Transmission: Voodoo Plague Book 5

by Dirk Patton

  Curiosity had driven him to make some discreet inquiries, and he’d been terrified to learn that Major Chase was also at Tinker. And so were the bitch and the dog. How the hell had they all survived? It didn’t matter. What did matter was that if any of them got so much as a glimpse of him, he was certain he was dead. The Major would kill him on sight; of that there was no doubt. Unless he had some leverage.

  It was then that he recognized he didn’t want to share that with Synthia. She might be a kindred spirit, but she was a liability. Roach had survived as long as he had because he hadn’t taken chances. He only took women that couldn’t be traced back to him, and he had never told anyone before Synthia about what he liked to do. She already knew enough to get him arrested, and in today’s world he suspected a court martial would be swift. As would the punishment. It would be his word against hers, and she had the marks on her body that would sway belief firmly into her court. But how to get rid of her?

  While he had been thinking, Katie had decided the children had played long enough. With help from a couple of other women she began rounding them up and herding them towards the barrack. With a sigh he watched until the last child went into the building, the Major’s wife bringing up the rear. She paused at the door, looking around like she felt his eyes on her back. As she stood there in profile he imagined her naked. The strong, lithe body made oh so feminine by her thick hair, large breasts and curved hips. Then she closed the door and he lost the mental picture.

  Cursing, he started the Hummer and drove off, his erection painfully pushing against his trousers. Driving, he turned his thoughts back to Synthia. The decision to cut his losses with her was already made, he just had to come up with a way to do it without getting caught. Roach didn’t want to die, but more than death he feared capture and the humiliation of the spectacle he would become.

  People would call him crazy. A psychopath. A serial killer. They wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t be able to comprehend his needs. Besides, he had never taken anyone that was worth anything. All the women had been sluts. His first kill, the cheerleader in high school, had slept with most of the football team. Then there had been the party girls. The ones in the clubs in short dresses that would sleep with anyone they thought had money or drugs. There had been prostitutes too, and none of them had been what society would call virtuous. He had done society a service.

  Smiling, Roach pulled to the side of the road. He was at the extreme eastern edge of the base and had stopped next to the water treatment facility. The plant was huge, covering a couple of acres with giant tanks and a veritable forest of pipes. Catwalks circled the tanks and were woven through the piping. Butting against the perimeter fence, he could see several places where the narrow walkways extended above the fence.

  Still smiling, he turned the wheel and accelerated back down the road. Excitement coursed through his body and he had to force himself to slow down. The last thing he needed right now was to get caught speeding on base. Sure, he’d probably not get a citation like most other drivers, but he’d wind up standing in front of Lieutenant Colonel Lewis, getting his ass chewed up one side and down the other. He didn’t need that kind of attention.

  Roach had always been a master at controlling his emotions, but this was getting the best of him. He drove fast. Nearly double the posted limit but made it to his small house without encountering any Security Forces patrols. Parking on the street in front, he jumped out and dashed inside, heart still beating a mile a minute. Synthia was sitting on the sofa, refusing to look at him when he charged inside.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ve got us a way to get off the base.” She looked up and smiled, jumping to her feet a moment later.

  “I knew you’d think of something! Now? You have someone?” She cried, rushing forward to wrap her arms around him.

  “We’ll find someone in town. There’s plenty of women, and more arriving every day! Are you ready to go?” The excitement in his voice was infectious and Synthia ran to the bedroom to get her shoes and large purse with her “toys” inside.

  “Let’s go!” She said brightly, dashing back into the front room, yanking the door open and running outside.

  Minutes later they were driving along the perimeter road. The prospect of a new victim had made Synthia forget her earlier anger. She was bubbly and effusive as Roach drove, describing what she wanted to do this time. He smiled and nodded, laughing with her, again driving too fast but not caring. Reaching the plant, he turned into the parking lot and shut off the engine.

  “What are we doing here?” Synthia asked, looking around.

  “It’s our way out. All the gates are shut, but we can get over the fence here and slip into town.” He said, opening his door and stepping out.

  “But what about the infected?” Synthia asked, getting out and following him into the maze of pipes and tanks.

  “There aren’t any here. You’ll see. We just have to climb up some scaffolding and then take an emergency exit over the fence.” Roach reached out and took her hand in his, leading her deeper into the facility.

  Pausing, he looked around and identified the catwalk he wanted. Still leading, he moved onto the metal stairs. Synthia was talking a steady stream as they climbed and started out on a series of grates that were 30 feet in the air. The walkway curved around the side of a tank and suddenly they were out of the shelter of the pipes. As they continued along the bend, Roach could look down through the grating and see the 12 foot chain link perimeter fence directly beneath his feet. Half the catwalk and the handrail extended beyond the fence line.

  A chorus of screams sounded from below and Synthia jerked to a stop and looked down at a seething mass of infected. There was an equal mix of males and females, the females having seen them and becoming agitated. Their excitement spread through the surrounding infected like wildfire. They began slamming against the barrier, making the wire mesh ring as it impacted the steel posts that supported it.

  “You said there weren’t any infected,” she said, starting to look up at Roach. Before she could complete the turn to face him, he hit her on the side of the head with a leather sap he had withdrawn from his pocket. Synthia’s eyes rolled up as her knees buckled, her body collapsing to the metal grating.

  “I lied.” Roach said, slipping the sap back into his pocket and ripping her purse open.

  Inside the purse he found two knives, a pair of pliers and a small butane torch that would normally be used to lite cigars. Synthia didn’t smoke cigars. He took the knives and pliers, putting all of the items into his pockets. If by some miracle her body was found and recovered, he didn’t want any weapons found on it. Not that the times didn’t justify a young lady arming herself with whatever weapon she could find, it was just one of the small details that he paid attention to.

  Squatting, he worked his arms under her body and stood with her cradled against him. Stepping forward, he grunted as he lifted her to clear the handrail, her eyes fluttering open.

  “What are you…” She started to say, but the words turned into a brief scream when he dropped her to the waiting mouths below.

  Synthia struck one of the males, knocking him to the ground and coming to rest on top of his body. Before she could move, several females fell on her, almost sounding delighted in their screams. She screamed once more, but it was brief, cut off when a female locked her teeth on Synthia’s throat. Roach stood staring down, fascinated. And strangely aroused at the orgy of blood that was taking place 30 feet below him.

  “Don’t have to worry about body disposal anymore.” He mumbled to himself, turning to head back to the Humvee, freezing when he saw the man looking at him.

  The man was on an adjacent catwalk, dressed in a set of blue coveralls with Tech Sergeant stripes on the sleeves. He stared at Roach with his mouth open in a silent ‘O’ of shock at what he’d just witnessed. Roach mentally screamed at himself for not having made sure there weren’t any maintenance workers on site before killing Synthia.

  He didn�
��t move at first, standing as still as the shocked man. Flicking his eyes around he found the path to get to the other catwalk, and started walking forward with his empty hands raised in a calming gesture.

  “It’s not what it looks like.” He shouted to the man. “She was infected. Just starting to turn. I had to get rid of her before she killed someone.”

  While he was talking, Roach had covered half the distance to the connecting walkway that led to the one the man was standing on.

  “I didn’t have a choice. She was going to become one of them.” Roach pointed at the mass of writhing bodies on the other side of the fence and the man automatically turned his head and looked down at the infected.

  As soon as his attention was diverted, Roach sprinted. He reached the connecting walkway, made the turn at speed by grabbing onto the handrail and charged the man. Drawing one of Synthia’s knives he ran with it held low, ready to thrust upwards in a killing strike. The man finally recognized the danger and turned to run.

  But he had waited too long and allowed Roach to draw too close. He had taken three steps when Roach thrust the knife into his lower back. The 10 inch, razor sharp blade sliced into his kidney which immobilized the man by instantly throwing his body into severe shock. Roach pushed him down onto his face, pulled the knife out and stabbed two more times to make sure he wasn’t able to move or fight back.

  Grabbing the man’s feet he dragged the body along the catwalk until he was back at the spot where he had thrown Synthia over. Looking down he could see what remained of her corpse, shocked at how much had already been consumed by the infected. Working his arms under the man, he avoided the blood as best he could and levered the body up and on the handrail. It teetered for a moment before tipping fully over and crashing onto the heads of the infected that were still feeding on Roach’s earlier offering.

  28

  Martinez brought us in fast and low. She made a sweeping turn around a couple of hills, flaring at the last moment and landing next to the stock tank I remembered so well. We were 30 minutes early, but needed every last minute. Slamming the side door open I jumped out on the sand. A brand new, fresh from the box, pair of NVGs let me see everything. I took full advantage of them and scanned the area, happy when I didn’t detect anything to worry about.

  I moved away from the aircraft, which was Rachel’s signal to come out and a moment later she and Dog jumped down. She also had a new set of NVGs, and Dog… well, he didn’t need any. Cummings waited until she was well away from the Stealth Hawk before following. I didn’t like him, and Dog had instantly picked up on that, so Dog didn’t like him. Dog would growl at him if he made any sudden moves or got too close to Rachel or me.

  He had protested Dog coming along, but I’d told him I’d leave his ass behind before I did Dog’s. He’d seen something in my face to convince him to drop the entire subject. Perhaps he was worried about me leaving him behind in the West Texas desert.

  On the far side of the flat area I could see a large, earth colored object that looked like a partially deflated water balloon. In a way it was. It was a fuel bladder that an Air Force tactical team had dropped here several hours ago, flying in and out in a stripped down Pave Hawk. The Stealth Hawk we were flying didn’t have the range to get us here and back home to Tinker, and with passengers we had no room for one of the fuel bladders. In fact, we’d come in on fumes.

  The team that had brought the fuel had carried two fuel bladders. One to leave for us, the other to refuel their helo so they could get back. Now, we had to get our aircraft fueled in a hurry. I didn’t want it on the ground when the Russians arrived. Looking over my shoulder I motioned at the cockpit and Martinez and her co-pilot jumped out. I helped them stretch out a hose and connect it to the bladder and the helicopter.

  While they handled the fueling process I unloaded the SADMs, stashing them at the base of the old windmill. The Stealth Hawk finished fueling in 20 minutes. We got it disconnected from the bladder and I helped Martinez disconnect from the aircraft’s fueling port.

  “Watch your ass, sir.” She said. “I won’t be far if you need me.”

  “Keep an eye on that herd with FLIR.” I said. “If they start heading this way, come get us.”

  This was already the plan, but I felt better reinforcing it. A couple of minutes later the helicopter lifted off and I was glad for the NVGs protecting my eyes from the storm of sand and debris that the rotor churned up. Cummings, to whom I hadn’t issued NVGs, turned his back and covered his face. He also didn’t have a weapon.

  He’d thrown a fit when I’d vetoed his request for a rifle, claiming he knew how to use one. I didn’t care if he was the best fucking shot in the world, I didn’t trust him with a weapon. He’d gone over my head, complaining to Crawford, but the Colonel had supported my decision and shut him down.

  In less than 30 seconds I could no longer hear the helicopter. I shook my head in amazement at how quiet the damn thing was. Scanning the area again, I was glad to see it was still clear of infected.

  “So this is where you used to bring your girlfriends. Not very romantic, is it?” Rachel had stepped up beside me and was keeping watch on the area to my rear.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I used to do pretty good here. Something about the spot. Got you here, didn’t I?” She didn’t say anything, but a moment later a sharp elbow struck my lower back. Good thing I was wearing a plate carrier vest with ballistic plates.

  “Ouch!” Rachel muttered, rubbing her bruised elbow. “Why didn’t you remind me you were wearing body armor?”

  “That would take all the fun out of it.” I answered, then our banter ended when we heard the sound of a distant, heavy helicopter rotor.

  It wasn’t Martinez. The Stealth Hawk didn’t make that much or that kind of noise. Had to be our Russian friends. Moving quickly, I put Cummings and Rachel behind the stock tank and told them to keep their heads down until I called. Dog and I settled behind a large pile of boulders at the edge of the area.

  The sound of the helicopter kept growing louder, and I was finally able to see it with night vision. It was a Russian Hind MI-24, complete with stubby wings and a whole lot of missiles. Basically a flying tank. It was a dated design, but still as deadly as the day it was drawn up by the Soviets.

  The Russian circled once before coming into a hover and gently setting down where Martinez had landed. The Hind’s rotor was significantly larger than the Stealth Hawk’s, which meant a lot more sand got blown up into the air. For a moment, that was all I could see, then the rotor slowed and the air began to clear.

  My rifle was up and aimed at the helicopter, but unless someone got out I knew I’d just be wasting bullets if I decided to shoot. The Hind is heavily armored, and light weapons like the M4 can’t hope to cause any damage. Well, I might be able to chip his paint a little if he really pissed me off, or maybe flatten one of the landing gear tires.

  The side door slid open and Irina Vostov jumped down, favoring her injured leg. She was dressed in clothing more fitting for the environment than the skirt and lab coat I’d last seen her in. Despite dressing appropriately, she’d revealed her vanity by selecting camo pants that hugged her curves and a skin tight black shirt. Her blonde hair glowed where it spilled across the black fabric. She wasn’t armed, but right behind her came Igor and the other Spetsnaz soldier I’d met in Los Alamos. They both had sound suppressed AKMS rifles up and ready, looking around through their NVGs.

  Telling Dog to stay put, I slowly stood, rifle hanging on its sling and my hands out to my side. Igor spotted me instantly and started to swivel his rifle in my direction, but caught himself in time when he recognized me. He settled for pointing me out to Irina, and they began walking in my direction. I shoved the NVGs off my face and met them half way across the open space.

  “Did we really need to meet all the way out here?” I asked Irina by way of greeting.

  “Aren’t you happy to see me, Major?” She said with a smile. “I thought you liked bringing girls to t
his spot.” She leaned in and kissed me on each cheek.

  I stared at her for a long minute. Her eyes were twinkling and the corners of her mouth were turned up in a small smile.

  “I won’t bother to ask how you know that.” I said.

  “I don’t mind telling you.” She responded with a laugh. “Those days are over. The days of us spying on each other. Killing each other. Like the KGB Colonel you killed in East Germany. That kill brought you to our attention for the first time, and we spared no effort to find out everything about you. You should see your file. It’s quite impressive.”

  “I’d love to get a look at it.” Rachel said from behind me. I let out a long, mental sigh. Reminder to self. Leave the girlfriend at home when you’re on a mission. If you don’t, she’ll forget everything you’ve taught her as soon as she sees you talking to an attractive woman.

  I performed the introductions, to a degree. Irina didn’t need to know anything about Rachel. Dog had come out when Rachel had walked up behind me, and to my chagrin, he immediately took to Igor. Within minutes of meeting, he was on his back getting his belly scratched; giving me a look that said “don’t you wish you were the one doing this?” Fucking traitor.

  Reminding myself about the approaching herd of infected and that time was short, I waved Cummings forward and introduced him to Irina. She held her hand out and he took it, holding it well beyond the amount of time dictated for a professional greeting. Irina pulled her hand away and wiped it on her pants. I couldn’t tell whether it was a subconscious act or intentionally sending a message.

  “And why is it you are here, Mr. Cummings?” She asked, a frown creasing her forehead.

  “I am the Chief of Staff for the President of the United States.” He said in a formal, self-important voice. “She has asked me to meet with you to lodge a formal complaint in regards to the unprovoked attacks on the United States by the Russian Federation.”