by Dirk Patton
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Restrained? What the hell were they doing with a live, infected female in a hospital? If she got loose in their ‘gun free zone’ she’d rip through the staff and patients in minutes. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re trying to treat her, Major. These people are just sick. We shouldn’t be killing them because they have an infection.” He had approached me as he spoke. He was wearing a white coat over blue scrubs with a Lieutenant Colonel’s oak leaf embroidered on the chest above his title and name.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I was too surprised to worry about rank. What the hell was this idiot thinking? “Have you seen what they do? One thing and one thing only. They kill us.”
“Major. This isn’t your concern.” He gave me a look that I knew well. It was the look I usually gave to people that just didn’t get it. I started to get more than a little irritated with this guy. The infected were dangerous as hell. Yes, I understand there’s a need to study them and possibly come up with a treatment or a cure. That would solve many of our problems, but a patient floor in a hospital is sure as hell not the place to be doing that. The female I could still hear screaming should be safely locked up in a secure facility where the researchers themselves were the only people at risk.
“Well, sir, I’m making it my concern. What happens if she gets free? There’s no guard in the hall. Do you at least have one in the room with her?” I asked, peering over his shoulder in the direction of the noise.
“I assure you, there’s nothing to be concerned about, Major.” He put a heavy emphasis on my rank, reminding me who was who in this conversation. Maybe I had been out of the Army too long, or just gotten old enough, but I didn’t give a shit if he outranked me. He was putting a lot of people in danger and as far as I could tell wasn’t even taking basic precautions to safeguard them.
“Colonel,” I said, stepping close and looking him in the eye. “We are going to go make sure that infected is properly secured, then I’m going to get a couple of Rangers up here to guard her until she is either moved to a secure location or is put down. Sir.” My tone and body language didn’t leave any doubt that I was absolutely serious.
He frowned and took a step back away from me. “Where’s your commanding officer and what’s his name?”
“His name is Colonel Crawford, and you’ll be meeting him soon enough. Now, you can either walk me to the room the female is in, or I’ll find it myself.” I moved forward into his personal space again. He looked me in the eye and I could see the anger and resentment in his, but also recognized he was smart enough not to keep pushing back.
“Fine. Follow me.” He said, spinning on his heel and heading down the hall.
I noticed a small gesture to one of the nurses as we passed their work area. I had little doubt it was a ‘call security’ gesture. OK. We can play it that way. I reached to my vest and activated the radio that was connected to my earpiece. Blanchard answered almost immediately and I told him to grab the Colonel, a couple of Rangers and meet me at the hospital. He had gotten to know me well enough to not ask why, just promised they were on their way.
The doctor led me down the hall, stopping in front of a closed door at the very end of the corridor. I could hear the guttural snarls and screams coming from inside the room, the heavy wood of the door doing little to muffle them. He stepped to the side and made an ‘after you’ gesture. I reached out with my left hand and pushed on the handle that released the door’s latch, placing my right hand on the hilt of my Kukri at the small of my back.
The door opened easily and the sounds from the infected ceased the instant the latch clicked open. I only had the man’s word that the female was restrained, so I carefully continued to open the door, stepping forward as it swung into the room. There wasn’t an immediate attack, so I kept moving forward, adjusting my grip on the Kukri and wiggling it slightly to ensure it would draw smoothly if I needed it.
Pushing the final few inches I stepped through the opening into a normal looking hospital room. Normal except for the woman lying in the bed. She was young and attractive with long, brown hair. Dressed in a blue hospital gown, she was restrained across her chest and at each wrist and ankle with sheepskin lined leather cuffs. The kind of restraints normally used in a psychiatric ward to prevent the patients from hurting themselves or others.
I stood staring at the woman, and she stared back at me with her intelligent, blood red eyes. If not for the eyes and restraints she would have looked like any other patient, but the eyes had locked onto my face as soon as I came into view. And they were coldly calculating how to get to me. This was one of the smart ones. I had no doubt.
There was movement behind me and I turned in time to raise a hand and grasp the doctor’s wrist as he tried to stab a needle into my neck. Applying pressure and twisting his arm I watched the loaded syringe fall out of his hand to the polished floor. Then his arm went limp as he collapsed to his knees and began sobbing.
“She’s my wife. Please. Don’t kill her. I can help her.” He cried.
Scooping up the syringe I turned to look at the woman. She just lay there, staring back at me. I glanced at her left hand and saw a distinctive wedding ring, looking down and seeing a matching ring on the doctor’s finger. His emotion and the whole situation took the anger out of me like it had been doused with a bucket of cold water.
What would I do if I found Katie and she was infected? I didn’t know the answer to that, but I certainly understood the emotions this man was dealing with. Releasing his wrist I pushed the plunger on the syringe, shooting a stream of whatever was in it onto the wall of the room before snapping the needle off and tossing the whole thing into a trashcan. Bending over I grabbed his upper arms and lifted him to his feet.
“I’m sorry.” I said, looking him in the eye. “I truly am, but she’s too dangerous to keep here.”
“She’s my wife.” He said again, a pleading tone in his voice. “This just happened last night at dinner. One minute she was fine, then…” He gestured helplessly at the infected. She chose that moment to scream again, loud enough to make me involuntarily put my hand on my holstered pistol.
“No!” The doctor said, reaching out and grabbing my gun hand. Normally that would get someone hurt or killed. But in this case I just looked at him and nodded as his wife let out with another ear splitting scream.
From the hallway I heard the sound of heavy boots running in our direction. A moment later Colonel Crawford burst into the room, pistol in hand. Blanchard was on his heels, also with a pistol out and ready, two Rangers pushing in behind them.
“We’re under control.” I said calmly, raising a hand to slow down the charge.
“What the hell is this, Major?” Crawford asked, holstering his pistol and looking at the infected.
There was more noise from the hall, more running boots, then excited shouting. Air Force Security Forces had arrived. The two Rangers had spread apart and had their rifles up. It was the new arrivals doing all the yelling. I know they train cops to do that as it is a great way to create a moment of panic in suspects you’re trying to capture alive. But Rangers aren’t taught that. They’re taught to shoot and get on with their day. Blanchard stepped into the hall to defuse things before some Air Force personnel wound up dead on the floor.
“This is the doctor’s wife.” I said, turning back to the Colonel. “And she turned when they were having dinner last night. I think that confirms what the Russian told me.”
Crawford just stood staring at the female. He nodded and let out a long sigh. The infected was silent again, watching us with those eyes. Eyes from a nightmare.
3
I left the whole mess in Colonel Crawford’s capable hands and went down the hall to check in on Scott. He was propped up in bed, arm in a fresh plaster cast, a thick, white bandage wrapped around his head. He was sleeping, and not wanting to disturb him I turned and started out the door, pausing when I spied a black,
felt tip marker clipped to a chart. Grabbing the marker, I crept to the edge of the bed and left a calling card on the pristine surface of the white cast.
Back in the hall I held back when an Air Force Brigadier General, with half a dozen aides in tow, stepped out of the elevator and looked around.
“That way, sir.” I pointed down the hall where Crawford stood talking on a satellite phone.
The General nodded and strode off. Captain Blanchard spotted me and trotted up before I could board the elevator.
“Your Black Hawk is ready.” He said. “Waiting where you landed this morning.”
“Thanks. What’s he going to do?” I asked, nodding towards the Colonel. The General was standing looking at him as he continued his phone conversation.
“He’s talking to Admiral Packard right now. Recommending we immediately start producing and administering the vaccine. If that woman turned last night, there’s surely others that have turned as well, we just haven’t found them yet. And there may be more that are about to turn.” I nodded, thanked him again for arranging the helicopter and stepped into the elevator.
When I walked out the front doors of the hospital there were three Hummers angled into the curb, obviously parked in a hurry. They all had Security Forces markings on them. Looking around I didn’t see any other transportation, so said the hell with it and got behind the wheel of the closest one. I was sure someone would be pissed off when they came out and found it missing, but annoying an Air Force cop was at the bottom of my list of concerns at the moment.
It only took a few minutes to drive to the waiting helo, the pilot leaning against it when I pulled up. I recognized him as the pilot that had plucked me out of the Mississippi and participated in the dogfight with the Russian helicopters. He was twenty years older than me, if he was a day, but still looked in good shape. Tall and thin with a full head of iron grey hair; he was dressed in cowboy boots, jeans and a white T-shirt, wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses. If the guy hadn’t been on a recruiting poster when he was younger, he should have been.
“Major,” he stepped forward and stuck his hand out. “Tom LaPaige.”
I shook his hand and followed him around to the far side of the Black Hawk. He introduced me to an Air Force Staff Sergeant who would be coming along to man the door mounted minigun. Meet and greet out of the way, we all climbed on board. There wasn’t a co-pilot available so I settled into the right hand seat, strapping in as Tom hit the starters for the two engines. They spooled up quickly and as I got my helmet and settled in place he scanned the instrument panel to make sure everything looked good. A minute later, satisfied with what he was seeing, we lifted off.
Tom was a retired Army CWO4, or Chief Warrant Officer 4. A warrant officer is the typical rank for Army pilots. The Army wants them to be officers, but doesn’t want them burdened with the administrative duties of say a Captain or Major who commands a lot of soldiers. A warrant officer is typically only in command of his aircraft and whatever crew is assigned to it. Actually, a pretty sweet deal. The pay and benefits of officer rank with only a fraction of the crap that comes along with management.
He had learned to fly his father’s helicopter in the oil fields of west Texas when he was growing up, volunteering for the Army as the US was just starting to escalate its involvement in Viet Nam. By the time the war was in full swing in the late 60s, he was flying 20 medevac missions a day. He did that for two years before rotating back home and training new pilots. I wasn’t surprised at the amount of combat flights he’d made. The way he’d flown when we fought the Russians had told me this was a guy who had been there and done that.
We talked for the first hour of the flight, then ran out of things to say as we kept making our way east. Tom followed Interstate 40 and we flew at 1,500 feet. High enough to let us have a great view for miles in every direction, low enough to see details that we might want to investigate. We flew slow, cruising at about 100 knots, and I had too much time to think.
Captain Blanchard had told me that Jackson, Rachel and Dog had gone to help with loading evacuees onto the train when they had to move because of approaching storms. They had then gone into town, West Memphis, for reasons he didn’t know. The last communication he’d had with them was when Jackson called to say he was coming back with a total of three souls and was ten minutes away.
They hadn’t been able to wait. A massive storm was bearing down directly on the area and they had to get the civilians and all the aircraft out of its path. Jackson was supposed to drive to Little Rock where the Colonel had ordered a Black Hawk to wait for them at Little Rock Air Force Base, but they never showed up. That was all that was known about their fate.
I was heartened by the news that Rachel and Dog had been found both alive and well. Part of me had been preparing for them never being found, or worse, being found dead. In the last calm moment we’d had together, Rachel had professed her love to me, asking if I felt the same. My head started going down the path of exploring my feelings for her, but I quickly shut that down. The last thing I needed right now was emotions clouding my decision-making. I just wanted her and Dog safe, then I’d worry about what I was or wasn’t feeling.
It’s about 300 air miles from Oklahoma City to Little Rock, and we covered that in just over four hours. There had been numerous vehicles we’d slowed to check out. Vehicles that were either moving along the freeway or showing some indication of life. Whenever we’d see one, Tom would swing wide to the side, drop to 100 feet and roar past to give us a good look.
We saw frightened families crammed into cars and trucks, couples ranging from teenagers to elderly, and the occasional single traveler. All were heading west to the supposed safety of Oklahoma. None of them were a large, black soldier traveling with a pretty woman and a dog. Lacking a photo, that was the description of our search target I’d given to Tom and the door gunner.
When we reached Little Rock, Tom contacted the base on the radio and received permission to approach and land. We were carrying external fuel tanks, but he wanted to top us off to maximize our time in the air. Our expectation was that if Jackson, Rachel and Dog were alive, we’d find them somewhere between Little Rock and the Mississippi River. We knew they hadn’t made it as far west as Little Rock. If they had, there was no doubt Jackson would have gone straight to the base and from there would have found a way to contact the Colonel. And that call had never been made.
While Tom oversaw the refueling, I wandered off in search of a latrine. That’s the Army term for a restroom. Right off I couldn’t remember if the Air Force had felt it necessary to change that as well. Regardless, when I found it, I must say it was the nicest, cleanest, shiniest latrine I’ve ever been in. One thing about the Air Force, they live in luxury compared to the rest of the services. I still harbor resentment for time I spent in Panama.
My entire company was housed in tents at the bottom of a large hill. Being at the bottom of a hill means you damn near get washed away every afternoon when it rains. You live in mud, mosquitoes and whatever shit trickles down from above. At the top of the hill sat a large, modern brick building, complete with running water and air conditioning. This was where the Air Force was housed. Every night we’d go to sleep hearing their AC units humming away and boom boxes blasting. If one of them had been dumb enough to wander down the hill I doubt he would ever have been seen again.
Needs taken care of, I headed back to the Black Hawk and kept an eye on the ground crew while Tom and the door gunner took their turn. While I waited, I spread out a map of the area. West Memphis was 133 air miles east of us. The terrain was so flat and the freeway so straight it was only 142 road miles. There were two other helos out searching, one to the north of I-40, the other south. I didn’t see Jackson leaving the Interstate without a compelling reason, but I was still trying to figure out why the hell they’d gone into town in the first place.
“That is the fucking cleanest, fanciest, five-star shitter I’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling up.” Tom
said when he walked up. “Knew I joined the wrong goddamn service.”
“Hell, I hear they have some openings. Maybe you should re-up and try life as a wing wiper.” I said with a grin, not looking away from the map.
“Fuck that. I can’t drink tea with my little bitty pinkie sticking out.” He said, moving in next to me to see the map. “So, what’s the plan?”
“We know they went into West Memphis. First stop is town. A couple of days ago there were still three cops left alive and working. I want to find them and see if they know anything. We’ll follow the Interstate and keep checking vehicles. After that… let’s see what we find out when we get there.”
By now our door gunner was back and we mounted up. Tom had us in the air a few minutes later and we picked up I-40 and resumed our eastward path. A few miles to the north a blot of greasy, black smoke stained the sky and I asked Tom to take us closer. As we flew over I could see heavy equipment carving deep trenches out of the ground. A few hundred yards to the west was another, larger excavation which was where the smoke was coming from.
Tom went into a hover, positioning us in clear air with an unobstructed view into the pit. At first it looked like deep piles of tree limbs were being burned and I couldn’t understand why they were doing that. Then I made out more of the flaming shapes and realized it was human bodies. Thousands of human bodies.
“Christ on a cross!” Tom breathed. “What the hell are they doing?”
“Infected.” I answered. “Probably the best thing to do with the bodies.”
A small group of figures dressed head to toe in white, bio-hazard suits was standing at the edge of the pit watching the fire consume the dead. One of them held what had to be a bible and looked to be praying over the departed.
“Let’s go.” I said, snapping Tom back to the mission at hand. He nodded and spun us around to head back to I-40.
4