Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3

by Lundy, W. J.

  “Damn, you weren’t lying! This does taste like shit,” Brooks said, and all the men laughed.

  “So Chief, you were saying how you got here,” Brad said.

  “Oh yeah. Well, we were a ways north of here in Teremez doing a little recon and trying to close out some leads, when we were told our pickup was going to be delayed. Later we were told it was canceled and we should try and make our way to the base at Hairatan. And yeah, that’s pretty much when the world went to shit,” Sean answered.

  “Wait a minute,” Brad asked. “Teremez? You were operating in Uzbekistan? And what do you mean the world went to shit? This thing is everywhere?”

  “Well Sergeant, I guess I can’t say for certain, but we know for a fact that things are bad out there.”

  “Fuck yeah they are!” Brad yelled, “I lost my entire company yesterday, so will you stop fucking around and tell us what’s going on?!”

  “Stand down Sergeant! You think you’re the only one that has lost people this week? I went to Teremez with six men; Brooks is all that I have left. If you’ll sit back down, I’ll try to explain.” Sean scooped up a mouthful of the slop, swallowed, then continued. “About two months ago we lost an embassy in Yemen, you may have heard about it.”

  “Oh yeah, that was fucked up! They got rushed by protestors; the ambassador was killed. Al Qaeda, right?” Eric added.

  “Well, something like that,” Sean answered. “What the people don’t know is that we had four former SEALs and a contingent of Marine guards assigned to protect that ambassador. Now what sort of protestors can take down that kind of muscle?”

  “What are you getting at, Chief?” Brad asked.

  “Well Sergeant, we now believe that was a test shot. We think the crowd in Yemen was infected. They tore through the embassy residence, walked through a wall of gunfire, and took everything out. The reason CNN showed the smoking rubble the next day and blamed it on mortars and rockets is because the Marine commander onsite ordered a C130 gunship to rain fire on his own position. He knew the ambassador was already dead and he had watched one of his men turn in the three-hour battle. That Marine captain stopped the spread,” Sean said. He paused to take another huge gulp of his energy drink. And went on to explain what they had found.

  “We aren’t sure where it comes from, but we know that Al Qaeda found a way to make a weapon out of it. The nerds at the CDC call it primalis rabia or primal rage. It affects the brain, somehow protects it. You can stop the heart. You can shoot them through the lungs and the brain will still function for hours. It spreads through blood. A spit in the eye won’t do it, but get infected fluids into your blood and you’re screwed. Once a victim is infected, he slips into a coma, and then gets a fever. The heat of the fever seems to cause irreversible brain damage, then for reasons they can’t figure out yet, the brain reboots. When the victim wakes up, they are feral.

  “The longer the person is infected, the harder they are to bring down. Recently infected ones can still be killed with a shot to the heart. Those infected for over forty-eight hours—-good luck, only extreme trauma to the body seems to bother them. After ninety-six hours, the brain is fully protected and nothing will kill them but a critical brain hit. They move in packs like wolves and they will attack on sight.

  “The attack in Yemen put them on our radar. But we still didn’t know how to react until twelve days ago. A man code-named Asim walked into a field office in Pakistan. He said that there was a major global attack planned by the Sons of Bin Laden. Asim carried a special ink pen, but instead of ink it contained the virus. It was a brutal method of transmission. All you do is stab yourself with the pen, click the button, and bam! You’re infected. In the lab it took anywhere from two to six hours for the victims to reboot. Asim said there were over one hundred pens made and distributed globally. He only knew the locations of those in his cell and he gave them up. He was supposed to walk into a crowded mosque in Karachi, infect himself, and then wait for it to take hold. Asim came to us instead.”

  “What happened next?” Brad asked.

  Sean continued, “Well, my team was sent into Teremez. Asim had fingered two members of his cell who had orders to infect themselves simultaneously on different edges of the city. One tango at the airport and another tango at a popular park. We set up and staked out both locations, but things got difficult; things went wrong. I went with Brooks to the park; we watched for Tango One all afternoon. We had a good description of him but everyone that day seemed to look alike. Toward the end of the day, we spotted a suspect and took him down in a men’s room. We found the pen on him. Tango One didn’t want to answer our questions. We needed to know how to find Tango Two. He didn’t want to cooperate so we quickly eliminated him from the equation and turned our attention to the airport.

  “The rest of my guys were set up in the international terminal. They just had too many suspects. They tried to find people sleeping or in the coma phase, but no dice. It happened quickly and without warning. In the smaller terminal Tango Two went crazy. They heard it over their police scanners. The local police were responding and by the time my men got there, they had already put down Tango Two.

  “But therein lay the problem. Tango Two managed to scratch, bite, and claw a number of people before he went down. We didn’t even know how many because a number of them fled or went home after the incident. The Uzbek police thought they were dealing with just another insane person and didn’t buy our story. Even when we notified Interpol they didn’t care to listen. The Uzbeks were more concerned about us operating within their border than a possible epidemic about to explode on them.

  “So victims go home, they feel sick, they go to bed, they wake up, and they attack their families, neighbors. Simultaneously all over Teremez, we were tracking at least fifteen outbreaks; by morning we heard of ninety more, then it just snowballed from there. By the second day the city was in flames. We called for extraction, but they told us we needed to hang tight. See, Teremez was just one attack; this was going on everywhere and somehow it had even gotten into a few of our larger bases.

  “Bagram and Kandahar were lost quickly, and within twelve hours we had a complete loss of combat readiness in theater. All bases were locked down, NATO recalled all of its troops, the U.S. followed suit. That was chaos in itself, there just weren’t enough birds to move them, and they were battling the primal virus at the same time. Gentlemen, it’s pretty safe to say it was a huge cluster fuck. We stayed in contact with Kabul through that first night, but they were in bad shape and we eventually lost comms. The last message to us was to try to make it to the border.”

  “What about your men? Where’s the rest of your team?” Eric asked.

  “Dead. Getting out of that city was hell. It’s not like here, this place is small. Teremez on Day Two? You’re talking close to a hundred thousand of those fucking things on the streets,” Brooks said. “Chief and I got separated from the team. We were providing overwatch while they moved on ahead. They were surrounded and quickly overrun. It’s a fucked up world out there. They didn’t have a chance; in numbers, it’s like fighting a tidal wave.”

  “What about the States, Chief? What’s going on at home?” Brad asked.

  “We don’t know. Honest answer? Last update we got, there were no attacks in the U.S., but Mexico and Canada were nearly lost. Moscow, Paris, and London all got hit hard. Germany was attacked but they were holding,” answered Sean. “Our sat phone died two days ago, and our radios haven’t worked in three. Boys, we are in the dark.”

  Brad then told the SEALs their story, how they’d lost communications during their patrol to the village, about the mobs, and how they had barely escaped to make it to Hairatan.

  “So what do we do Chief? What was your plan B?” asked Brad.

  Sean let out a sigh. “Plan B? Shit, son, we’re already past plan C, hell, we’re off the page.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of gunfire and they all climbed the ladder to the roof. The small car was back,
repeating the acts of last night. They watched it stop while two men jumped out and fired away at the mob until it was within fifty meters, then they jumped back in their car and sped away.

  “Ha! That’s just Junayd, don’t worry about him,” chuckled Brooks.

  “What’s so funny?” Brad asked.

  “Oh Junayd, he’s a local Taliban boss. We bumped into him crossing the river. Well, we saved his ass actually. We gave him our car and those rifles he’s using,” said Brooks. “He is determined to take back his city.”

  “You armed the Taliban?” questioned Eric incredulously.

  “Hell yeah we did, if they’re keeping the primal bastards busy then they stay the hell away from us, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?” answered Sean.

  “What about the other army unit, Sergeant Turner and his guys?” Cole asked.

  “Yeah, they’re out there. We watched them escape, but for some reason they don’t like to lay low. Not sure how long they will last without instruction,” said Sean. “They took up residence in a two-story building on the edge of the city. I’m sure they aren’t as comfy as you all are in here.”

  “Well then we need to get to them, we can’t leave them hanging out there, Chief,” said Brad.

  “Tomorrow, son, tomorrow. But for now? Chief needs his sleep. Besides, them things are too active at night, we would never make it. So how ‘bout you guys show us where we can bed down,” said Sean.

  The next morning they did maintenance on their vehicle and equipment. Cole and Henry made a run to the shipping containers to resupply their stash of Afghan slop and energy drinks while Brad showed Sean the supplies they had on hand.

  “You guys have done a good job here, Sergeant, you probably have more ammo than anyone within a hundred miles,” Sean said.

  “Well, we took everything we could. We have a few extra weapons too, but the MRAP is our baby right now. I don’t think we would have escaped the mob at Bremmel without it,” replied Brad.

  “Yeah she’s nice, but she’s loud and will attract attention. I’m surprised you didn’t get a mob following you right into this fence; you guys got lucky.”

  “So what’s the plan to get Sergeant Turner and his guys?” Brad asked.

  “Well, first put this on your M4,” Sean said as he handed Brad a threaded suppressor for his rifle. “They are attracted to noise; this will help.”

  They waited until the sun was high in the sky; the Chief had told them that’s when the crazies were the least active. Brad left Méndez in charge of the men and the warehouse before he moved out with the SEALs through the compound gate. They were fast and quiet. Brad was in great shape but the SEALs made him feel like a bumbling idiot as he struggled to keep up with them. They hugged the walls of the buildings, ducked behind abandoned vehicles, and sometimes tucked into alleys to avoid a wandering primal. But the Chief was right; they were less active during the hot mid-day than they were at night.

  As they turned a corner, Brooks put his fist in the air and a finger to his lips. Brad was thankful for the new suppressor attached to his M4 as both Sean and Brooks had readied their silenced MP5s in anticipation. Sean took a knee, leaned into a stone wall, and tried to make himself invisible. A group of five crazies were staggering down the street toward them. They were moving slower than they had during the past two days causing Brad to wonder if that was a symptom. Did they slow down as they aged? The primals stumbled at a curb and looked like a pack of drunks as they navigated themselves over it. Without warning, Brad heard the clacking of metal on metal from the SEALS guns, and all five of the infected dropped to the ground. Brooks whispered, “Clear!” and they started moving again. Brad was amazed at the efficiency with which the SEALS could unleash violence.

  They rounded a corner and tucked into a tiny store. Brooks made sure the room was clear, and then they huddled near the window. “It’s that two-story building right there,” Sean pointed.

  “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go,” Brad said.

  “We will, but we need you to go first. Make sure they aren’t all hopped up and shoot us,” added Brooks.

  “Oh, good plan I guess,” said Brad. “So, you just want me to walk over there and say ‘Hi’?”

  “Yeah, but the tricky part is to do it quietly, so you’re not seen or heard by the primals, and also be careful not to spook your Army boys into whacking you,” grinned Sean.

  Brooks opened the storefront door and gave Brad a thumbs up. “Good luck,” he whispered. Brad just nodded and made his way to the street; he could see the two-story building had all of its windows covered with heavy drapes. He looked to the left and right and saw no one. He walked into the center of the street, held his hands and rifle over his head, and waved them up and down. There was no response from the building. He watched the windows and saw no movement. The edges of the roof revealed nothing, so he moved to the front door.

  He stood by the door listening and heard nothing. “Fuck it,” he whispered to himself. He reached up a hand and knocked on the heavy wooden door. He heard nothing so he knocked again. Hearing nothing inside, he turned to signal the SEALS just as the door crashed open and a large man with a knife dove at him. “No, no, no, no,” Brad yelled. The man stopped his assault with the blade just inches from Brad’s face.

  “What the fuck are you doing creeping up on us like that?!” shouted the soldier. Brad recognized him as one of the privates from Third Squad.

  Before he could answer, the SEALs had rushed across the street and grabbed them. “Gentlemen? Perhaps we should have this conversation inside? You boys have already made enough noise,” Sean said. They all tumbled through the doorway and Sean closed the door behind them.

  Brad found himself standing in a long hallway with doors on both sides and at the end, a set of stairs leading up.

  “Oh hey! It’s you, Sergeant Thompson! Sorry about that man, I thought you was one of them things. I wanted to shut it up before he called his buddies,” said the private.

  “Where is everyone else?” asked Brad.

  “Oh yeah, they’re all in the basement. We been sleeping during the day and we all stand watch at night when they go nuts out there. If one of you wants to watch the door, I’ll take you down there,” answered the private. Brooks nodded to them and dropped his pack. Brad and Sean followed the private down the hall to a heavy steel door.

  He knocked on the door and after a minute there was a noise inside and the door cracked open.

  “Hey Jones, what you need man?” said the guard.

  “We got company. It’s Sergeant Thompson, he just showed up knocking on the door.”

  The guard swung the door open and shook Brad’s hand. “Good to see you, Sergeant. We thought you all were dead. Come on down, Sergeant Turner is going to want to talk to you,” said the guard, and he led them down the stairs. The cellar was dark and damp; there was very little light, only what came in through the floorboards above their heads.

  They made their way into a damp room. Brad saw soldiers sleeping on the floor, and a small area set up as a latrine. They wound through the dark cellar to a smaller entryway. The soldier knocked on the door frame and they heard a grumble from inside.

  “What is it,” called the voice.

  “Sergeant Turner? Sergeant Thompson and some men are here,” answered the soldier.

  “Huh? What the hell?” A flashlight came on, illuminating the space, and shone into Brad’s face. “Well I’ll be dammed, it is you! Come on in man. Have a seat,” said Sergeant Turner.

  Turner lit a small gas lantern and the men made their way into the small room. It was sparsely furnished; nothing but a small table with a map laid out on it and a handful of chairs. Brad and Sean made their way to the table and took a seat as Turner hurriedly put on his boots.

  “Damn Brad, it’s good to see you brother! I thought you guys were dead,” Turner said as he slapped him on the back and took a seat next to him. “So who’s your friend? Where’s the rest of your crew?”r />
  Brad explained the appearance of the SEALS and that his men were back at the warehouse. He told Turner how they had followed them to Hairatan and how they had watched their battle the previous night.

  “Shit, yeah that was bad. One of the kids got scared and popped that damn flare and then things went to shit. We lost Smith over it, but we got lucky, the rest of us made it,” explained Turner.

  “Hey guys, I don’t want to be a dick and spoil your reunion, but we only have so much mid-day left. We need to pack up and get moving,” said Sean.

  “Moving? Move where? We’re pretty secure in here; I don’t know that we will be moving,” quipped Turner.

  “Really Sergeant?” snapped Sean. “Low on ammo, your guys are shitting in buckets, I don’t see much in the way of food or water, and you’re hiding in a cellar. Your soldier here has managed to secure a compound; he has a trailer full of guns and bullets to match, a shipping container of food, running water, and flushing toilets; but hey, suit yourself. We’ll be moving out in fifteen minutes.”

  “Whoa! Hold up Chief, I didn’t say we wouldn’t go. And besides, you make a good point; those buckets are starting to smell the place up. Give me some time to get the men organized and we’ll meet you in the hallway upstairs,” answered Turner.

  Sean and Brad moved back up to the hallway and briefed Brooks on the move back to the warehouse. “I’m not a fan of your Sergeant Turner,” Sean said to Brad.

  “Don’t be too hard on him Chief; he’s kept these guys alive for this long; that’s got to count for something.”

  The five soldiers came up the stairs in full packs. They looked beaten and tired, but they said they were ready to get out of the confined cellar. Sean briefed them on how they would move back. There were five of them, so they would move in three teams. Brooks would take point with one, Brad had the middle with two more, and Sean would pick up the rear with the last of them. Sean told them he wanted no firing. If they had to take shots, they were to do it with the suppressed weapons.