Skull's Shadows (Plague Wars Series)

by David VanDyke

  Children around them ate voraciously, moderated by the adults, who imposed some order. Still, one would think they were getting their day’s only meal instead of one of three.

  “We’ve seen that the children seem to need even more food than we do,” Derrick said.

  “They’re growing. The virus speeds up the metabolism, even in healthy people.”

  Derrick nodded. “Now they have incredible appetites, even my little Katie and she’s always been picky. To think I used to try to get her to eat her vegetables.” He chuckled.

  A woman handed them each a couple of skewers of meat with a delicious aroma, and a plate with potatoes and a cob of corn on each, baked in the fire’s coals. Bowls of blackberries followed for desert.

  “I know where you get the deer meat and berries,” Skull said, “but what about the corn and potatoes?”

  “We have lots of mini-gardens spread around in the forest,” Derrick answered. “We plant the way the Native Americans used to, various crops together in clumps, often at the bases of trees.”

  Skull had to admit he was impressed. “Seems like you’ve got a pretty good setup here.”

  Derrick nodded. “But I know well enough that it could all end tomorrow. We have to be on the alert. We’re small potatoes, no pun intended,” he said pointing at Skull’s plate, “to the government right now, but once they have the big areas, like Texas, locked down again...well...”

  “Yeah,” Skull said around a mouthful of savory venison.

  “Unless we fight. If there are enough of us, maybe we could find another way.”

  “I think you’ll find it difficult to get Edens to fight,” Skull told him.

  Derrick nodded. “I’d prefer not to harm anyone if I can help it, but if you or someone else gave me no choice, I could kill you without compunction. Believe me, I know.”

  “That’s because you’ve already killed before, in service. Like me. But from what I know, these guys you have that have never dropped a trigger on someone…they won’t be worth much.”

  “I know. But what can we do?”

  “I’d keep that insurgency idea shelved for a while,” Skull said. “I’ve seen rebellion firsthand and it wasn’t pretty. The feds are playing hardball and crushing any resistance.”

  “Were you in Texas?”

  Skull nodded. “And Arkansas.”

  Derrick chewed quietly for a moment. Eventually he seemed to make up his mind. “I’ve taught insurgency methods all over the world. The odds are always against the insurgents in the short term, but in the long run, it can work. Any movement has to start small. This one will be no different.”

  “Maybe,” Skull admitted. “Just don’t get into any rush. Simply keeping this group from freezing or ending up as bear poop might be a challenge.”

  “You could stay with us,” Derrick said. “A man of your background could be lots of help.”

  “How would your group here feel about a non-Eden in your midst?”

  Derrick looked away.

  “I see,” Skull answered, in many ways relieved. “That would be the condition for joining your group.”

  “You got to understand—”

  “I do understand,” answered Skull with a trace of bitterness. “You’re already turning into a tribe, a religion of your own. Outsiders can visit, but to stay you have to convert to the state belief system. I appreciate it, I really do, but I can’t join you. There’s work that needs to be done.”

  Derrick nodded. “Every insurgency needs an ideology or it will fall apart…and all ideologies are a mixture of the false and true. Regardless, you could stay for the night if you wish.”

  Skull realized he had planned on doing that exact thing, but something about having it said out loud galvanized him. Part of him really wanted to stay longer, and he had to quash that temptation. “Thanks,” he said, “but I need to keep moving.”

  Derrick nodded.

  Skull could see relief in the man’s demeanor despite his courtesy. Finishing his food. Skull accepted their gift of smoked venison, which he placed in his rucksack. Before he left, he took Derrick aside.

  “There’s a man I know who works with Daniel Markis, a Green Beret and an Eden, like you. His last name is Nguyen, but they call him Spooky.”

  Derrick’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Spooky Nguyen? I met him, once. He’s a legend in the community. And he’s with Markis?”

  “Yeah, more or less. I think. And if Markis is in Colombia like he says…”

  “Get word to Markis and I’d find Spooky.”

  Skull nodded. “If I was a betting man, I’d put my next paycheck on Spooky running whatever black ops the Free Communities have.” He snorted. “Whatever Edens can stomach anyway. He used to be a killer. Now?” Skull shrugged.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. For the future.”

  Skull shook Derrick’s hand and said quick farewells, heading back toward the trail.

  The dogs didn’t follow.

  That’s for the best, Skull thought. What the hell am I supposed to do with a pack of bloodhounds? Still, it hurt more than he expected. Somehow, animals can reach places in the soul where people never can.

  That night when he slept, aloneness wasn’t as comforting as it once had been.

  Chapter 28

  After nearly a month on the Appalachian Trail, Skull had become even leaner than usual, but he felt good, very fit. He’d walked from the southern border of Virginia nearly up to the West Virginia state line. The solitude, beauty, and exercise had been peaceful, probably lowering his blood pressure significantly.

  Departing the Trail at Snicker’s Gap, he began hiking east along Old Route 6. Even the highway walking seemed easier, granted it was worse on the eyes and lungs due to the diesel exhaust of trucks. By early afternoon he made it to the town of Purcellville and walked into a truck stop for a shower, shave, and a hot meal.

  Seeing a small internet cafe, Skull decided to see if Spooky ever responded. It had been over a month since his sign-of-life email; the little Vietnamese man may have presumed he was dead.

  Logging into the site, he noted several messages from Spooky. All said pretty much the same thing, in code: Where are you? Why don’t you write? Are you still alive? The latest message provided an international number and told Skull to call from a clean phone.

  Skull suppressed annoyance that Spooky would feel the need to remind him of such a thing. Skull only used clean phones.

  A friendly trucker was willing to give Skull a ride into the main part of town and drop him off at the local Walmart. Walking inside, he made his way around cartloads of screaming and frantic shoppers, perhaps a bit more busy than normal, but not surprisingly so. Shelves remained filled with consumer goods, though he did notice the grocery section had some gaps and prices had risen generally.

  He bought several burner phones and cards that contained varying numbers of minutes. After paying and exiting the store, he made his way to a nearby park he had spotted on the way into town. Though starting to get late, a few people remained, mainly a bunch of kids playing basketball on the court and one old man feeding pigeons. Skull made his way to an isolated corner of the park where he dropped his rucksack, sat on a bench, and assembled the phone.

  Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number from the earlier message he had memorized.

  The call picked up at once. Spooky Nguyen’s tight, accented voice came over the line. “Five Four Two.”

  “Two One,” Skull completed the code.

  “It’s taken you long enough.”

  “Nice day to you, too,” Skull answered. “I’ve had some things going on that have kept me away.”

  “What things?”

  “Oh, this and that. I’ve been to the spa and learned to play the violin really well. I’ve also nearly finished my memoirs.”

  “Not funny.”

  Skull smiled. “I am. You gooks just don’t understand humor.”

  “I am not a gook, as you well know,” Spooky insisted
. “I spent most of my early life killing gooks. I am Degar. I am Thuong.”

  “That’s what every guy tells the ladies.”

  Spooky sighed. “Even less funny.”

  “It’s great catching up with you and all,” Skull said, “but we’re going to have to wrap this up. I’ve got a pedicure in an hour.”

  “Where are you now? No keywords.”

  “Tahiti,” Skull answered. “You?”

  That long-suffering sigh came again. “Near the boss. I know where you’re going.”

  “Oh, do you now?”

  “You’re headed to the facility.”

  Skull knew Spooky was avoiding speaking its name, or even its location, to foil the NSA computers that might be screening the call. “And if I was?”

  “That facility has been brought under federal control,” Spooky continued. “They are working on making a counter-germ that specifically targets Edens by overstimulation of their immune systems. Makes their bodies attack themselves similar to some strains of cancer. Intel tells us they are close to having something.”

  “So you want me to take care of it for you?” Skull asked airily. “I can. Won’t be any trouble.”

  “Yes it will,” insisted Spooky. “Intel also tells us that security is extremely tight. They are expecting an attack and have taken all precautions. It would be suicide for you to try to hit it alone.”

  “Then why don’t you do it? You have money, equipment and manpower. A whole country or two, I hear. I’m just one guy with a gun.”

  “We’re working on a plan now,” Spooky responded. “I have a team prepping. There’s a place for you on it, if you want.”

  “I’m touched that you would do that for me,” Skull said, “but no.”

  “We can have you extracted and safe inside forty-eight hours.”

  “Count me out.”

  “Then at least lay low,” Spooky said. “Let us handle this. We have the people and we have the resources.”

  “When will you be ready?”

  “We think within a week. Ten days at the most.”

  “I need an exact date and time.”

  “It’s tentative.”

  “Just give it to me, and don’t be late.”

  Spooky gave him the information.

  Skull ended the call without saying goodbye, and then tore the phone apart with his knife, crushing the various parts under his boot heel and then tossing them into the nearby hedges.

  Walking out of the park, he turned onto a main road and spotted a Waffle House. Tasty, cheap, dependable food. He went inside, dropped his gear into a booth, and ordered coffee and pecan waffles.

  It would be smarter to wait for backup, he thought. Hell, I could just sit tight and let them handle it. Spooky has the men and resources I don’t. The smart move here just so happens to also be the easy move. Those things so rarely line up, so maybe I should take advantage.

  His coffee and waffle arrived, and he ate while watching the television on the counter. A news show played, a sappy human interest piece on the victims of the “terrorist” attacks with liberal doses of Eden hatred.

  Everyone takes it as a given that Markis and his folks were not only responsible for spreading the virus but also the nuclear attacks. No one seems to be asking how they got nukes. Hell, no one is asking how they got the Eden virus, or why a bunch of infectees would even do such a thing in the face of the virtue effect.

  The screen filled with a picture of Jervis Jenkins III, the former CIA spymaster. Very few knew that he had ushered in the genesis of the XHV project that spawned the Eden Plague, or that he had a hand in countless deaths, including the nuclear attacks. The exposé made him the centerpiece of its show. It made him a martyr.

  The man who gave the orders that led directly to Zeke’s murder. Lies atop falsehoods surrounding deceits, Skull thought. He was surprised at his own anger. The way it’s always been and how government keeps control of its people. Other governments, right? Not in America. Not in my country.

  Zeke’s face filled his mind again, along with an image of the family his friend left behind – Cassandra, Ricky and Millie Johnstone. Rage and righteous wrath on their behalf overcame him.

  Skull put a bill on the table, picked up his gear, and began walking east again.

  Chapter 29

  The ticking clock had forced Skull to hitchhike. He didn’t like it, but now that he was getting close to the objective he preferred it to stealing a vehicle or buying one. Still, there were lots of hitchhikers on the roads now, far more than there used to be. The Unionists were keeping the trains running on time, so to speak, but clearly not everyone could afford a ticket. Truckers especially seemed to have become the unofficial bus drivers of the new, Unionist-dominated America, allowing people to climb onto the backs or even into the cabs of their trucks.

  In Skull’s experience, hard times either made people kinder or more evil, but seldom anything in between.

  Traveling this way, it only took him a few days to make it to the outskirts of Aberdeen, north of Baltimore.

  The facility itself was nondescript except for a perimeter of double chain link fence with razor wire on top. Heavily armed guards walked the area, some with leashed dogs, and powerful floodlights illuminated the ground at night for a good fifty yards beyond the perimeter.

  Skull lay in a concealed position for two days looking for a way in. Although there were occasional deliveries, the security here was tighter than any facility he had ever seen short of a Supermax penitentiary. The guards even made drivers wait outside while a staff member drove the vehicle in and then returned it empty later. There were at least three shifts of guards, and though he might be able to slip in among them, the uniforms were different from anything he’d ever seen before and not something he’d likely be able to fake, or pick up at a secondhand shop. Killing one of the guards in his home to take his uniform and badge seemed the obvious option, but he had spotted at least one retinal scanner. Maybe there were more.

  Why are you doing this? a voice asked in his head. Don’t say it’s for Zeke; he’s long gone and there is nothing you can do that will change that. Besides, the men who killed him could be anywhere.

  Skull imagined himself getting up and walking away, just dropping the whole thing. He could leave this for Spooky and just go do...what exactly? Take up bridge, or perhaps professional croquet?

  You could go back to that group in the mountains, the voice said. Another voice countered, And become an Eden? I am what I am and don’t want to change. Shouldn’t be forced to change. Won’t change.

  Skull realized now that nothing of what he was doing was about revenge or about Zeke. It was about who he was and what he did. If there were no INS Inc., he would find someone or something else that deserved his specialist attention. His wrath. He was the man that no one else could be. They wanted him around when evil and horror walked among them yet they loathed and ostracized him when the illusion of safety and security wrapped in the cloak of civilization prevailed. So be it.

  But you could call Spooky, said the voice. They know you and accept you for what you are.

  No, they don’t, he thought with sudden clarity. They see me as a very useful and very dangerous tool that must be constantly supervised so that it doesn’t get out of control. I will not be handled or managed by those too morally superior or idealistically misguided to do the things they want at the time they want for the reasons they hold. I am Skull. I can be no other.

  This epiphany, this litany quieted his mind and he returned his attention to the facility. Today, the security seemed even more anal, more fanatical, with doubled guards and extra vehicles parked here and there, weapons manned.

  Skull recognized what he had been dancing around for hours, trying to find some other approach. The truth was, there was only one way inside this high-security compound. It would be suicide at best and still might not achieve anything. Worse yet, Skull would have no way of knowing how things would go once he got inside. He would have
to trust in his ability to improvise, adapt and overcome.

  Skull recognized that spontaneity didn’t come easy to him. He preferred to not only meticulously plan any operation, but also to cover dozens of potential contingencies. Yet, he also recognized there was no other realistic option for getting a man into the facility before he ran out of time.

  Spooky would hit his mark, Skull was confident, but his intuition told him whatever was going on inside of the lab was coming to a head. He couldn’t allow a new, genetically engineered plague to get into the world that would intentionally kill Edens. There were many he knew and some he cared about, but mainly he could not allow a new genocide, a new holocaust to go forward. Not if he could do anything to stop it.

  There might be only one chance, and it was a huge gamble, but Skull decided to make it.

  An hour later Skull hid all his weapons and gear and walked, empty-handed, to the front gate of the facility.

  Chapter 30

  Richard Covington had been the head of security for the unnamed facility for the past few months. He had several decades of experience working for the government and had jumped at this job because of the incredibly high pay. He had believed himself blackballed because he was on the security detail at Watts Island – hell, he hadn’t even been on duty the day of the raid fiasco, thank God – but this job offer proved otherwise.

  Expecting some giant research facility, he had been surprised by the relatively small size of the fenced-in compound on ten acres housing what he was told were medical research laboratories, most of them underground. He was not, however, underwhelmed by the amount of money spent on security, which was higher per square foot than he’d ever seen.

  Covington knew the government always overfunded the latest, hottest research and then underfunded the rest, so even though he had no idea what they were working on here, he knew it was high priority. Something to do with the Eden Plague for sure, the hottest of hot-button issues this past year. That didn’t matter anyway; security was his business.