“He’s knows we’re here,” whispered Jax.
“Yeah,” said Cooper. He shouldered his weapon.
“They’re alive,” Charlie whispered to himself again, staring at the table. He turned to Cooper and his bloodshot eyes were haunted. “They’re alive…I thought I’d lost them, but they’re alive.”
Cooper smiled and clapped his XO on the back. “Look, when the sun goes down, we’ll head out and see if we can find them—maybe they’re just hiding out at a neighbor’s….”
Cooper knew from the way Aliana had left the table—she was notorious about cleanup—they had left in a hurry. Someone had either spooked them into running or…
No signs of forced entry—I don’t think anyone broke in and kidnapped them. I think they ran. He thought about the tracks they had seen, the path of the survivors through Chula Vista. Safety in numbers.
Cooper watched as Charlie moved into the master bedroom and began to rummage around. “I don’t know, man,” Cooper said quietly. “Maybe they ran off with all those people that went through Chula?”
He started to follow Charlie, then decided to give the poor man some time alone with his memories. He’d been through enough and had waited too long. They all deserved a little peace.
Cooper turned around to face the SEALs as they gathered in the kitchen. The rooks looked pretty ragged, but were holding up well all things considered.
“All right, listen up. We—” a horrible screech in Cooper’s bone phone caused him to double over in pain as he ripped the thing out. “Fuck! What the hell was that?” The others were cursing as well—not just his equipment then. Charlie yelped and there was a crash from the bedroom. Cooper glanced over his shoulder and saw Charlie picking up a jewelry box from the floor.
“I’m good,” he called out. “That was loud.”
“That was some serious interference,” said Jax in a hushed tone. “Somebody’s got a strong signal…”
Cooper looked at Sparky. “You think…?”
The sniper tilted his helmeted head, hand up for silence. “I got a signal! It’s HQ…”
Cooper slapped his bone phone in and listened: “—again, Striker this is Viceroy. Come in Striker.”
General Rykker’s gravelly voice was unmistakable and crystal clear. Cooper hadn’t heard comms of this quality since before the invasion. He keyed his mic, “Viceroy, Striker Actual. Damn glad to hear your voice.”
“That makes two of us, Striker. No time for small talk—I understand the situation. I have an extraction team on standby. What’s your location?”
Jax’s helmet shook slowly back and forth. Cooper got the sentiment. Can we trust him?
Cooper frowned. What choice did they have? They were wounded, outnumbered, outgunned, and behind enemy lines…they had to escape. If nothing else, so that he could hunt down and kill whoever had betrayed them.
“I say again, Striker, gimme a location and we’ll come get you. There’s something back home you need to attend to—I’ll help.”
That clinched it. Rykker knew what had happened, or at least had an idea who was responsible. Cooper had sized up the Commandant in Los Angeles and everything he’d heard about Rykker previously had backed up his initial impression.
Cooper checked his wrist map and relayed coded coordinates. He held his breath.
“Jesus, son, you’re deep in it.”
Someone choked off a bitter laugh.
“Look, I can’t reach you there—sending the extraction team that far behind the lines would require air support. If I draw too much attention to myself right now I’ll end up useless to you. If you can reach…”
Cooper waited, looking at the map on his wrist. He heard the NKor helo approach again. Its monotonous drone emphasized the urgency of their situation.
“Can you get to…extraction point Zebra-Seven-Niner?”
Cooper flipped through the maps on his wrist until found the right coordinates. It was over 120 miles east of their location, on the edge of the Imperial Sand Dunes. Shit, that’s a hike. “Time?” he asked.
“My team will be on station by sundown. When can you get there?”
Cooper remembered the briefing before they left Denver: any time-related transmission was to have 7 hours tacked on to get the real time in case someone was listening. General Rykker was telling him he’d have the extraction team at the rendezvous point by about 0100 hours, local.
Cooper grimaced. There was no way they’d cover 120 miles without stealing another vehicle and that option—with the NKor helo buzzing around—wasn’t viable. They’d have to wait until dark and hike out on foot until they were far enough away to grab some wheels. He calculated distances. “We can’t be there any earlier than 1500 hours tomorrow. It’s too hot around here at the moment.”
“Understood. My people will be waiting. Viceroy out.”
“So, what’s the plan?” asked Juice. He pulled back a corner of the kitchen curtain and peered out to the pool.
“We’re high-tailing it east as soon as that helo leaves. This mission is over.”
"I'm not leaving," muttered Charlie.
Cooper turned around to face his XO. "Say again?"
"You heard me…"
"Charlie, man, look," Cooper said with a shake of his head. "Nobody's more upset than I am that they’re not here," he said reaching out to his friend.
Charlie ignored the gesture and stared at the picture of Aliana in his hands.
“We can't stay here,” Cooper said. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "You heard the helo, you remember those guys that were chasing us back on the 5? The ones trying to kill us? They're gonna be crawling all over this place if we don't get the hell out of here. Soon—like, now.”
"Listen," said Jax.
"I don't care what the rest of you do," Charlie said. "I'm done, man." He looked up at Cooper, his eyes pleading. "I'm done—I got nothing left. If I stay with you, I'm gonna get somebody killed because I’m not thinking about the mission… You know it—"
“Listen,” Jax said.
"I got this," said Cooper, failing to keep the irritation out of his voice.
"No! Will you two shut the fuck up and listen?”
Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but Cooper held up a hand and froze him. The only sound they heard was silence. The open window above the kitchen sink allowed a slight breeze to ruffle the curtains and outside, if Cooper strained, he could hear sparrows chirping.
"The helo…" said Jax. "It either landed or left."
Cooper clenched his jaw. "Shit. Our timetable just got bumped up, ladies.”
"I got movement down the street," warned Sparky from the front room. "Looks like enemy foot mobiles—two of ‘em—working up the street checkin’ houses…"
"It landed," said Jax with a sigh.
Cooper stared at the ceiling. "Of course it did.”
"Look, Coop, just go on—"
“No," said Cooper as he spun to face Charlie. "You will not go AWOL on my watch, Marshal. That’s bullshit and you know it.”
"I can't leave them!" Charlie exploded. "Not now—I won't!"
The two men stared at each other. Cooper's trigger finger tapped the edge of the holster on his leg. There was no easy solution—they were running out of time.
"Make that six foot mobiles,” warned Sparky. "The two in the street are just standing guard while the other four go into every house. This ain't looking good for the home team…"
Juice and Swede moved into the living room. Only Jax remained in the kitchen, hands on his hips.
"Look, we’ll leave the sat phone here. Give her instructions on how to use it—let her know that you were here."
Charlie considered. "And then what? When we’re back in Colorado and we suddenly get a phone call…" His voice tightened: "And we get a phone call from her, then what? You gonna tell me that mission comes first?" Charlie shook his head. "I can't go through that again. I just can't."
Cooper stepped forward and put his right h
and on Charlie's shoulder. "I swear to you, we get a signal on that sat phone from Aliana and I will personally shoot the first son of a bitch that says ‘no’ to us."
"They're getting closer…" warned Swede. "Looks like four houses down the street.”
"Charlie, we gotta go…"
Finally, Charlie nodded. Cooper could see the muscles working on his face. He looked down, and after a moment tucked the picture of Aliana into his suit. “Okay, let’s go.”
"Good," said Cooper. He snatched the satellite phone from Jax and began to program it to call HQ. "I didn't think Jax was strong enough to carry your ass back to base anyway…”
Charlie arched an eyebrow.
Cooper looked up from the phone. "What? You don't seriously think I'd let you stay here, do you?"
“You think you can take me?" asked Charlie, a crooked smile on his face.
"Of course I can," said Cooper. He looked down at the phone and continued to program numbers. "But, I'm an officer now—I was gonna order Swede to do it."
"Happy to help LT!" said Swede from the front of the house.
"If you two are done making up, I got NKor foot mobiles two houses down now," said Sparky's voice. “If you want me to do something about it, it’s now or never, Coop."
Cooper tossed the phone to Charlie. "Hide that in a spot that Aliana would check regularly. Don't make it easy for the NKors to find." He turned to the other SEALs. "Let's go! Everybody to the pool deck. Sparky, make sure that front door stays locked," he said as he put on his helmet.
As soon as he powered up, Cooper noticed that the HUD registered a strong signal from HQ. All of their communications were back. He cycled through the different commander screens and could see the GPS systems and all local friendly forces identified on his map. He sighed in relief. He’d gone so long without it, that he’d forgotten what it was like to have so much at the tip of his nose.
"All right boys, looks like our satellite uplinks are back. We got good comms with HQ—data links are up and running. I don’t know what the hell those eggheads back in Colorado did, but we’re back at full throttle.”
“Hooyah!” said Jax's voice over the radio. “Now I can catch the 49er’s game…”
“Fuck that,” said Clutch. “Seahawks all the way, baby.”
“You can take that Twelfth Man and shove him up your ass.”
“Knock it off!” barked Juice. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Besides, they both suck.”
Cooper had all the SEALs stacked up along the back fence in Charlie's yard by the time the argument had quieted down. Charlie opened the back gate and led everyone through into the neighbor’s yard. They were now on the east side of the block. If the NKors continued their progress down the street checking every house, they would have to loop around before they reached the house behind Charlie’s. By then, Cooper hoped to have his team on the other side of the neighborhood.
As Cooper passed through the fence and shut the gate, he scanned his HUD for signs that drones might be operating overhead. As far as NORAD was concerned, the only enemy aircraft within a hundred miles were concentrated near San Diego itself. He marked the location of the last known position of the helicopter and switched the screen off.
Charlie stood next to him, staring back through the slats of the privacy fence at his empty house.
Cooper nudged him with an elbow. "It's time, man. We have to leave."
Charlie put a hand on the fence. "I know, it's just…"
Cooper watched his friend. "I swear to you, we’ll find her. We’re going to find CJ. When we make it back to Colorado, I won’t rest until we get them to safety."
Charlie's HAHO helmet turned. "Thanks, Coop. I mean that."
Cooper nodded. "I know, now let's get going before you start crying all over my gear.”
CHAPTER 32
Denver, Colorado.
Emergency National Reserve Operations Center.
The Cave.
BRENDA YAWNED AND TRIED to rub the sleep from her eyes. It had been another long night worrying about Derek and Cooper. She stepped into Huntley’s exam room and glanced at the paper in her hand, the latest update on her brother: his antibody count was climbing exponentially. He was entering the most dangerous phase of the sickness. Derek’s chances were slim to none unless a serum could be developed soon.
She nodded to Chuck Digen, her lead assistant. He lifted his coffee in an informal salute as he shuffled past in a lab coat and scrubs.
Brenda looked back at Derek’s chart—specifically his titer results for the past six hours. The sharp increase in antibodies was the classic sign of a healthy adult’s reaction to the virus. The body had recognized the threat and mobilized the immune system to mass produce T-cells to attack the virus. Those T-cells would attach to and hopefully destroy the virus cells. She frowned. That was the problem—when the T-cells died, they piled up in huge numbers in the lungs, where the flu typically materialized.
The viscous sludge of attackers and defenders would thicken as more and more cellular bodies piled on, creating a veritable ocean of bodies. Most normal, healthy, adult immune systems would then flood the lungs with T-cells to wipe out the weakened invader. The inner lining of the lungs deteriorated and resulted in intense burning when a patient tried to breathe: Scorched Lung. Death at that point was inevitable and usually occurred in less than 24 hours.
She blinked away the tears in her eyes. Derek would die if nothing changed. His fatality report would read: ‘Cause of Death: ARDS’. Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome.
Brenda rubbed a hand down her face. They still had time to come up with a solution. She glanced at her watch as she entered Huntley’s exam room. She nodded in greeting to Chad and 13—the girl never seemed to leave his side. Brenda wondered if they were sleeping together as she organized a fresh collection tray, but shut the door to that line of inquiry—it was none of her business.
“Hey Doc, did you hear me? I said, you don’t look so good this morning,” said Huntley from his seat on the exam table. “You okay?”
Brenda looked up from the workstation and forced a smile. “Yeah—yes…” The smile fell and she sighed. “My brother—” She waved a hand in front of her face. “He’s infected.”
“I’m sorry,” muttered 13. She looked genuinely sad as she held Huntley’s hand.
“So,” Brenda said, busying herself with empty vials, “this should be quick, just a small supplemental sample—”
“I’m so sorry,” 13 said, her voice unsteady.
Brenda closed her eyes. I don’t have time to deal with this right now… She clenched her jaw and stared at the metal cabinet above the collection machine. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about—”
“What are you doing?” interrupted Huntley. “Ow!”
Brenda whirled around and saw 13 standing next to his body as he collapsed onto the table. “What is that? What are you—get away from him!”
13 pulled the needle from Huntley’s throat and dropped the syringe. She slipped her hand behind her back and brought out a sleek pistol which she aimed straight at Brenda’s chest. “I’m sorry,” 13 said again. Her eyes moved toward the door and she nodded. “It’s done—not sure how long he’ll be out. I had to adjust the dose. They’ve been taking a lot of blood.”
Brenda caught a reflection on the cabinet next to her and glanced up at the lab window. Digen stood there scowling. Two men she’d never seen before stood behind him. One held an M-4 carbine.
“Chuck?” He didn’t respond. Brenda frowned. What the hell are you doing here? The three men moved purposefully toward the door.
13 glanced down at Huntley and checked his pulse. While she was distracted, Brenda quickly slapped the emergency containment button on the wall behind her. It locked down the room to prevent any pathogens from escaping. Once engaged, the exam door’s magnetic locks could only be powered down from the inside or through a tedious rewiring process on the outside. She’d bought herself at least an hour.
> “Damn it!” Digen roared when he couldn’t open the door. He slapped the window. “She locked it from the inside!”
“What the hell is going on here,” Brenda said as she turned to look back at 13.
“Shut up,” Digen said. “I’m so sick of your moping around. You need to face facts—your brother’s gonna die, your boyfriend’s already dead, and you’re next.”
Brenda ignored him and stared at 13. The young woman flicked the nose of her pistol. Brenda put her hands up and tried to inch toward the workstation. A tray of scalpels lay just to her left—
13’s eyes followed Brenda’s gaze. “Don’t try it. I like you—I really do,” said 13. Her soft accent suddenly infuriated Brenda. “I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.” Her pistol wavered slightly.
“Yeah, I can see that,” Brenda muttered.
“Just open the door,” said Digen’s tinny voice over the intercom. He tapped the window with his fingernails. “This will be over quick, I promise.”
Brenda placed her back against the workstation counter and lowered her hands to her sides in defeat—she’d trapped herself. She glared at 13. You little bitch.
Brenda placed her palms on the edge of the countertop. Her left hand now rested inches from the scalpels. With her right hand, she discretely tried to find the silent alarm button under the counter.
“Don’t bother,” said the man with the rifle. She couldn’t place his accent, but it wasn’t American. “We’ve disabled the alarm. No one can rescue you.” He motioned with his chin toward the pistol 13 held in her hand. It was a sleek weapon, easily concealed.
Brenda frowned.
“Come on, open the door,” Digen said over the intercom. “If she doesn’t open the door in ten seconds, shoot her.”
“No!” Brenda said at 13. “You need my code to open it—”
“Shoot her in the knee,” barked Digen. “Shoot her in the foot, blow her hands off, I don’t care—just get her to open this door!”
The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga Page 38