“How’s he look?" asked Cooper.
Digen sighed as he walked forward behind the tented stretcher. "To be honest, he looks about like the others that we already took down."
Cooper glanced down at the concrete as they walked into a U.S. Airways hangar. He saw a mental image of Brenda, tucked away in a dark corner of the bowels of the government complex deep under his feet. She was down there right now, probably nose deep in some research.
“You still with me?”
“Huh?” asked Cooper. “Sorry.”
Digen grinned as he held open a heavy fire door. “Thinking about her, huh?”
Cooper felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “Her? What?”
Digen laughed. “Get used to everyone knowing your business around here. We’re all trapped in this place. Major Alston is kind of a celebrity to us, you know—everyone knows her. She’s the grunt that came back from the Sandbox and now briefs the President.” He laughed again as they all stepped into an industrial freight elevator. “You’re the guy she’s dating.”
“Nice,” said Charlie’s robot-sounding voice over Cooper’s shoulder.
“We haven’t even been on a date…” groaned Cooper.
“So much for opsec,” added Jax. The big SEAL laughed.
The elevator ride down into the bowels of the government complex under Denver International was one of silence. Cooper blocked out everything around him: the slight hum of the motors and cables that ran hundreds of feet deep below the surface; the muted talk of the medics as they discussed Mike's condition and prognosis.
Cooper was completely engrossed in trying to sort out his feelings. It was an altogether unfamiliar experience for him. He’d just successfully completed a hair-raising mission behind enemy lines and extracted a high-value target safely.
Normally after a successful mission, he would be ready to strip off his gear, stand in a hot shower for about an hour, and let the water release the tension in his muscles. Then the shaking would begin and he would get himself into a bunk—ignoring the ‘old man’ comments from Jax and the others as they started to unwind. He’d sleep for about eight hours and only after he woke would he feel alive enough to join the revelry already in progress complete with shouts, laughter, and empty beer bottles rolling on the floor.
But not this time. Cooper felt strangely calm—almost relaxed. He knew, somewhere deep down below, Brenda waited for him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. The last woman he’d really cared for was Sanjana. That had been just before The Pandemic—they’d been in college. But neither love nor passion had the ability to withstand the Blue Flu.
Cooper stared at the wall of the elevator. Sanjana and her family had not survived the Great Pandemic. When he’d finally recovered from the edge of death, Cooper found there was nothing left for him to do.
Most of his friends had died. A few—his hunting buddies—had taken off into the remote forests north of the Great Lakes. Cooper assumed they went native and decided to live off the land in order to avoid all human contact and save themselves. He hadn’t heard from them in years.
He had admitted to himself more than once that running off to the Upper Peninsula was a tempting idea. But Cooper couldn’t run—if there was anything he could do to fight the faceless enemy that had taken his friends, family, and Sanjana, he was going to do it. Right now, fighting back meant protecting Dr. Boatner—their best chance for finding a cure.
Cooper looked down. His mud and soot-encrusted boots left dirty prints on steel floor of the elevator. No different than the dried blood and spittle that had crusted around Sanjana’s slightly parted lips when he’d found her. She lay on the bed in her dorm as if preparing for sleep. Her sheets were clean and white in contrast to her skin. Where once it had been lustrous and nutmeg tan…the last time he’d seen her, she’d been as dark blue as a shadow of her former self.
Sanjana had been dead long before he’d had the strength to crawl his way out of his own dorm and seek her out. The blood he’d found on the floor in her bathroom was so old, it looked like dried mud.
For the longest time his heart had been dried and cracked like that mud. He’d been confused, angry, and so terribly weak after his fight for survival. So many students had perished the surviving Trustees had shut down the college. His education, for all intents and purposes, was over. Surviving the Great Pandemic had taught him more about humanity and life itself than any college course could have ever done.
The love of his life had died, extinguished like a candle in a hurricane. His family was dead. His friends were gone—dead or left town, he didn’t know which. The college, the temporary anchor of his young life, was gone. What else was there? No one was hiring—most economies around the world had been devastated. It would be years before people started to recover from the resulting financial chaos.
But there was always someone out there willing to take advantage of others in times of weakness. He saw it at the local level when survivors banded together and began looting the homes of the dead for anything that would make their life a little more tolerable. Some resisted, most joined in. Cooper remained aloof, lost in his own grief. Then one day he saw a soldier take down a thief who had broken into someone’s house. Cooper decided he wanted to be on the side that was just and right—he wanted to be part of the effort to defend what was left of humanity.
Recruitment for the Armed Forces had never been so high as during the Aftermath. When power-hungry Third World dictators rose to the top of the flotsam left after The Pandemic, regional wars began to erupt around the globe following long-established fault lines.
Transportation systems around the world had all but shut down, global economies had ground to a halt, and the survivors had begun to feel an acute need for the basic necessities of life: food, water, shelter. Nations blessed with abundant natural resources—like the United States—became targets for those who were not.
Cooper had always been a good swimmer and with few other options had signed up with a Navy recruiter. He’d been anxious to see some fighting aboard the big warships. Cooper had never looked back. His eyes focused and on the mud that splattered his boots and forced the memories and pain of the past back into the box at the back of his mind.
Now, 10 years later with more missions under his belt then he cared to count, Cooper stared at the light at the end of the tunnel. His career was rapidly coming to a close. He moved his right leg a little and heard the metallic squeak of the ill-fitting knee brace. He had been blessed so far in that the damn thing hadn’t given him away to enemy forces. Yet. But how long would his luck last? He knew his knee would never be as good as it was before he’d been shot on that last op.
For an operator, Cooper was pragmatic enough to realize he was getting a little past his prime. At 39, he was the oldest member of his team by at least five years with the exception of Mike. Age had no effect on Beaver—he could still run with the best of them. In terms of size versus strength, Mike was one of the strongest men, pound for pound, Cooper had ever met—at least he had been, before he’d caught the damn flu.
And here I was, relaxing in a pool chair just a few weeks ago, thinking about a paycheck from Oakrock… $120,000 a year to provide security and consultation… It was so close.
Another thought flashed across his mind: If all of this shit had not fallen out of the sky and landed in my lap, I never would've met Brenda.
That, at least, was a comforting thought. Maybe if they were lucky enough to survive the flu—and the war with North Korea—he and Brenda could be together.
The elevator slammed to a stop at the deepest sub-level of the complex and jolted Cooper out of his daydream.
"All right, here we are,” said Digen. He motioned for the litter-bearers to move. “We’re all going through the decontamination shower. The Crit-Care staff will take over patient transport from here.” Digen hit the emergency stop button and the wide elevator doors locked open. The four-man team of medics in biohazard suits wheeled Mike's gurney w
ith its incubation tent into a chamber filled with shower nozzles and waited for everyone else to enter. After a few moments of sanitizing spray and a chemical wash the doors opened and a they found squad of medics in self contained breathing apparatuses lining the hallway. They had visored hoods and oxygen canisters, but no suits. At a signal from Digen, they rushed forward to transfer Mike, quickly wheeling him down a side corridor.
Capt. Digen led everyone else out, sterile and dry, into a long main hallway. Cooper was amazed such a place even existed.
"I see why they call this place the Cave,” muttered Charlie.
As they moved away from the decon shower, Cooper was not surprised when he saw hallways lined with soldiers dressed in NBC suits and SCBAs. If the President was in residence, things were bound to be a bit more complicated.
"We have containment facilities and quarters set up for you and your men over here." Digen used a biometric pad to unlock a thick door that looked more like a bulkhead hatch on a nuclear sub. Cooper stepped in and looked around. A flat screen TV was affixed to the far wall, its wide screen showing a map of the United States with infection zones highlighted in red. Behind the main hatch that led back to the hallway, there was a smaller hatch that opened into a cramped bathroom. He saw six cots, four comfortable-looking chairs and one simple wooden desk that looked like it was from IKEA. Trays of food, still covered by aluminum lids from the mess hall, had been left on the desk, ready for the SEALs.
Cooper heard a shout and turned to see a group of suited medics struggling in the hallway. Whoever it was that had shouted, the medics did not want to let them through, eager to get their charges into lockdown. He saw a flash of auburn hair and recognized the voice when she called out a second time.
“Brenda!”
She almost made it through the medics before two of them grabbed her and pulled her back, away from Cooper. She tried to pull her arms free but the men in biohazard suits held fast. “Ma’am! You don’t have a suit on—you can’t get near him!”
“He’s sealed and he’s been through decon—” she said, but Cooper could tell she knew the others were right.
“Are you willing to bet the lives of every single person in this complex on that being enough, ma’am?” asked Digen. He moved to place himself between Brenda and Cooper. “Because I’m not and I’m pretty sure General Daniels won’t either.”
Brenda glared at him but seemed to calm down. Eventually the medics relaxed their grip on her arms and she shrugged free of them. “You’re right,” she said, brushing stray hair out of her face.
“Here,” said one of the medics. He handed her a portable SCBA. She put the hooded facemask on and strapped an oxygen bottle to her waist, then put on a pair of shoulder-length gloves and a smock. One of the other others checked that the collar was snug around her shoulders and pronounced her fit to move closer.
Brenda crossed the space between them and crashed into him, her arms wrapped around his chest in a tight embrace. It was perhaps the single most awkward hug of his entire life—he still wore his HAHO suit underneath the bulky, yellow biohazard suit. They bumped facemasks and laughed at each other.
“I’m so happy to see you again,” she said, her voice muffled by two layers of polycarbonate plastic.
Cooper laughed at the awkwardness of the situation, as her gloved hands ran up and down his arms and back, as if she could check for wounds through all the suits and protective fabric.
“Glad to see you, too," he said with a grin. "I've never been so happy to see someone post-mission in my entire life."
One of the medics grabbed Brenda's arm in an attempt to pull her away from Cooper. "Major, we need to get these men into containment as quickly as possible and you aren’t in a baggie.”
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Cooper said in a dangerous tone. Brenda shook off the medic and placed a hand on Cooper's chest. He imagined the warmth of her touch on his skin as he stared at the blue plastic that encased her hands and the yellow that covered his chest.
"No, he's right," Brenda said softly. “This is good for temporary work and low-risk contamination. You’ve already been through decon so I’m not worried—the virus isn’t that strong. But a risk is a risk…” She took a deep breath and stepped back from him, the tips of her fingers reluctant to leave his chest. Her arm remained outstretched until it fell by her side.
Cooper could see the tears forming in her eyes. "Well,” he said in a husky voice. He cleared his throat. “At least it’ll only be for three days…"
"Yeah, assuming you aren’t infected," muttered Digen as he walked past, apparently satisfied that Brenda was going to keep her distance.
"Captain, I would like a moment alone with Lt. Braaten.”
The look on the soldier’s face proclaimed yeah, I bet you would, but the man nodded courteously and gestured for the other medics to move back. "No problem, ma’am. See you back in the lab?"
Brenda nodded inside her suit’s fishbowl enclosure. "I'll be right behind you."
Cooper turned and gave what he hoped came across as a meaningful glare at Jax and Charlie. The two SEALs looked at each other, their black helmets reflecting the other’s image. Jax laughed, the sound of his voice ringing hollow from inside his own suit. They moved awkwardly into their new temporary quarters.
Cooper turned back to Brenda. "It's like they’re in high school…”
Brenda laughed, the muffled sound like music to his ears. Cooper couldn't help but smile. The entire situation was just plain ridiculous.
Her face grew serious. “I really am very happy you’re back," she said almost in a whisper.
Cooper nodded. "Me too. I kept thinking… While we were deployed," he suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He felt the heat rise inside his fish-bowl hood. Fog started to coat the lower rim of the clear bubble.
I’ve never been so tongue-tied around a woman before.
Brenda’s eyes twinkled at his discomfort. "You know, you're cute when you get all flustered…"
"I guess I was trying to say—” Cooper began, his tongue tied in a wave of relief and confusion.
Brenda stepped forward quickly and placed her gloved hand on Cooper's bubble-helmet. The pressure from her hand caused the hood to cave in a little and was nowhere near his mouth, but he got the message. "Sssh,” she whispered. "Not here, not like this. I think I know what you mean and I’m pretty sure you know how I feel.”
As she looked down, he could see the color rise slightly in her cheeks. Jesus, she's as worked up about this I am…
“I don’t want what we’re about to say to be through layers of plastic and PVC.”
Cooper nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, it could be, if you're into that kinda stuff…"
She stepped back with a laugh. “Stop it! You know what I mean."
Cooper moved forward and embraced her by the shoulders. He held her in a steady grip and touched his fish-bubble hood to hers. "I know exactly what you mean. It can wait until the time is right. I'm not sick," he said with confidence, “and I’ll see you in a couple days. I promise."
"I know," she whispered. She slowly extricated herself from his awkward embrace and looked down the hallway toward the lab, her hand trailing behind her. She turned back to him. "I need to get going. I want to stay here with you, but—”
“Not while we have to wear these damn suits," Cooper said. "I'll see you after." He flashed a smile and let go of her hand. “Besides, I’ve got debriefings and all kinds of boring stuff to get through first.”
She smiled, but it never reached her eyes. She looked sad. She looked tired. Cooper wanted nothing more in the world than to hold her to his chest and wrap them both in blankets and go to sleep.
Parts of his body wanted other things, but he pushed those thoughts and impulses aside.
Mission first.
Brenda nodded. “I’ll see you after, then."
Cooper stepped through the containment airlock into their new quarters. He wait
ed until whatever gas was hissing from the floor and ceiling dissipated and the red light above the inner hatch turned green. Magnetic locks released with clanks and the hatch popped open with a muted hiss. He ducked his bubble-enshrouded head and stepped into his new home.
Once the airlock had been sealed shut and the red light turned green again, Cooper turned around and took a closer look at their quarters. The room was about the size of a small efficiency apartment. On the wall opposite the big-screen TV, there was a large long window about waist high which offered a view into some sort of lab on the other side. Cooper could see scientists in white biohazard suits with hoses hanging from the ceiling attached to their hips. They moved about the lab, mixing vials, and working at computer terminals.
Jax, Sparky, Swede, and Charlie sat on cots and chairs, their biohazard suits strewn on the floor next to their glossy, black HAHO helmets. Charlie was unstrapping his HAHO suit as he chewed on half of a sandwich.
Cooper's stomach rumbled audibly at the sight of the trays sandwiches and sodas. There was an oblong cardboard box tied with twine at the edge of the desk next to the food.
Cooper reached up to his neck and ripped the thin surgical tape to release the bubble hood from his head and ignored the canned oxygen hissing out of his suit. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the slightly less-canned air that was circulating in the room.
A few more minutes of cursing and struggling in the sweat-slick, PVC-lined safety suit and Cooper was able to at least remove his hands and torso from his HAHO suit. That was good enough. He shambled over to the food and grabbed two sandwiches and a Coke. After inhaling the food and a long guzzle from the soda, he belched loudly to chuckles from Jax and Swede. Cooper chewed the second sandwich and examined the package.
The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga Page 23