuing infection that hadn’t been made public. Blake refocused on the photo, as if he wanted to yell at it. The ranger slipped his clenched fist into his pocket. Blake tried maintaining a stoic face, pulling back and tightening his skin with his facial muscles, but Colon recognized frustration when he saw it. Colon had seen it in the mirror all too often in recent weeks.

  “When I’m not on patrol, I’m in my cabin,” the ranger said. “I don’t have TV or cell service. I watch old movies sometimes, read books. I know the aliens attacked Florida, but I hadn’t heard the infection was still on the loose.”

  “The public doesn’t know. It’s classified,” Colon said. “I just told you so you can be on the lookout, and not make the mistake of getting anywhere near her. She’s highly contagious. If you see her, call it in right away.”

  The ranger nodded. He rotated his head halfway around, like he thought about searching for something out west, and then snapped back to Colon. “I absolutely will, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to hike back to my truck before nightfall.”

  “I’ll give you a ride. You just reimburse me the fuel, and the pilot’s time.” Colon smiled warmly. They both knew that wouldn’t come cheap.

  “I appreciate the offer but I must decline.” The ranger scooted away abruptly, heading south. “Be careful out here. You never know what you might find.”

  The CDC woman glared at Colon. He lifted a finger to his lips. She didn’t voice her protest until the ranger had marched out of range.

  “Why’d you let him go? I needed to screen him for the infection. He didn’t even record an official statement.”

  “None of that will be necessary,” Colon replied coolly as he watched the ranger in the distance disappear between two mountains. “The best evidence he has isn’t what’s on him. It’s where he’s headed.”

  40

  So little of its face appeared human. Its round mouth of bladed teeth, its greasy stalks of hair and the four spines that ended in ripping and tearing instruments clearly weren’t. But those eyes, brown rings of contempt that that zeroed in on Harry Trainer, those were very much human. This creature didn’t pursue him out of instinctual hunger or protecting its turf like an animal. It wagged its wormy tongue at him craving a taste of flesh.

  Trainer hurriedly tapped Louis Pierre’s back. The skinny metal darts of the two SEALs’ spear guns looked puny in the face of that thing. Amphibious rifles and boom sticks would do too much damage to the fragile caves, risking a collapse. Armed with only a knife, Trainer had agreed with Pierre’s reasoning about the weapons then but that seemed like a horrible decision now. The mutant was ripping chunks out of the limestone with its four stout appendages as it neared 10 feet away. It’d tear pieces from them soon if the soldiers didn’t act fast.

  Pierre turned and launched his spear without hesitation. The mutant squirmed aside, but the cave was too narrow. The spear lodged into the webbing between its tendrils. The mutant let off a shriek that made Trainer’s ears ring. It definitely wasn’t an infected mute. Dobbs’ spear gun aimed squarely at its slobbering face. With a rush of water pressure, the mutant’s arm thrust out. It knocked Dobbs’ weapon from his hands as it fired, causing the spear to imbed in the ceiling, and s
tabbed a hooking tendril through his palm. A cloud of blood spread through the exhaust of bubbles from his tank as Dobbs’ stretched his jaw with a muffled scream inside his facemask.

  The mutant dragged Dobbs closer by his impaled hand, with another array of tendrils waiting to nail through his head. Seeing Pierre busy tugging on the line of his spear gun, Trainer sprang forward off the rocks with his knife drawn. It would be just like freeing a pelican from a fishing hook, except he might get his head ripped off. He grabbed Dobbs’ elbow to propel himself closer to the nest of flesh-rendering appendages and sliced just above the tendril. It severed with a puff of blood as red as any human’s. Dobbs paddled free with the hook still through his palm but the rest of him intact.

  The mutant retracted its spine and examined the damage. Seeing a single tendril out of more than a dozen had been lost, the mutant emitted a raspy growl. Trainer thought he heard it call him a son of a bitch. That wouldn’t be possible, would it?

  Either way, it liked him even less than it did before. The mutant pushed off the rock wall with its four spines and propelled towards Trainer.

  Trainer and Dobbs backstroked away from its dozens of impaling hooks. It closed the distance. Trainer gazed into its foul maw with tar-like gums and crooked, sharp teeth. A force yanked the mutant backwards. It whipped a tendril after Trainer. He shielded his face with his forearm as mutant’s hook came inches short. With a double-fisted grip on the line connected to the spear lodged in its webbing and a rope around his waist anchoring him to a heavy stone, Pierre swung the beast around and away from the two men.

  The mutant bounced off the wall, stunning it for a few moments.

  “Get out of here,” Pierre radioed. “That way.” He pointed toward a dark passage, then started tying the line around a heavy rock

  “Lieutenant, come with us,” Dobbs said through heavy breathing as he pressed the radio button with his one good hand. “We won’t leave you.”

  His hands so shaky he nearly dropped the camera, Trainer snapped a photo of the dazed mutant.

  Stiffening his back, Pierre hit the radio button with his other hand on the rope corralling the creature. “I’ll secure the line and keep the creature here so I can kill it. Take Mr. Trainer to the surface so he can share his evidence with Washington. I’ll catch up.”

  The soldier didn’t sound so confident when delivering that last line. Trainer didn’t know Pierre well, but he recalled him looking at a photo of his pretty fiancé on the ride over. The young man had so much life ahead of him. An old codger like Trainer didn’t deserve his sacrifice. Every Florida resident, human and animal, were privileged to be saved by such a man.

  Trainer hooked Dobbs under the shoulder. He resisted at first, but his body went at ease as Pierre saluted him. Dobbs saluted back then joined Trainer in swimming into the passage. Sharp tendrils started clinking off the limestone behind them. Trainer gave Dobbs a shove for a head start, and then swam on beside him. They didn’t look back. He wished he had free hands to cover his ears so he didn’t hear the brutal cracking on the rocks.

  A few times, Trainer had to grab Dobbs around the arm and steer him away from going back for his superior officer. Even with half his limbs wounded, the SEAL wouldn’t relent. Dobbs pressed his radio button. “Pierre, can you hear me?”

  Trainer patted him on the shoulder as they waited in vain for a reply.

  As they swam on, Dobbs’ energy level noticeably faded. Getting injured in life threatening situations, twice, had given the SEAL an adrenalin burst and dump. That’s a perilous combination with his lungs sucking oxygen from a tank. Once they made it several chambers away from the marked cave, Trainer tapped Dobbs on the back and pointed toward a rock formation that came halfway down from the ceiling. They wedged their bodies underneath it. Trainer glanced at his depth gauge, laminated map and both of their air psi meters. The information coalesced in Trainer’s brain as they turned off their lights, making them harder to spot. As Trainer stared into absolute darkness, the numbers painted a grim picture.

  Trainer figured he had 10 minutes of air left. Dobbs had eight minutes, at best. Given that they were 50 feet deep, their lungs used more than double the amount of oxygen than near the surface. The faster they could ascend the more oxygen they’d conserve. Reaching the nearest exit would take 15 minutes, on a fast swim, and that’s not counting the trickiness of navigating the steep sinkhole exit and the necessary decompression time before surfacing. Putting more strain on their muscles, the water that way flowed against them. They each had an emergency air bottle clipped to their belts, but those would only last a few minutes.

  The chances of both of them making it out of that cave alive were zero.

  The answer hung beside him: Dobbs’ air tank. With both of their tanks, one of them could make it, plus have a few minutes in case something else went wrong. Even with his SEAL training, Dobbs’ swimming had been slowed by injury. He might pass out from blood loss or shock. Trainer had the water samples from the suspicious cave and he was the best person to compare them to the contaminated lagoon. He had the mutant’s blood on his knife. Once he plucked its severed tendril from Dobbs’ hand, he’d have a third crucial piece of evidence that would attract the military’s full attention. Only a serious response could dislodge this monster from these caves. Florida’s freshwater supply could turn as toxic as the lagoon. Trainer could save thousands of lives by leaving one life behind.

  The scientist had to tell him somehow. Feeling for his marker in the dark, Trainer carefully wrote on his dive slate, “2 tanks = air for 1. I need yours.” He considered his options if the SEAL didn’t comply. A wrestling match over the tank would blow through enough oxygen to leave them both for dead. He could stab him, end it quickly with a thrust to the back of the head and turn off the oxygen before removing his face mask. Trainer drew his knife. He’d held people at knife point before, most notably while trying to liberate the infected child Mariella. He’d never stabbed anything living besides a fish, before today.

  Trainer flicked on his wrist light. He swept it over the shadowy chamber, holding his breath until he could be reasonably certain it was clear. Then he illuminated his dive slate, making sure Dobbs didn’t see the knife behind it. The man didn’t see it, or anything else. His eyes were shut. Releasing his dive slate and sheathing his knife, Trainer shook him behind the neck. Dobbs’ eyes rolled open. Directing his hazy blue pupils upon Trainer, the young man shivered behind his mask. Dobbs’ eyes narrowed intensely as he understood the words.

  “Pierre. Do you hear me?” Dobbs radioed.

  Trainer shook his head and changed his message. “Pierre fighting it. I must go NOW.”

  The SEAL checked his air psi meter, then pressed his radio button. “Pierre ordered me to get you to the surface and this is the best way. God bless America.” Dobbs halted air flow to his face mask and removed it, then started unbuckling his buoyancy compensator vest.

  Slipping the knife away, Trainer accepted Dobbs’ tank with a reverent nod. His mouth sealed in the water, Dobbs held up his hand, shrouded by a mist of blood as the tendril poked through it. He couldn’t swim effectively with that. This was the only way.

  In the dark it had been so easy. Cold, calculating logic ruled. He wished he could turn out the light once more, take the air tank, and swim away without seeing the honorable man he left for the mutant to scavenge his corpse.

  Trainer offered Dobbs one last breath from the regulator on his tank, which he accepted. The soldier clasped hands with the scientist as he filled his lungs a final time. Meanwhile, Trainer sliced off the tip of the tendril and sealed it in a sample pack. When he received the regulator back, Trainer shut off his light and pushed toward the exit.

  Soon after entering the passage, he heard scraping. Floating in darkness, he waited. Faintly, the sound returned. Then he heard tapping on the rocks. It came from the direction he was headed.

  41

  In the darkness of the underwater cave as the tapping sound approached
, Trainer wished his son’s face would materialize out of the darkness and not that hideous mouth. He’d never thought their last goodbye would be final.

  Fourteen years ago this Christmas he’d stood outside his ex-wife’s house saying ‘later’ to his seven-year-old son after flying out to Denver for the week. That would be the last time he’d make the trip, for he’d lost his job and burned though his savings. He’d told his son that the corporate-funded government conspired against him because he tried to expose their campaign to profit at the expense of soiling Florida’s waterways. He could only save the lagoon and its vulnerable wildlife while in Florida. His teeth chattering in the frigid Colorado air, his son didn’t care about all that. He wanted his father with him.

  He hadn’t seen his son since. They hadn’t spoken on the phone for six years, a brief Christmas greeting. What do you say to a son after you missed most of his life? And the reason he’d stepped away, the Indian River Lagoon, became ruined regardless.

  A second chance had always been a phone call away. With the dragging on the rocks from up ahead closing in and no one left to distract the monster’s full fury from him, Trainer’s heart sank from the loss of his second chance with his son.

  Keeping his light off for the minute chance it wouldn’t see him and didn’t possess the keen sense of smell of the predator it was, Trainer backstroked. Calvin Dobbs couldn’t have drowned yet. Perhaps two of them stood a better chance at hurting it, or at least diverting its attention so Trainer could get away.

  Trainer swam in total darkness. He bumped something sharp. Unsure of whether it was a limestone ridge or a tendril about to impale him, he recoiled. Suddenly, a light flickered down the cave from the path ahead – the beam of a flashlight. Trainer smiled so wide it nearly bust off his facemask. He laughed for no one to hear, then recalled a man was drowning.