The Pandemic Sequence (Book 2): The Tilian Effect

by Tom Calen

  Since the discovery of the Audubon’s small fleet of SUVs and ample supply of fuel, Michelle’s spirits had remained undaunted. The find had allowed them to cross the states and arrive at Fort Polk in a little over two days. Before setting out, they had also found a medical kit much more substantial than the one from Matt’s boat. Erik had been responding well to the penicillin and his skin no longer burned to the touch. Despite the meals and disturbing vistas along the way, the journey had a feel similar to a road trip.

  Mike’s own mood improved when Matt spotted a figure in the distance. It had taken a few moments to confirm that the person was indeed Lisa. Her hair was a matted tangle, its once glossy black was hidden beneath a layer of dirt. The light tan of her skin was replaced by the redness of sunburn, and if possible, a pale film that hinted at illness. She had not noticed the SUV following her, even when her body whirled around and her eyes stared directly at it. As far away as he was, Mike could see the blankness in her eyes. He had expected to despise the sight of her, but now he could not deny the worry he felt.

  After she stumbled across the parking lot, dancing or perhaps miming swimming along the way, she picked up her pace and headed straight for a medium-sized, non-descript building. Mike risked closing the distance and brought the SUV to the edge of the parking lot next to a grassy field. The group in the car waited in silence as they watched her aim her handgun at the door. Seconds later, Lisa collapsed with a spin. All four doors of the vehicle flew open and the occupants rushed forward.

  “Grab the med kit!” Mike shouted over his shoulder. When he reached Lisa, Mike could see that she was in far worse condition than he had assumed. Though conscious, the listlessness of her body was strikingly evident.

  “Lisa… Lisa, can you hear me?” he shouted, just inches from her face. With a distant gaze, her eyes sought his voice, but when she looked at Mike, he saw no recognition in her eyes.

  “The monsters are here, the monsters are here,” she mumbled repeatedly.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Andrew asked as he laid the medical kit next to Mike.

  “I don’t know. She’s dehydrated, but I don’t know what else,” he answered as he searched his mind for a cause of the woman’s delirium. He knew dehydration, in the severest cases, could result in symptoms of hallucination and extreme disorientation. He wondered how Lisa, a trained soldier, could have allowed herself to reach that point. “We need to move her inside.”

  He stooped to cradle Lisa in his arms as he lifted her from the ground. Her murmuring of monsters continued, though there was no resistance in her muscles. Matt read Mike’s cue and fired two shots into the door’s lock. Twin holes in the mechanism trailed thin tendrils of smoke as he reached for the handle and tugged the door open.

  The group hustled inside behind Mike. Eyeing a large conference table, Mike carried the wilting bundle to it and placed her gently on the top.

  “Give me the IV bag,” Mike barked. He would not allow Lisa to die. She had crimes for which to answer, and he would go to any length to ensure that she did. He needed her alive to bring down Duncan, and he needed her alive to find Paul and his team—if they still lived. Taking the IV bag of fluids from an outstretched hand, Mike began to unravel the thin tube that would eventually feed into Lisa. Michelle brought over a floor lamp onto which he hooked the bag. He allowed her to take the tube from his hands, watching as she searched for a vein in Lisa’s arm. With careful skill, she pierced the skin with the needle, a small dot of blood rolling off the arm. Seconds later, Michelle had attached the tube, and Mike could see a slow stream of fluid wind down from the bag and into Lisa’s arm.

  Please let this work, Mike thought.

  --

  “Please let this work,” Paul whispered into the night. As he crossed the camp to his designated position, Paul could see the other conspirators trying their best to casually reach their own places. He wondered if his knowing eye made them stand out, or was their feigned nonchalance that noticeable. The thought made him focus on his own pace which he tried to keep at an easy stroll; no easy task with the adrenaline that filled his veins.

  Hicks had developed a simple but plausible strategy. The rebels were divided into four groups. The first would create a diversion on the far end of camp. Given the recent attack, Hicks and Derrick believed Drennan’s men would be quick to react. The group with the diversion had the task of bringing down any loyalists that responded immediately. The second group, and perhaps the most important, would be stationed on the opposite side of the camp. Though the addition of the Strykers and Bradleys made Drennan’s force far superior in strength, Hicks also saw the inherent weakness.

  Once the diversion began, Hicks believed that the majority of the loyalists would head for the vehicles in order to defend the camp. The vehicles, however, would be hiding the largest group of rebels who would in turn take down that portion of Drennan’s men. The third group, composed of nineteen men, would hold back in the beginning and then sweep through the camp in case any loyalists escaped either ambush.

  Paul’s group, a group of three with Hicks and Derrick, faced a different challenge. Their task was to infiltrate Drennan’s compound, the large circular tent where Paul had spotted Derrick. During the bombing of the bikes, Derrick had wisely watched the reaction at the command tent. Seven heavily armed men had remained with Drennan as a personal guard. Though a cruel and sadistic leader, he was judicious in preserving his own safety.

  A few yards from the command tent, Paul slowed his gait as he fished the pack of stale cigarettes from his pocket. Bringing the filter to his lips, he watched as Derrick spoke briefly with the two guards at the front of the tent. Once Derrick went inside, Paul began to flick the Zippo lighter repeatedly, and cursed with enough volume for the guards to notice. Snapping the metal lighter shut, he forced a casual walk towards the two guards that had let Derrick pass.

  “Got a light?” he asked the taller of the two. He tried to keep his face hopeful though he knew the man, a smoker by Derrick’s information, was sure to provide a light.

  Wordlessly, the tall man reached into his back pocket and tossed a lighter into Paul’s hand. Preparing himself for the smoke, and willing himself not to cough and give up the game, he brought the flame to the cigarette between his lips. Inhaling deeply, and hoping the shadows cast from the various fire pits hid the struggle on his face, he tossed the lighter back and managed a strangled “thanks” as the smoked floated from his mouth. Seconds later a burst of gunshots echoed through the night. Here it goes, Paul thought at the sound of the diversion.

  Immediately, men poured out of the surrounding tents, some without pants or boots, but all well-armed. Quick to action, he thought impressively. The infamous Drennan, with Derrick at his side, burst from the command tent. Having only caught glimpses of the man before, Paul readily saw why Drennan ruled and others cowered. Standing several inches above Derrick, the Horde leader looked to be twice as wide as Paul across the shoulders. A too-small ribbed undershirt exposed thick arms roped with muscle, and covered in tattoos.

  Up close, Paul’s only reference for comparison was a Viking warrior. A Viking, if Vikings had shaved heads and intricate tattoos over every inch of scalp.

  “You might be right, Derrick,” Drennan said, his voice matching the power of his form. Derrick had gone in to speak with Drennan on the pretext that he had seen possible signs of enemy scouts in the woods nearby. “Bricks, Connor, head over to the tanks and make sure those assholes know what they’re doing. Derrick, get back in there and start mapping out where you saw scouts. You.” This addressed to Paul. “Plant your ass in front of this tent and don’t let nobody in unless Boonie okays it.”

  Orders issued, Drennan and Derrick stepped back into the tent, Brick and Connor left their posts and ran to the assault vehicles, and Paul stepped beside the man called Boonie to guard the command tent.

  Phase one, Paul counted off. Pretty much exactly to plan. He knew though, his personal danger was only about to be
gin.

  --

  “Paul?”

  Though it was a whisper, the sound—the only interruption in the darkened stillness—made Michelle jump. The others had been unable to remain idle. Mike, Erik, and Matt were searching the building. Only Andrew sat with her, his presence a welcome comfort. Over three hours had passed, and Lisa had not stirred until now.

  “Paul?” the prone woman again called out in a soft whisper.

  Michelle leaned forward, “Lisa… can you hear me?”

  “What… where am I?” Lisa asked with a weak panic.

  “You’re at Fort Polk,” Michelle answered. “It’s Michelle. Mike and Erik and Andrew are here, too.”

  “Fort Polk,” the woman repeated. “What are you doing here?”

  Michelle was unsure how to answer the question. Well, we came here to stop you from killing Paul, she replied silently. It had been a challenge picturing Lisa as the enemy since Mike announced her involvement in the Ira Project. Now, facing her, Michelle had to remind herself of the anger she should be feeling.

  “We came to find you.” It was enough of a truth to allow the hint of sincerity.

  “You… you know?” Lisa asked her.

  “Yes.” The word carried weight, a power strong enough to force an awkward silence. Michelle watched as a tear escaped Lisa’s eye.

  “Lisa, it’s Andrew. Where is Paul?” From his tone, Michelle knew he had no need to remind himself of any anger. Gently, she pressed a hand on his knee.

  “Texas. He’s in Texas. And alive.”

  Those few words allowed Michelle to exhale the apprehension she was unaware she had been holding. For the shortest of seconds, she wondered if Lisa could be trusted to speak truthfully. Something about the woman’s tone, the tear she had shed, told Michelle to trust. Pushing herself up, Lisa sat on the table and looked around the room. Michelle could see familiarity dawning in the other woman’s eye.

  “Lisa, what is this place?” she asked. Without hesitation, Lisa detailed her instructions, her actual intentions, and the entirety of her history with the Ira Project. For her part, Michelle could feel the roots of pity and understanding beginning to take hold as she listened to the tale. Lisa had hidden the truth for many years, but she found herself nodding as the other woman explained the fear and regret. As Michelle reached across and took her hand, Mike and the others came crashing through a pair of double doors that led to the other parts of the building. Both she and Andrew jumped to attention.

  “Tils,” Mike said as he approached. Upon noticing Lisa awake and upright, his expression turned from worry to anger.

  “How many?” Michelle asked quickly, hoping to draw his attention away from Lisa. Until he heard the full story, she would not let him take action against her.

  “More than we can handle,” Erik intoned. “Couple hundred as near as we could see from the window. They’re surrounding the building. I think they’re like the ones in Cuba.”

  Eyes widening, Michelle recalled by how slim a margin she and Erik were able to escape only a handful of the evolved Tils, the pack hunters.

  “I don’t see a way out of the building, but we might be able to hold them off for a while. Force them to thin the numbers in hallways and stairwells,” Mike offered.

  “We don’t have to,” Lisa broke in as she swung down from the table. Michelle had to steady her as her knees gave slightly. “We’re above the facility. There is an elevator that will get us down to the sublevels.”

  Necessity trumping his anger, Mike answered back. “There’s no power.”

  “The elevator and the facility are on their own power system. It’s dormant now but I have the code to bring it back online,” Lisa explained. Turning to Michelle, she said: “Help me get to the elevator.”

  With little choice but to trust, the party quickly gathered their belongings and turned down a side hall that brought them to a black elevator door. On the keypad to the left of the door, Michelle watched as Lisa entered in a series of numbers. When she finished, the old familiar hum of electricity could be heard. Seconds later, the door slid open to reveal a brightly lit elevator car. Everyone filed in, the car large enough to accommodate them all. As the door closed, Michelle could hear the sound of shattering glass as Tils poured into the building.

  --

  The camp was quickly erupting into chaos, though it seemed the man standing to Paul’s left was ignorant of that fact. He had not yet reached the count of one hundred since Derrick and Drennan had re-entered the command tent. His body tensed as the mental counting rose, and when he hit the mark, he whirled to his side and brought the butt of the AK to Boonie’s head. As the man crumpled to the earth, Paul could see the shadow of Hicks spring into action. With Boonie down, five guards still remained. He spun his right and opened fire as one of the guards was raising his weapon. His eyes watched as man and rifle fell, but Paul himself immediately felt his legs sweep out from under him.

  Crashing to the ground, he began to wrestle with the attacker. The other man moved with a flurry of speed and Paul could feel several hard punches collide into his side. Realizing he was already on the losing end of the scuffle, he swung his elbow hard into the man’s face. Paul heard the bones of the man’s nose shatter. With a grunt, the guard pulled back slightly which allowed Paul to push himself beyond the man’s reach. Both rose to their feet and threw punches wildly, several of Paul’s finding their mark. His own fist slick with the blood pouring from the other man’s ruined nose, he continued to engage until finally the guard dropped to his knees. With a final downward punch, Paul stood back from the unconscious body.

  A footstep sounded from behind and Paul spun, poised for attack, when he found Hicks walking towards him. The mercenary held his long knife, blood dripping from its tip. Behind him, Paul could see the scattered bodies of the remaining guards. They both tensed as they caught sight of movement from the tent entrance. Stepping into the night, Derrick Chancer looked at his allies and nodded once. Drennan was dead.

  The sounds of gunfire still echoed through the camp. Hicks led Paul and Derrick in a steady jog aimed for the pockets of fighting. Some few minutes later, the crashes of battle subsided until eventually the camp returned to a worried silence. Returning to the command tent, Paul learned that the other rebels had had success with their portions of the overthrow. They had secured the armored vehicles, brought down the majority of the loyalists, and were now sweeping through the camp in force rounding up any remaining threats.

  Slowly, camp residents began to filter out of their tents, most having hid once the fighting began. Upon seeing who the victors were, several began to smile and cheer. Word of Drennan’s end spread quickly, and a crowd began to gather around the command tent.

  Paul turned to one of the men of the rebellion, and asked: “Can you send someone to release the people from the pens?”

  With an odd formality, the man replied, “Yes, sir,” before running off towards the prisoner pens. Dismissing the strangeness of the response, Paul moved away from the expanding crowd and ducked into the command tent. He could not deny that the coup, both its planning and enacting, had been a soothing balm to his anguish over the loss of Lisa. Focusing on vengeance had allowed him to bury the pain. Now, with the act done, his mind and body ached to think of her gone from his life. As he stared down at the lifeless body of Drennan, the man responsible for her death, Paul could feel the tears welling in his eyes.

  The sounds of the celebration outside grew loud for a second as Derrick and Hicks entered through the tent’s flaps. Swallowing his distress, Paul turned to them.

  “I think they’re looking for a speech, or something,” Derrick said.

  Confused, Paul replied. “Um, okay. Give them a speech.”

  “No,” Derrick continued. “I mean a speech from you.”

  “Why… why would they want a speech from me?”

  Derrick looked to Hicks, both men seemed to have a hint of mischief about them.

  “Derrick,” he said
again, with more force. “Why would they want a speech from me?”

  Shifting his feet on the floor like a child caught in a lie, Derrick smiled as he spoke. “Over the last few days I—well Hicks and I—sorta, kinda told the others that you would be taking command once we brought down Drennan.”

  “I would be taking command?” Paul tried to speak further but the wide grin from Hicks cut him off. “And you supported this idea?”

  With a shrug, Hicks offered his hands up. “Hey, way I see it is you’re the head of a search and rescue mission. You searched, you rescued… you’re in charge.”

  Giving both men a biting look, Paul walked past them, trying to ignore their laughter, and stepped out of the tent to address the camp.

  --

  Mike was shocked by the sheer size of the facility. Several levels below ground, the space stretched well beyond the footprint of the building above. The bright and smooth white walls, rows of panel screens and computers, and high-end technology had the feel of a science fiction film. A wry grin passed his lips as he thought, You’ve been living science fiction for the last seven years.

  Lisa led them into a large chamber that held a long oval white table, surrounded by chairs of the same hue. He watched Michelle help the other woman to a seat.

  “Does this place have weapons?” he asked.

  “It did,” Lisa answered once she settled into the chair, the IV bag and lamp standing next to her. “But when the decision to abandon was made, we armed ourselves with as much as we could.”

  The answer was of no great shock, though he had hoped for a possible break of luck. You got the Jeeps. What more luck can you expect? he warned himself.

  “Marena said you people found a way to control them, with sound,” Mike hoped the emphasis on ‘you people’ was not lost on the traitor across from him.

  Shifting slightly, Lisa placed a metal tube on the table. “It’s called an ARC—Acoustic Restraint and Coercion. It can subdue Tils, but it has a limited radius.”