There areas at the front of the hangars Chad could see were illuminated by emergency lights. Movement at the corner of the largest hangar caught his eye. He watched as a few men dressed like Yuri and Boris had been, in Russian brown-and-green camo appeared, and fired AK-47s in the distance. Chad's eyes followed their tracers. Other soldiers, dressed in tan-and-gray camo, returned fire. He glanced up once more as the aircraft returned and resumed circling overhead in a lazy pattern. On the haze-gray hull, he spotted the word MARINES. He tore his eyes away from the view of the battle and looked back at 13. "It's the Marines! They’ve come to rescue us!"
13 rushed up next to him and took a quick glance out the window, immediately assessing the situation. "We must rescue ourselves." She slapped him on the shoulder and opened a door across the hall into what looked like a waiting area.
There were two Russians on the far side of the room. They were shooting out the windows and had their backs to Chad and 13. Broken glass on the floor twinkled in the light of muzzle flashes and emergency lights like a sparkling carpet.
Chad moved up next to 13 and nodded when she indicated they should take down the two Russians. She held up one finger on her left hand, then two, then three fingers, and nodded. He squeezed the trigger. The Russians collapsed in a tangled, bloody heap and he looked at the smoking AK-47 in his hands. That was intense.
Through the shattered windows, Chad spotted soldiers making their way toward them, ducking behind supply vehicles and small aircraft parked on the tarmac. Behind them he could see the wreckage of another plane like the one that was still circling overhead, smoke from its burning fuselage pouring up into the night. A hail of gunfire met them as they looked through the shattered windows.
13 grabbed his shoulder and threw him to the floor behind the gate agent’s desk. Bullets tore into the room from outside.
She knelt next to him and he said, "I think the Americans are shooting at us. They must think we're Russians!"
She flashed a quick smile at him and said again, "We must rescue ourselves." Bullets continued to pepper the desk, sending bits of laminate and particle board into the air all around them.
"But we’re Americans—” Chad tried yelling.
13 poked her head up over the desk and took a quick look before dropping down as bullets continued to perforate the wall behind her.
"Not Americans!" she yelled over the din, wiping the hair back from her forehead with a bloody hand. She winced and shook her head. “Watch the floor!”
"Not Americans? Watch the door?" asked Chad. I can hardly hear what she’s saying! Why does she want me to watch this door? He turned and shuffled down to the end of the desk before trying to peer around the corner. The men he had assumed to be Marines coming across the tarmac were running forward, leapfrogging over their comrades who directed covering fire at the Russians.
As the first of them grew close enough Chad saw there was something off about the shape of their helmets and the rifles they carried. They sure didn’t look like Alston’s men.
He turned back to 13 with a worried look on his face. "You're right—those aren’t Marines—their helmets are all wrong…"
"Germans!” shouted 13.
Chad moaned and gripped his rifle tighter. “But I saw a plane out there that had ‘MARINES’ stenciled on the side…”
More bullets peppered the desk. “Germans!" 13 shouted again. She shook her head as debris rained down on her.
Chad looked around the gutted waiting area, looking for another way out. "What the hell are the Germans doing here?"
13 leaned toward him and pointed her finger at his chest again and said, "Source. They’re here because of you. And me."
"If we get out of this, I’m going to need you to explain what the hell you’re talking about…"
She smiled again, flipping the same unruly bit of hair out of her face as chunks of drywall fell on them from the ceiling. "Yes. Now, follow me!"
She pushed past Chad and dove for the far end of the front desk. She scrambled across the hallway, skittering past chunks of flooring kicked up by German bullets.
Chad heard a foreign voice outside the building and needed no further encouragement. He followed 13 through a hail of bullets. His vision was clouded by bits of drywall and dust kicked up around him. He dove through the emergency exit 13 held open.
As he scrambled to his feet on the other side, he winced at the pain in his arms. He wasn’t used to taking flying leaps onto a floor like that. 13 slammed the door shut. She looked around the murky exit corridor.
"There!" she said, pointing at a large cabinet with a broken hinge that had been abandoned in the back hallway. "Help me move this.” The two of them managed to coerce the large metal cabinet to block the door.
"What the hell are we gonna do now? We can't keep running down hallways to avoid these guys. We gotta get out of this building!" yelled Chad.
Chad heard a boot, or maybe a fist start to pound on the metal door. Someone shouted from on the other side.
"Let's go," she said.
Chad followed as she sprinted down the hallway. "God, I need a drink…" he muttered to himself.
They were almost to the end of the corridor when a tremendous explosion rocked the building. Chad stumbled and fell as a cloud of dust billowed around the corner and engulfed them. He staggered to his feet, coughing, and risked a glance back down the hallway behind him. The heavy steel cabinet they had moved to block the door to the lobby had been shredded by the explosion. German soldiers wormed their way through the new entrance.
In front of him, 13 shouted: "Hurry!"
Chad ignored the Germans and ran to catch up with 13. She reached the corner and turned left, disappearing into the dust and smoke. Chad could hear the chaos of battle outside: gunfire, screaming, the roar of turbine engines.
As he skidded around the corner, he saw the hallway had collapsed. Ragged chunks of metal, rebar, and cinderblocks framed a gaping hole where a door had once been.
13 passed over the top of the debris pile and disappeared momentarily from his view. He scrambled over the rubble, careful to avoid the sharp, jagged pieces of metal clawing at his legs and arms. As he made his way over the top and prepared to jump down, Chad heard shouts behind him.
He lost his footing as he looked over his shoulder and fell from the rubble pile. Chad hit the tarmac on his back and felt the air rush from his lungs. The AK-47 clattered from his hand and flew out of reach. 13 was there before he got his lungs to work again and was helping him get to his feet when he saw a red dot appear on her arm.
He watched, stunned, as the red dot made its way up her arm and rested on her chest. She had seen it too—her gasp was enough to send Chad's heart rate through the roof.
He glanced up the rubble pile and saw a German sighting down his rifle, aimed at 13's chest. The man said something Chad didn't understand, but it sounded like an order. He understood the red laser well enough, though.
They were trapped. Their escape attempt had failed. He could see that now. They had survived medical torture and barely escaped the Russians, only to be captured by a different enemy. Chad, with 13’s arms around his shoulders, sighed. He was glad at least for a respite from running. He glared at the German with the rifle.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"It’s okay," 13 whispered back. He felt her hands gently squeeze his shoulders.
The German started to speak again and then Chad heard what sounded like somebody slap two bricks together. The soldier’s head snapped back, his rifle fell from limp hands, and he toppled over the debris and out of sight.
Chad opened his mouth to say something but paused when he heard the loud report of a rifle over the din of battle.
"Sniper!" 13 hissed. She pushed him flat against the ground, looking for cover.
Through the haze of smoke yellow-orange tracers zipped back and forth across the tarmac. An explosion split the night air and nearly took the breath from his lungs. Someone was getting serious.
It was definitely time to leave. He got to his feet with 13's assistance and saw two more Germans behind them.
Two more rifle shots erupted in the distance and the Germans toppled from the rubble pile. One fell backward into the darkness of the building, the other fell forward and landed at Chad's feet in a gurgling, twitching heap.
"We must go!" hissed 13. She tugged on his arm with surprising strength.
Chad spotted a light through the smoke and haze up ahead, about 100 yards away. The internal debate on whether or not he could trust whoever had fired the last three sniper shots was ended when another German shouted in pain from the building behind him.
"This way—follow me," he said as he headed toward the hangar and the blinking light.
"We don't know who that is!" cried 13.
Another rifle shot fired from the corner of the hangar, and this time Chad saw a bright muzzle flash. He thought he heard the buzz of a bullet passing by his head, but he definitely heard the smack as it found another German.
He had to give it to them, the Germans were nothing if not persistent. Discarded radios crackled—it was a disconcerting sound.
They zig-zagged their way across the tarmac through the haze of smoke to the hangar. As they reached the safety of the building, a door flew open and Sergeant Garza stepped out in a crouch, his M4 rifle aiming over their heads.
13 raised her rifle and tried to push Chad aside. “Whoa! It's okay, he's one of the good guys!" He slapped a hand on top of 13's AK-47 and pushed it down.
"God damn it's good to see you again, sir!" Sergeant Garza said with a smile. He stepped nimbly around 13 and continued covering their retreat. "If you’ll just go on inside, we can get the hell out of here…"
Chad couldn't agree more. He pulled a reluctant 13 through the open side door. Behind him, Garza called out: "Hammer-2, Actual, this is Golf—I have the package plus one, repeat: package plus one, inbound!"
The massive frame of Corporal Donovan filled the immediate space inside the hangar door. "Welcome back, sir," the man rumbled. The M-60 machine gun held in his grip pointed at 13's chest. He grinned. "Who's this?"
Chad gently pushed the barrel of the big machine gun until it pointed away from 13. "She's a friend. I'll explain later. There's Russians and Germans back there!"
"Don't I know it!" said Captain Alston as he stepped out of the darkness. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned his head to cough. "Why is it that every time I come across you, there’s someone trying to kill you? Good to have you back, Mr. Huntley."
"You guys have no idea how happy I am to see you," said Chad.
"I bet," said Captain Alston. He picked up a radio and keyed the mic. “Condor Lead, this is Hammer-2, Actual, how copy?"
The speaker on the radio chirped, “Five by five, Actual. Go ahead," said the new voice.
"We have retrieved the package, plus one. Repeat: we have retrieved the package plus one. Ready for evac."
"You boys stirred up a hornets’ nest down there," said the tinny voice. "LZ’s too hot for us. We can't afford to lose a second one today…barely survived those Hinds."
"Damn" muttered Captain Alston. He keyed the mic again. "Roger that, Condor Lead. We’ll meet you at the secondary LZ."
"Copy that, Actual. Be advised, I have 35 minutes TOT."
"Roger that, 35 mikes TOT. Actual, out."
"TOT?" asked Chad as he leaned against the nearest wall. He was starting to see stars again. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep.
Captain Alston coughed again and grabbed Chad's arm. He started pulling him toward the rear of the hangar. "Time on target,” he explained over his shoulder. “The pilot’s telling us he's got 35 minutes of fuel left before he has to bug out." Captain Alston raised the radio to his lips. "Rangers! We are Oscar Mike to the backup LZ!”
CHAPTER 15
Denver, Colorado.
Emergency National Reserve Operations Center.
The Cave.
DR. BRENDA ALSTON, MAJOR, U.S. Army, rubbed her eyes and tried to wipe the fatigue away. She glanced again at the computer monitor displaying a picture of the weaponized virus as seen under an electron microscope. The nodes and little tendrils that snaked away from the core of the virus cell looked evil. It was easy to imagine how the heinous organism attached itself to healthy cells in order to replicate itself and destroy the host from the inside. The virus would penetrate the host cell with its stalk-like surface proteins and inject its RNA. Once replicated, the virus cell grew while the host slowly cell died, until the only thing left was the virus, ready to find another host.
Memories from the Great Pandemic rushed back when she looked at the monitor. Brenda was amazed how such a tiny, microscopic thing could cause so much heartache, death, and destruction around the world. So many people killed, so many families destroyed, so many children orphaned, all because of this innocent-looking—she found it almost beautiful at this scale—little organism. It had the same drive shared by all living things: To reproduce. To survive. To secure the future for its own kind.
It was just a shame that in order to do so, that thing had to destroy humanity in all its forms—completely indiscriminate in who it killed. Now it had been modified to become the perfect killer…and it had set its sights on America.
Anger welled up inside her again. She wanted to eradicate it from existence. She wanted it to limp off into history like polio and smallpox.
Brenda turned to her left and looked at another monitor, displaying the image of patients in base clinic. They'd come down with fevers in the last two days, exposed to infected civilians on the surface. Now they were suffering. One struggled to breathe. She doubted the poor young man would live to see tomorrow.
Oddly enough, it wasn't the virus itself that was going to kill him, but a secondary infection that he had picked up somewhere. It had probably already been in his body when the weaponized virus attacked his immune system. Once his body’s defenses were breached, it was only a matter of time before the virus had its way.
Brenda glanced back at the report on her desk. Dr. Boatner’s desk. It was unreal to think she was hundreds of feet underground—under the Denver International Airport, no less—in a secret research facility. She was never meant to even know about the existence of The Cave, let alone take the place of someone like Boatner.
He's the one who should be here doing this. Not me. She stared at the ceiling. I belong up there, on the front lines…
Someone politely cleared his throat behind her. She turned to see General Daniels standing at the door. He offered her a steaming cup that brought the invigorating scent of fresh coffee into the room.
"I know what you're thinking, Major. You don’t think you’re the right person for the job." He looked around the empty, state-of-the-art laboratory. There were no machines whirring away, no assistants scurrying about with reports and results. The banks of computers and monitors were largely dark. Some displayed the same electron microscope image that was before her on her own screen. Maps, charts, displays of infection rates, and areas of known infection glowed on the others.
Before her, several empty and half-empty Styrofoam cups of coffee lay scattered about the desk. Three completely untouched meals had been stacked in a corner under some paperwork.
She frowned at the mess.
"That's right, you're not Dr. Boatner. He's the only one left alive who figured this bug out ten years ago. And he's probably the only one on the planet right now who can figure it out again. And he's not here." The General turned her chair around. "Right now, brave men are out there trying to bring Dr. Boatner back to safety."
Brenda lost focus for a second. Cooper's face flashed before her eyes. She remembered the rugged set of his jaw and the hardness in his eyes that she suspected hid a soft core. That crooked smile when he was being sarcastic.
A warmth began to spread in her belly. She sighed and looked away from the General. She was in love, she knew it. She had known it when she’d kissed him goodbye bef
ore he left for the Boston mission. Stupid timing—she’d always fallen for the unavailable ones.
If she was going to be honest with herself, it had started earlier than that—back when she first met him at All Saint’s in Los Angeles. The long bus ride, the escape from Los Angeles. The Air Force base. She had known then. She couldn't explain it, and as she rubbed her eyes once more and tried to refocus on General Daniels’ pep talk, she knew she didn't want to explain it.
"…we have at the moment, Brenda. I know you can do this. We're all counting on you. The world is counting on you."
She looked at General Daniels. He smiled. "No pressure, right?"
"Right," she replied, her throat dry. She ran a hand through her auburn hair and winced at the tangled mess. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a decent shower. She knew she had to take better care of herself, but couldn’t stop working long enough to bother. She looked down at the trays of food on the desk.
"—take better care of yourself, Major. That’s an order,” Daniels said. “You won't solve anything if you don't get enough sleep. Now, you've done fantastic work here on your own—"
"’Fantastic work’, sir?" she interrupted. She spread her hands over the desk. "I haven't done anything! I haven't solved anything! The only thing I'm doing is collecting data and reports. I'm staring at these screens and beating my head against the keyboard trying to figure out how this thing works… I'm not trained for this, I’m a surgeon…"
Daniels sighed and sat down in the chair next to her. He picked up one of the reports and scanned it. "You’re doing what you can. President Harris is struggling to keep the government alive in this time of crisis. We don't even have full control of the Armed Forces." It was his turn to rub his forehead. "I'm ashamed to say we don't even have the loyalty of the Army. Our best guess is we have about a quarter of the troops on our side."
"For the life of me," Brenda said, "I can’t figure out why now would be a good time to start a civil war….These politicians have to understand that this thing," she said gesturing at the image of the virus, "doesn't give a rat’s ass about who’s side anyone is on! It’ll kill us all if we don’t stop it."
The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga Page 17