The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga

by Marcus Richardson

  Brenda frowned. Her hands went into her lab coat pockets. “Honestly, we won’t know until we make a new serum and adjust it for the new genetic information we’ve received.” She shrugged. “Once we tailor the delivery system to get your antibodies inside the shifted virus we should be able to wipe it out. If nothing else, we should see our survival rates increase.”

  “What do you mean?” asked 13.

  The anxiety in her tone caught Brenda’s attention. There was just something about the tall, beautiful blonde that she didn’t like. She immediately tamped down the emotion and was irritated with herself for being so childish. The poor girl had done nothing wrong. Brenda sighed.

  “Right now, the test serum is targeting the original strain—most of the patients here have that one.”

  “How is it working?” asked 13.

  “We’re seeing some improvement but not enough.” She shrugged. “It beats the hell out of anything people topside are facing. They’re going to be looking at 50% fatalities in some areas and it’ll only get worse from here.”

  “Oh, my God,” whispered 13.

  “If He’s listening, we could sure use His help right about now,” Brenda muttered. “Luckily, the vast majority of people who’ve been infected to date are simply bedridden and weak—they’ll recover. But in the worst cases—healthy, young adults—a strong immune response triggers the onset of ARDS…” She sighed. “The only consolation is that once ARDS sets in, they don’t suffer long—this thing really destroys the lungs quickly.”

  “Scorched Lung,” said the girl, her eyes staring into the distance. “I remember.”

  Images of her parents flitted across her mind. Brenda would never forget the blue tint of their lips and hands when they died. That had been the day before Derek had lapsed into a fever-induced coma and she had been left all alone in the house to—

  “Hey,” said Huntley. His hand on her arm jerked Brenda back to the present. “You’re doing good, Doc. We’re gonna beat this thing.” It wasn’t a question.

  Brenda smiled at the young man’s bravery. Easy for you to say, kid—you’ll never get sick a day in your life.

  “When will you have the new serum?” asked 13.

  Brenda blinked and examined the vial in her hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Dr. Boatner thinks maybe by tomorrow morning, but I think it’ll be tomorrow night.”

  “How much will you have? Won’t you need a lot to help all the people up on the surface?”

  Brenda nodded slowly. The questions threw her off—13 rarely spoke so much. “Yes, I suppose we will—”

  “So that means you initially need to make a lot from down here, right?”

  Brenda cocked her head and looked at the mysterious Swedish girl. I wonder if that’s really where you’re from? She made a mental note to do some digging on the young woman and ask Maurice for details about the Program. “Yes, that’s right.”

  She gestured at the lab through the observation window. “We can make a pretty large amount down here. Once we get a vaccine, we can get some labs going topside to really pump it out.” She looked back at Huntley. “All that depends on this sample here. We’ll pair it with the new genetic data and feed it to the virus.”

  “Good.” The girl nodded and brushed her golden hair away from her face. “Do you have enough to get started?”

  Alarm bells starting ringing in Brenda’s mind. Why so many questions? She glanced at the collection machine. It clicked another empty vial into place. Two more to go. “Not yet, but soon. Why?”

  The tall girl stepped closer to Huntley. “The sooner a vaccine is created, the faster we can save more lives.”

  Why don’t I believe you?

  “The sooner we can get the hell out of here,” said Huntley. The intensity of his expression belied the lightness of his tone. Brenda figured if so many innocent people weren’t counting on him, Huntley would never have willingly allowed himself to be a walking blood bank.

  Brenda busied herself with the collection machine as Huntley and 13 began to talk quietly among themselves again. She needed to find out more about 13 as soon as possible. She was definitely up to something, but without any proof she worried Maurice would be more likely to defend the girl than push to find out her real intentions.

  She glanced one more time at 13. I’m going to find out what you’re really up to.

  CHAPTER 31

  Chula Vista, California.

  COOPER LEANED AGAINST THE charred remains of a house in Charlie's neighborhood and paused to catch his breath. They had been forced to abandon the CALTRANS truck 10 miles back. Since running out of fuel, Charlie pushed them forward at a frenetic pace.

  Jax trotted past and slapped Cooper on the shoulder. He moved to the edge of a charred pile of rubble and peered around the corner. Across the street, Cooper spotted Charlie and Clutch hiding behind the remains of another house.

  The other surviving members of the team were spread out up the street. They approached Charlie’s house in a dispersed pattern—if NKor’s had set a trap, Cooper wasn’t about to walk into it blind.

  "Coast is clear, I got no movement," said Cooper. "Charlie, if you think—"

  “Moving," was Charlie's clipped response.

  Cooper bit back a curse and watched as Charlie and Clutch darted around the corner of the burned-out house and trotted to the next. They slipped behind some charred bushes and vanished.

  Cooper glanced at the sky. The pink-hued dawn was already giving way to a deep blue southern California morning. It would be full daylight in a matter of minutes. They needed to get to Charlie's house and disappear before the NKors tracked them down. With any luck, the CALTRANS truck might throw them off Cooper’s trail.

  He’d found what looked like evidence of a large group of people making their way across northern Chula Vista. They’d left a swath of debris and personal items that spanned a four-lane road. He’d purposely crashed the CALTRANS truck into a nearby building to make it appear the SEALs had moved off in the direction of the survivors. Cooper hoped it worked—the last thing they needed was to get into a firefight near Charlie's house.

  "Overwatch?"

  "Clear," replied Sparky.

  “Good—Swede, bring the new kids, we’re moving forward."

  “Hooyah,” replied Swede. “Rooks! On me.”

  Cooper tapped Jax on the back twice. Jax moved around the corner and trotted toward the next house. Cooper followed and got a good look down the street.

  Charlie’s neighborhood had definitely seen some fighting. At the entrance, the first couple houses looked like they had been hit with canister munitions from NKor fast-movers. Most of the other houses around the entrance had been burned to a crisp in the initial assault a few weeks back—nothing but charred, broken shells remained.

  As they continued through the subdivision it was clear a raging firestorm had gutted the neighborhood. Most of the houses on the south side had been burned to the ground. The main road through the neighborhood created a natural firebreak however, and those to the north seemed relatively unscathed.

  Cooper slowed his approach. They’d walked into an area that was perhaps the most dangerous. Houses were largely intact. There could be people inside—hiding, waiting, and armed.

  Many of the houses had smashed windows and open doors. Judging by the trash in the street and the personal items strewn across yards, the looting in this area had been widespread.

  It didn’t look good. For the first time, a real fear began to rise in Cooper’s chest. He was afraid for Aliana and CJ—he feared what Charlie would do if they found the worst.

  Leapfrogging their way from one charred house to another, the SEALs eventually made it to Charlie’s street. Cooper glanced at the time. "Let's hustle, ladies—clock’s ticking! I don't want to be walking around outside in broad daylight any longer than we have to…”

  Without a word Charlie dashed forward and led the team down the final block to his house. Cooper was relieved to see Charlie's house appea
r around the corner and breathed a sigh of relief—he didn’t see any fire damage. The roof appeared intact and most of the bushes and shrubs around the house still had their leaves.

  A small amount of trash marred the front yard, but it appeared to have been blown in from the adjoining property. The windows had been smashed out and front door ripped open of the house just two doors down the street. Someone had looted that house and then apparently skipped the next few, like a tornado sparing trees at random.

  Cooper noticed the house immediately next to Charlie's had a large black ‘X’ across the front door. No wonder it had been skipped by the looters—the only thing residing in that house was death.

  When he rounded the side of Charlie's house, Cooper found his XO standing at the front door, his rifle dangling by its strap at his side. A big black ‘X’ had been sprayed across his front door.

  Cooper slowly approached Charlie and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, brother."

  Charlie ignored him and stepped forward to put a gloved hand on the faded spray paint. It looked like it'd been there for at least a week. The sun had already started to bleach patches of the black paint to a dull brown.

  Charlie's HAHO helmet shook side to side. "No. I don't believe it. I can't…"

  "What's the holdup?" called out Jax from across the street.

  Cooper turned and waved him off. When he moved, Jax spied the ‘X’ on the door.

  "Ah, shit…" muttered Jax.

  "What?” asked Clutch.

  "Cut the chatter," snapped Cooper.

  "I gotta go in."

  Cooper looked back in time to see Charlie open the front door—it wasn't locked. That wasn’t a good sign either. Charlie raised his rifle to his shoulder and stepped into the darkened house. “Going green,” he announced.

  Damn it. Cooper brought his rifle up and switched to night vision. "We’re going in. Five minutes."

  "Roger that," replied Jax.

  Cooper paused at the threshold. "Overwatch?"

  "Still clear in all directions. No movement."

  “Juice, keep trying to get ahold of HQ, all channels,” Cooper said. “We need a ride out of here—yesterday.”

  “You got it.”

  Cooper followed Charlie into the gloom of the small house. They cleared the house room by room and checked corners. Charlie always went right, Cooper, left.

  “Clear,” said Charlie, his voice monotone as he stepped out of the master bedroom into the living room.

  “Clear,” Cooper agreed, right behind him. One room to go. He tapped Charlie on the shoulder. Both held weapons to their shoulders.

  “Coop, got a whirlybird on the horizon,” warned Sparky.

  “Of course we do,” muttered Cooper. He waved his hand toward the kitchen in a tomahawk motion. Charlie stepped forward and breeched the kitchen. Cooper paused at the entryway long enough to see Charlie sweep his rifle to the right and step clear of the doorway. Cooper followed immediately and aimed left.

  The modest kitchen held no hiding places. There was a table, three chairs, and a high chair—a painful reminder to be sure—but nowhere an adult could hide. Cooper approached the pantry door and waited.

  On Charlie’s signal, he flung the door open and stepped to the left, so Charlie had a clear line of fire. “Clear,” Charlie reported, the tension in his voice as tight as Cooper’s grip on his rifle.

  Both SEALs lowered their weapons. The house was empty. Cooper checked his HUD: two minutes, forty-three seconds. Not bad. “What’s the status on that helo?”

  “He’s definitely coming this way, but taking his sweet time. ETA five or six minutes the way he’s flying.”

  That settled it. “Everybody inside,” said Cooper. He didn’t like the idea of having what was left of his team in one location—one lucky strike could wipe them all out—but he was out of options. It was daylight and everyone was tired from the long journey south out of San Diego. They had walked ten miles on foot—his men needed shelter and rest.

  “Get the windows,” Cooper said. He rushed past Charlie and closed the blinds on the kitchen windows, sealing the room in darkness. He turned to move into the master bedroom and froze. Charlie stood ramrod straight by the kitchen table. He hadn’t moved.

  “Charlie, let’s go, man, we gotta get this place—”

  “They’re alive,” he whispered.

  Cooper approached the table. “What?”

  Charlie pointed, his arm stiff. “The plates of food—two of them. One big, one…” Charlie swallowed and his arm shifted to indicate a small, brightly colored plate. “That’s CJ’s favorite dinosaur plate…he always throws a fit if we don’t put his food on that damn thing.”

  Cooper examined the table for the first time. There were two plates of partially eaten MREs. Two cups of water—the smaller one a sippy cup that had been knocked over. A small toddler fork. Two napkins.

  Cooper frowned. Obviously they’d both been here recently, the problem was when had they left? The food was fresh—no mold or bugs. It couldn’t have been there more than a day or so.

  A shadow crossed the floor. Jax walked through the living room toward the kitchen. “Made it.”

  “Get the windows,” Cooper said and pointed toward the spare bedroom.

  “On it.”

  “I got the living room,” announced Clutch.

  “Sparky?”

  “Almost there,” said the sniper through ragged breaths. “Whirlybird’s on my ass—”

  “Want me to carry you? I know your leg still hurts,” offered Swede from the front room.

  “Fuck you,” grunted Sparky as he ran.

  Cooper turned back to Charlie and saw he’d removed his glove and placed his left hand on the bigger plate of food. The HAHO helmet turned and Cooper saw his funhouse reflection in the domed visor. “It’s still soft—hasn’t had time to harden.” He struggled to remove the helmet, cursing as he worked at the straps and latches.

  Cooper started to admonish him not to remove his helmet, but closed his mouth. The big black ‘X’ on the front door should have been warning enough, but there were no bodies.

  Charlie wouldn’t listen to reason anyway, so Cooper turned back to the living room. “Make sure we get this place buttoned up. Nobody goes near the windows—we need to lay low until it’s dark.”

  “Aliana!” Charlie shouted.

  “Jesus Christ—shut the fuck up!” snapped Clutch from the living room.

  “CJ, buddy, it’s Daddy!”

  Cooper moved to Charlie’s side. “Dude, you hear that?”

  Charlie cocked his head. The only sound in the kitchen was the faint drumming of the helicopter’s rotors in the distance, muffled through the walls. “I don’t hear anything—did you hear—”

  “There’s a fucking NKor helo out there hunting us—that means there could be foot mobiles out there too, and you’re in here screaming your God damn head off—”

  “It’s proof of life, man!” Charlie hissed. When he turned to face Cooper, his eyes were round and bloodshot. “They’re alive, don’t you get it?” A sudden, toothy smile split his face and Charlie gripped both Cooper’s shoulders and laughed. “They’re alive!” He threw his head back and laughed louder. “Aliana! I’m here, baby! You can come out—”

  Cooper slapped his hand over Charlie’s mouth. “Seriously, shut the fuck up!” he hissed.

  The front door closed and the beam of light that penetrated the kitchen vanished. While Charlie struggled to remove Cooper’s hand from his mouth, Cooper turned his head and saw Sparky limp into the living room and drop his gear bag to the floor. He collapsed against the front wall and slid down to the carpet, one hand holding his rifle, the other gripping his thigh. He leaned his head against the wall and flipped Swede the bird.

  “Glad to see you too…” Swede said as the others laughed quietly.

  “Rig for silent running, ladies,” Cooper ordered. He turned back to Charlie. “We cool?”

  Charlie nodded, his eyes still
wide. A shudder rippled through his body as he continued to stare unseeing at the wall.

  Cooper removed his hand from Charlie’s face and then took off his own helmet. He sighed and placed the sleek, armored HAHO helmet on the kitchen table next to the remains of Aliana’s meal. The first thing he noticed was the lingering stale smell of cooked MRE. He glanced at Charlie.

  “You’re right—this is fresh. Maybe last night.” He looked around the kitchen and peered through the patio doors toward the covered porch and pool in the backyard.

  A sickening image of Aliana and CJ, face down in the pool, flashed through Cooper’s imagination. He put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Wait here, okay?” Charlie nodded absently, that stupid smile still on his face.

  “They’re alive,” he whispered.

  Cooper caught Jax’s attention and pointed at Charlie. Jax got the message and placed himself between Charlie and the patio door. Cooper took a deep breath and made his way to the patio. The helo was much closer now, he could clearly hear the whump-whump-whump as it surveyed the neighborhood. He swallowed as he reached the big glass door and prayed he wouldn’t find what he feared.

  Cooper peered around the edge of the door and found everything largely as they had left it over a week ago—there was Mike’s cooler from the party and over in the corner, a trash can full of empty beer bottles. His eyes swept over the patio: a few pool chairs, some towels and a couple of CJ’s pool toys lay scattered on the concrete. The pool was empty—a serene little oasis with slightly murky water.

  Cooper sighed in relief. The pool took up most of the tiny backyard and there was nothing on this side of the privacy fence that suggested anything out of the ordinary.

  A shadow passed over and Cooper quickly flipped around the corner, throwing his back against the interior wall. The roar of the helicopter’s rotors made the windows in Charlie’s small house shake as it passed low overhead.

  Cooper counted to ten and listened as the helo moved on before he let out his breath. It wasn’t moving fast, that was for sure. He risked a glance through the dust-smeared glass and spotted a dark shape in the sky making a lazy circle west. It disappeared behind the lemon tree a few houses away and its sound echoed off the rooftops, creating an audible 3D effect. Cooper frowned.