by Rounds, Mark
“Sounds like a winner,” said Yates smiling for the first time that afternoon. Then the Chief blew three loud blasts on his whistle, his signal to fall back. The police and surprisingly, a half dozen or so monitors, began to fall back towards his position. He waved them on and sent Lawton to show them where to fall back to.
“We still have a problem,” said Yates. “Unless that is a much bigger duffle bag than I was issued when I was in the service, we still won’t have enough to take them all down. Our first ammo load accounted for maybe seventy-five Infected and I estimate that there are over a thousand out there.”
“Not to worry,” said Begdorf. “The bus that brought us is headed back. There is another platoon headed this way on foot. The driver will pick them up and bring them to the next fallback position. He will stay only long enough to pick up any casualties and then head for town. That’s about all the gas we have.”
“Well,” said Yates with a smile, “I approve of how you are spending it.”
“I also saw a bunch of local residents setting up positions on both sides of the road near the Hilltop Hotel,” said Bergdorf. “I suspect they will be of some help. I dropped off one of my squad leaders to coordinate their response. Because of the terrain around here, I suspect most of the Infected will just follow the road. We will likely have a few leakers but if the locals don’t get them, we will have patrols running by night fall to take care of them.”
“I am glad you Idaho folks crossed the line,” said Yates haltingly, “after we were so inhospitable.”
“Sir, we’ve got to work together,” said Bergdorf with feeling. “There aren’t that many people left that are free of the disease. We need you all!”
July 11th, Saturday, 3:42 pm PDT
Just south of Moscow Mountain near C&L Meat Lockers, Moscow ID
Macklin and his troops were under coordinated fire from several points and were effectively pinned down, but he noticed a change. The fire on his positions was as accurate as ever, but was becoming ever more sparse.
“Ngengi,” shouted Macklin and he caught the eye of his subordinate. “I think they are running out of ammo and may be falling back. Time to press forward!”
Ngengi nodded and threw a stone over to where Carlos was taking cover. He started and then saw Ngengi waving him forward. Both of them began pushing their troops up. They were still close to the Infected human wave that was being decimated by small arms fire so they were not noticed at first as they began to move.
Almost too late, Macklin heard the rotors of an approaching helicopter.
“Take cover!” he shouted and his troops went to ground. The Infected ahead of him were not so lucky and there was group of forty or more on the road. The helicopter, which was now clearly a drone, flew low over the road and they saw a container tumble from the fuselage. It impacted the road and fifty gallons of jellied gasoline splattered an area not fifty yards in front of where Macklin hugged the ground. The Infected and one of the adjoining houses were engulfed in flame. Macklin felt a furnace-like blast covering his position. The Infected screamed as they burned, still trying to claw their way forward.
Ngengi did not waste the confusion and got his troops moving instantly, followed very quickly by Carlos. Macklin couldn’t remain hugging the ground and still command the respect of Ngengi, though that was what he very much wanted to do, so he stood up and began moving forward as well.
This time, when they heard the rotors of the drone, Carlos and Ngengi turned and dropped to one knee, taking it under rifle fire. Macklin tardily did the same. His fire went wide and high but the experience of Ngengi and Carlos made their fire accurate and timely. The drone’s engine started to run erratically, but, that did not stop the operator from triggering all of his rockets into the cluster of burning Infected, scattering the mayhem even further afield. The drone climbed away as best as it was able under fire now from all of the mercenaries. It took several more hits but drone was able to clear the area.
Ngengi got his troops moving and surprised the National Guard troops inside a house near the road. Ngengi had thirteen troops with him and there was only a fire team with personally owned weapons in the structure. They were not a match for the fully automatic weapons that Ngengi’s troops had and were soon over-powered.
Macklin was thinking quickly and ran over to where Ngengi was standing.
“We have a little less than two miles to get to where Strickland is supposed to be,’ said Macklin urgently as he pulled up a map on his cell phone that was still working. “We have disrupted their defenses and the Infected are roaming through the city. We have a chance to get through if we hurry. I can run that far, and I know you and Carlos can do it in your sleep. What about the rest of these troops?”
“Those that can’t run,” said Ngengi loud enough so all around could hear him, “will be shot.”
“Good!” said Macklin. He had counted on the aggressiveness of his plan to influence Ngengi and Carlos who now joined their little circle. He outlined his intended march route on the tiny screen of his phone. “We need to get off this main road and cut through the mobile home parks to the west. There will be little organized resistance. We just keep going, ignore any casualties and we can get to campus and the lab where Strickland works before anyone suspects. He will be a prize worth taking if this file is any indication.”
Macklin was not actually all that confident about Robert Strickland’s value to his masters, but the formula that was described in the file could make him free of Nergüi and his fanatical mob forever, so the value to Macklin was much higher.
“You really hate the Stricklands that much?” said Ngengi. It was more of a statement than a question.
“I suppose it shows,” said Macklin, who hoped his acting skills should just the proper amount of concealed anger and resignation. Truthfully, he was focused on the formula far more intently than he was at striking back at the family that had made his life so miserable. That was merely a side benefit.
“But Nergüi will be appreciative also,” said Macklin quickly. “With your fine shooting taking the drone out of action, our penetration here will undoubtedly pull a lot of their focus off him. If we can get out with Strickland, that will be a bonus that will help him explain the value of this attack to his supervisors. But we must act now!”
“We run,” said Ngengi who took off at a pace that Macklin could barely maintain. “And maybe we’ll live Macklin. You think well. But don’t play me against Nergüi or you will die, slowly and painfully. Do you understand?”
Macklin could only nod as he gasped for air to keep Ngengi’s killer pace.
July 11th, Saturday, 3:55 pm PDT
Moscow Building Supply’s Parking Lot, Just North of Moscow ID
The remains of LT. Forrest Johnson’s platoon gathered in the hodgepodge of abandoned vehicles that littered the parking lot of Moscow Building Supply. The count was grim. Out of the thirty-two soldiers that had made the run from National Guard Headquarters, fewer than eighteen remained. A further three were seriously injured and were sheltered in a house at the edge of the parking lot with the platoon’s medic. There were the occasional Infected wandering around, but for the most part, the wave was past them.
“Rosenthal, get me Racetrack One,” said Johnson to his RTO. “Racetrack One, This is Racetrack Six, we have successfully broken contact. Request instructions.”
“What are your casualties, Lieutenant?” asked Col. Amos over the radio.
“We have eighteen combat effectives sir,” said Johnson, “about half of them are suffering from some sort of minor wound. We have three solders that are seriously wounded. I regret to report that nine are KIA and another four are missing, presumed dead, and likely eaten.”
“How about ammunition?” asked Amos.
“We have shared what we have,” said Johnson. “Most of my troopers have a single full magazine and some loose rounds. About half have pistols with an undetermined amount of ammo. No grenades and no machine gun ammo. We are
just about clocked out sir. Request permission to withdraw to the Armory to resupply and succor our wounded.”
“I wish I could grant that one, Forrest,” said Amos sadly, “But we still need you. I have my last Humvee headed your way. It has just about enough diesel to get to you and back to the hospital. It’s carrying significant ammunition for you so you can resupply. It will also take your worst casualties to the hospital. There are three new troopers coming out as reinforcements. That all I have, I’m afraid.
“The drone that broke up the attack you were involved in was hit by small arms fire and settled down near Mix Road in the center of a field. It is relatively intact from what our civilian observer says. We need you to head out and secure the drone. It is still a high value target. I’m not sure what kind of retrieval we can work out. Figure to at least RON at the site. The Humvee is carrying a load of snivel gear and some tarps for your troops as well.
“This should be a pretty calm assignment. There are a few roving bands of Infected in your area. Patrol in the immediate area and terminate any of them you find but your primary mission is to make sure the drone is safe.”
“Yes sir,” said Forrest. “As soon as we resupply, we will move out on across country towards Mix Road. Private Olsen asks that you send someone to check on his wife. She and the new baby are home alone, and he is worried.”
“When Sergeant Borden gets back,” said Amos thoughtfully, “he will go out and check on as many of your dependents as he can. I suspect you will have some letters to write too.”
July 11th, Saturday, 4:01 pm PDT
Burgers and Brew parking lot, Moscow ID
They had covered nearly a mile and a half when they took their first rest. The mercenaries with Macklin were on the ragged edge of passing out. One poor sod had stopped to vomit and Ngengi killed him without even breaking stride. The rest had hung on like grim death, for that was indeed what they were facing. Ngengi knew that he had to get there with some of his force, so after ten minutes of running in full gear, he called a halt. Truthfully, Macklin, who had prided himself on keeping in shape was glad for the halt. Running in full combat gear and heavy boots is very different from running on a track in running shoes.
“What’s your plan, Macklin?” asked Ngengi menacingly. Macklin knew, that while Ngengi listened to him, he was still calling the shots.
“It’s pretty simple,” said Macklin, pulling Twitchel’s report from his map case and pointing to a location on a fuzzy map of the campus. “Dr. Robert Strickland’s office is in the Life Sciences building here, in Room 227. His lab is a floor below. He will likely be protecting that work and continuing it as his profile here says he has been a screaming workaholic since his divorce.
“We hit the office and the lab. I suspect he will be in the office. Much of his work requires statistical analysis so he will be near his computer. Send Carlos and a couple of your bully boys down to the lab to make sure, but we want Dr. Strickland and just as importantly, we want his computer. All his results, since the onset of the Plague, are likely to be in that device. Keep his hands from it as he might have a utility to erase it, but get the computer.”
“Then what?” asked Ngengi.
“We truss him up and haul him out,” said Macklin. “I recommend we go west initially because it is different than our ingress track. We can head north once we are out of sight and pick up our bus and other vehicles. I estimate that we will be back there by nightfall.
“In the meantime, we should stir up what trouble we can as we exit. With all the Infected in town, the situation will be confused. We need to keep it that way. If they recall forces to town, so much the better.”
“We will need a litter of some sort,” mused Ngengi and internally, Macklin breathed a sigh of relief. Ngengi had bought into the plan and would do his damnedest to execute it. “And we’ll have to rotate the mercenaries carrying him regularly. Tell me, is he a big man?”
“The photo in the brief shows a trim man,” said Macklin as he expanded on the one fuzzy picture he had in the bio, “who appears to be shorter than his female graduate student in the picture I saw. It appears that he is under average height and is approaching 60. I suspect you will not have to damage him much to take him captive.”
“He is a Strickland,” said Ngengi smirking. “You’ve been wrong about them before.”
“If you can’t take captive,” said Macklin feigning anger as he realized Ngengi only respected someone with backbone, “a 60 year old college professor, then you are not the man I thought you were.”
Ngengi drew himself up to his full height and was about to come back with a rejoinder or a fist, Macklin would never be sure, but several rifle shots rang out. The mercenaries began to return fire. One of the slow ones tumbled to a heap on the ground.
“Cease fire, you fools,” shouted Macklin, “If we engage here, we won’t accomplish the mission and we will not have enough ammo to protect ourselves. Get up and run toward the south. Hitting a moving target is hard.”
There was a second’s hesitation as many of the mercenaries maintained their cover.
“Rise up, you worthless excuse for soldiers,” said Ngengi menacingly. “Those vigilantes might kill you, but if you stay down, I will certainly kill you.”
Chapter 7
July 11th, Saturday, 4:01 pm PDT
Room 227 in the Life Sciences Building at the University of Idaho Campus, Moscow ID
Bob Strickland was muttering to himself. Two of his graduate students had been recalled to the National Guard Headquarters which slowed down his work. Next, the new regulation had come down saying that the battery charge time from the generators had been reduced. Chad had said that water was in short supply and had tried to explain patiently what that meant. Bob nodded at all the right places but really, all he wanted to do was get back to his work. He was so close to a breakthrough and all these irritations kept him from it. It looked as though there were some simple chemicals that blocked the Plague virus’s ability to replicate.
A number of pharmaceuticals called neuraminidase inhibitors, which had been commercially available for years, blocked various flu viruses ability to spread, but finding the right one to deal with the Plague had been difficult. It turned out that a naturally occurring quaternary ammonium salt called berberine had been shown to have some efficacy in inhibiting the growth of various influenza viruses before the Plague.
Since the Plague virus was piggybacked onto a common flu virus, he had been attempting to fabricate and concentrate this salt. It turned out that it was right under his nose. It could be extracted from Oregon grape, a naturally occurring shrub. Its range was from Alaska to California and in some areas, it covered acres. It was even used in ornamental plantings on campus, right outside his window. All it took was to take the berries, stems, and leaves from the plant, crush them and filter the juice. The rest was a simple chemical process to get relatively pure berberine. They had finished lab trials with gelatin and now they were at the stage to use animal subjects.
Bob had just finished saving his latest results to his laptop and also to the University server when his office door burst open. An incredibly large black man put a rifle in his face.
“Be still!” said Ngengi menacingly.
“Are you Dr. Robert Strickland?” asked Macklin as he entered the room. Bob nodded mutely.
“Let me make this abundantly clear,” said Macklin. “You are coming with us. If you do as I say, you will be unharmed. If you resist, you will be infected with the Plague and left to die. Am I clear?’
Again Bob nodded mutely. He looked for all the world like he was stunned but his mind was racing. He had to get word out somehow about what was happening.
“Why …. why do you want me?” asked Bob, but he already knew, they wouldn’t have threatened him with infection unless they were aware of his work.
“Because you have been working on palliatives for the Plague,” said Macklin, “and one of them is apparently quite effective.”
“We can find all the test subjects you need,” said Macklin smiling, “and provide resources that are probably very scarce here. We will also reward success well, but if you fail, you will die slowly and painfully. So, take a little time. Gather up all the notes and supplies you need, because if you fail and complain that you needed something you left in your office or on your computer, I won’t be sympathetic.”
“There are files on the server I should download,” said Bob, “and there are some samples down in the lab …”
“You have five minutes,” said Macklin. “But be careful what you do. I am quite skilled in the use of modern computers. I will know if you do something foolish.”
“I better get started,” said Bob. He knew had at most a few seconds to react. Before Macklin could get around and see the screen, Bob sent all of his files and anything else he could drag and drop and sent them to his brother’s e-mail address. He knew Chad was working in his office trying to coordinate the response to the attacks that were on going and that he had power. If anyone would think this huge data dump was suspicious, it would be him. It was all he could do.
July 11th, Saturday, 4:07 pm PDT
Third floor of the Commons Building, University of Idaho campus, Moscow ID
Chad Strickland was struggling with the video download from the drone. He had a direct link from his sat phone to his laptop, but all of the sudden, it bogged down. The image became jumpy and the audio was choppy. It was almost as if his internet connection had slowed down, but there was no internet here in Moscow. It functioned intermittently in other parts of the country, but the power situation locally had shut down the network of routers and servers that made connections possible. So why was his computer running so slow?
He really didn’t have time for troubleshooting so he just started shutting down tabs on his computer. When he got to the email and shut that off, his video stream got way better. Intrigued, he opened up Outlook again and saw his performance plummet. He looked at his feed and he was getting a bunch of emails from his brother with monstrous attachments. Some made sense, but some were raw data files, save game files, and there was even a Pokemon Go App. Something was not right.