V Plague (Book 16): Brimstone

by Dirk Patton

  “Shoot them!” she said.

  I hid my frustration, reminding myself that she’d never had to face the infected.

  “Might get them, but gunfire will just bring more. Probably why they’re here. I fired a couple of shots before I found you.”

  “What do we do?”

  Mavis sounded like she was going to panic. Fear can be a good thing. It induces the body to release adrenaline which makes us stronger and faster for a short period of time. Hopefully long enough to win a fight or make good on escaping. But panic clouds our minds and almost always causes a bad decision. And with infected in the mix, a bad decision could well be fatal.

  “Just stay still and quiet,” I mumbled. “They don’t know we’re in here.”

  We remained still, not taking our attention off the females. They didn’t move on or even look away and I was growing concerned. If they know they have prey cornered, they don’t give up, but this was worrisome. They weren’t behaving as if they knew we were inside, but they weren’t moving on, either. That’s the part that was odd.

  Time stretched out. My neck cramped from having my head cranked all the way around to watch them, but I wasn’t about to make a move. Mavis’s hand became damp in mine as she grew more frightened by the minute. Then, finally, one of the females stepped away from the glass and looked at the surrounding area. I almost breathed a sigh of relief, but her companion hadn’t budged. What the fuck?

  “I have to pee,” Mavis whispered.

  “You’ve gotta hold it,” I said.

  She was quiet for a few seconds, then “I’ve really gotta go!”

  “If we don’t stay still, we’re going to have bigger problems than needing to take a pi… pee.”

  She made a low sound in her throat but didn’t keep complaining.

  We stood there for several more minutes. It was stuffy and humid in the store and sweat was beginning to run off my head into my eyes. The left one may not have worked, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting from the mixture of perspiration and blood. Other body parts were beginning to cramp from the awkward position I was standing in.

  I was beginning to consider moving a slow inch at a time toward the storeroom when the second female stepped away from the window. For a brief moment, both were turned so their backs faced us.

  “Go! Now!” I hissed to Mavis.

  She took off like a rabbit, pushing through the swinging doors. I was right behind her, spinning back and stopping their motion with my hands. Peering through a fly specked window set high into one of them, I checked on the infected. They were still on the sidewalk with their backs to us.

  “Are we safe?” Mavis asked, bending her legs in the universal pee-pee dance.

  “For the moment,” I said, looking around, then pointing. “Go behind those boxes.”

  “What’s wrong with the bathroom?” she asked, dashing past me.

  I turned, seeing a closed door with a restroom symbol painted on it.

  “Mavis, WAIT!” I shouted, lunging with an outstretched hand, but I was too late to stop her from yanking the door open.

  She recoiled with a scream as an infected male came out of the darkness inside the small room and grabbed her arm. She screamed again as it pulled her close, torn lips skinning back over blood-stained teeth.

  37

  Igor and Irina stood on a bluff overlooking the small Siberian city of Belogorsk. They had stopped on the outskirts for fuel, having to take it by force from the station owner when the old man had refused. He hadn’t been harmed, but that didn’t assuage the guilt that all of them felt for what they’d done.

  “The police will be looking for us,” Igor said, his breath smoking in the frigid night air.

  Irina glanced over her shoulder at Strickland and her uncle. The two men were squatting in the snow, next to a small fire the SEAL had built. They were waiting for a small pot of water to boil so they could make coffee. She was surprised that the pair had become, if not friends, then at least friendly.

  “What do we do?” she asked, circling her arm through his and huddling against his side for shelter from the biting wind.

  “I do not want to fight them,” Igor said. “Not when I am in the wrong, even though we had no choice but to take the fuel.”

  “We are not common thieves,” Irina said.

  “The police do not know that. To them, we will be no different than the bandits we encountered earlier. That means they will press the issue and open fire if we do not surrender. I already have enough on my conscience without killing men who are simply doing their duty.”

  Irina was quiet, understanding how Igor felt. She too had regrets for actions she’d taken, including defecting to the Americans. But she also knew that she’d do it again because it was the right thing to do. However, that didn’t salve her conflicted conscience, either.

  “You still have gold. Can we pay them off to let us pass?”

  Igor shook his big head immediately.

  “Perhaps some, but not all. We certainly cannot count on it. Besides, the men that would not allow themselves to be bribed are exactly the type of men I would not wish to harm.”

  “Hey, Ivan! Coffee’s ready.”

  Strickland’s shout was clear in the cold air and Igor looked at the ground and sighed. Despite herself, Irina giggled.

  “You understand he only does it because he knows calling you Ivan annoys you, right?”

  “Does not mean I am not going to strap him to the roof and let his balls freeze off,” Igor muttered.

  Turning, he led Irina to the small fire which was concealed in a hole the American had chopped out of the frozen tundra. Strickland held up a battered metal cup that had come from Igor’s mess kit. Irina eagerly accepted, wrapping her gloved hands around the curved metal and inhaling the steam that rose from the fresh coffee. Holding her face over the surface, she enjoyed the warmth for a moment before taking a sip and passing the mug to Igor.

  “Is there a problem?” Shevchenko asked in Russian.

  “English, please, Uncle,” she said, nodding at Strickland. “Igor is concerned we will have to fight the police. There is little doubt the fueling station owner has reported us as thieves.”

  “Should’ve brought the old bastard with us,” the SEAL grumbled. “Dropped him in the next town.”

  This was the course of action he’d wanted to take, but Igor had overruled him after seeing the man’s wife and what appeared to be three grandchildren. Igor looked at Strickland and grunted, shaking his head.

  “You have a valid concern,” Shevchenko said to Igor after a moment’s thought. “We are obviously not mafiya, so the man will not have had any hesitation to report the theft to the authorities. And there is only one road in either direction. We will not be difficult to find.”

  “There other road,” Igor said in English. “Go through China.”

  Strickland paused with a mug halfway to his mouth and looked up at Igor in surprise.

  “China? Are you serious? Two billion people! If even half died when the rest turned, that’s a shitload of infected, Ivan.”

  “I must agree with our American friend,” Shevchenko said. “Going to China would be suicide.”

  “It winter,” Igor said.

  “So what?” Strickland asked sarcastically.

  “They frozen. Not survive. China save many kilometers to coast.”

  “Is that right?” Shevchenko asked, turning to Irina.

  “The virus cannot survive freezing, and the infected, for as strong and fast as they are, are still human. They will die from hypothermia.”

  “How sure are you of that?” Strickland asked.

  “Sure enough to try it,” Irina said.

  “That way we go,” Igor said, the tone of finality in his voice unmistakable.

  They all looked at him for a moment, then Strickland began kicking snow into the hole to extinguish the fire.

  “I’m just a passenger, but if you’re wrong Ivan, I’m gonna kick your ass while the i
nfected are munching on mine.”

  Igor frowned, not having followed the English. Shevchenko shook his head while Irina translated the SEAL’s words into Russian. When she finished, Igor snorted a laugh and slapped Strickland on the back.

  The coffee had cooled quickly and they downed every drop, more concerned with the caffeine than the warmth. Everyone took the opportunity to relieve themselves, then five minutes later they were back in the Hunter.

  Igor circled the small city, reaching a narrow highway on the far side that ran to the southwest. Quickly, they were driving through a dark tunnel of tall trees that pressed in on either side of the road. There hadn’t been enough time for them to settle in when Igor muttered a curse in Russian.

  “Car follow,” he said.

  Shevchenko and Strickland, in the rear seat, turned together to look through the back window. A pair of headlights in the distance alternately appeared and disappeared as a vehicle passed through a series of dips and rises. Each time it crested and became visible, they were slightly brighter. It was closing on them.

  “Run or fight?” Strickland asked without taking his attention off the pursuing lights.

  “We top speed,” Igor said. “No run. Give night goggles.”

  Strickland tore his NVGs off his head and handed them forward without hesitation. Irina held the wheel while Igor settled them in place. Turning off their lights, he ignored the slight gasp from Irina as they hurtled down the highway in complete darkness.

  “Gettin’ closer,” Strickland called. “Maybe a klick behind.”

  Igor grunted and kept driving. A minute later, he downshifted to reduce their speed without touching the brakes which would show a light.

  “Hold!” he called a moment later, downshifting again.

  The Hunter’s engine roared in complaint, but the vehicle slowed dramatically. A few seconds later, Igor cut the wheel to the right and dropped another gear. They shot onto a narrow track that cut into the forest, Igor the only one who could see that they weren’t about to ram into a tree. A small squeal of fright escaped Irina’s mouth as she tightly gripped an iron bar that was welded to the dash.

  The rear tires began to slip in the snow, threatening to send them into an uncontrollable spin. He corrected the skid, gently feeding in throttle and missing a massive trunk by mere inches. Speed dropped quickly and as a small clearing opened up, he dropped into first gear and cranked the wheel to its stop. No longer visible from the highway, Igor stomped on the brakes and the Hunter neatly reversed direction and came to a stop facing the road.

  “Goddamn, Ivan! That’s some hot shit driving!” Strickland shouted.

  Irina and Shevchenko didn’t seem nearly as impressed. Both were breathing heavily and if there had been any light he could have seen they were pale from fright.

  “Strickland, out,” Igor barked, jumping out and running for the trees.

  Strickland popped his door and disappeared into the darkness in the opposite direction. A second later, Shevchenko grabbed a rifle from behind the seat and followed him, ignoring Irina’s protests. With a curse, she too got out and ran after Igor.

  38

  “What the hell you doin’?” Strickland hissed when he realized Shevchenko had followed him into the forest.

  “Force multiplier,” the old man said, smiling when the SEAL gave him a surprised look.

  “Yeah, well, forgot you was an Admiral. Fine. Igor’s on the far side of the track. Don’t fire unless I do. Got it?”

  Shevchenko nodded and Strickland quickly found a spot in the edge of the trees that would provide concealment from the road. A quick check spotted Igor. They both nodded, acknowledging awareness of where the other was, then the big Spetsnaz faded back into the trees and vanished.

  Before Strickland was settled in, he heard the approaching vehicle. A few moments later, headlights began brightening the dark road. In the steadily increasing illumination, he could make out the tracks carved into the snow by the Hunter. Would the men in the car notice them, or would their attention be focused on the road ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of their quarry’s taillights?

  The car rushed toward them, then Strickland cursed when he realized there was a second vehicle. What the hell? He’d only seen one set of headlights. Rising up for a better view of the highway, he watched as the lead car flashed past the short track into the forest. The second, a four door Zil sedan, running blacked out, followed in its wake.

  “Two cars,” Strickland muttered to Shevchenko.

  As he was speaking, the sound of the vehicles changed when both drivers slammed on their brakes. There was a lot of skidding on the slippery roadway as they fought to maintain control.

  “Not cops, are they?”

  “No,” Shevchenko said. “Definitely not.”

  The SEAL nodded, then took the opportunity to call out to Igor with the information. He had no idea if the Russian had a good view of the road and took advantage of all the noise the cars were still making to pass along the news.

  “Wait at the Hunter,” he mumbled to Shevchenko and took a step away, then paused and turned to look at the Admiral. “And don’t shoot me when I come back.”

  The old man grinned, his teeth glowing in the night, then nodded and headed to where Irina was waiting with their vehicle. Shaking his head, Strickland moved through the forest toward the sounds of the cars reversing on the highway. They came to a stop well short of the side road and sat there idling, their exhausts creating clouds of vapor that hung over the road. Hidden behind a thick tree, he checked each sedan through the rifle’s scope but was unable to see through the frost covered windows.

  After a few moments, doors on both vehicles opened and half a dozen men stepped out. All were large, appearing even more so due to the bulky clothing they wore as protection from the weather. Each carried a club of some sort, three also holding a version of a Russian machine pistol that Strickland didn’t recognize. They slowly gathered in the gap between the two cars.

  “Mafiya.”

  Igor’s voice next to Strickland’s ear startled him and he jumped in surprise. Despite the circumstances, Igor couldn’t help but chuckle, earning a dirty look.

  “What are they doing here?” the SEAL asked, turning back to watch.

  Several of the men lit cigarettes as they stamped their feet against the cold. The one who appeared to be in charge was issuing orders, pointing at the track into the forest before sweeping his hand toward the tree line.

  “Old man at fuel station not call police. Call mafiya,” Igor explained.

  Strickland nodded, understanding that they’d robbed an establishment protected by organized crime. Now, the bad guys were here to teach the thieves a lesson.

  “Whadda you want to do?”

  “Shoot boss. Now,” Igor hissed, nodding at the SEAL’s suppressed rifle.

  Strickland pulled the stock tight to his shoulder and looked through the scope. Targeting the man issuing instructions, he pulled the trigger. The man’s head snapped to the side and he flopped dead onto the snowy road.

  The rest of the men froze for an instant, giving Strickland time to target and kill one that was holding a machine pistol. Igor, who had moved several yards away, fired an instant later, killing another armed man as the group recovered from their surprise well enough to dive for cover. The weapons that had been dropped were scooped up in the scramble.

  Unaimed fire began coming back, long tongues of flame shooting from the muzzles of the small weapons as the men pulled and held the triggers. Igor and Strickland methodically returned fire, a single shot at a time. The mafiya enforcers were not trained soldiers, or trained anything for that matter. They were simply thugs with guns who didn’t stand a chance against experienced operators.

  They changed magazines and kept spraying hundreds of rounds into the forest at a ferocious rate, but none of them came anywhere near their intended targets. One by one, as a man reloaded or attempted to change positions, a bullet would scream in from the dark tre
es and punch through his chest or head.

  Quickly, the small group was whittled down to only two men who, in a panic, scrambled into the heavy Zil. The rear tires spun uselessly as they tried to accelerate away to safety. Calmly, Igor moved through the trees, switching his rifle to full auto. As the rear of the car slipped sideways, the tires failing to find any traction, he stepped out of the tree line and emptied a full magazine through the side windows.

  The dead driver’s foot slipped off the accelerator and as the tires spun down from their frenetic pace, they finally managed to grip the pavement. With a lurch, the Zil crashed into the vehicle to its front, coming to a hard stop. Silence descended over the forest once again, broken only by the rumbling idle of the engine.

  Igor swapped out magazines and switched back to semi-auto as he approached the edge of the pavement. He methodically fired a single shot into each man’s head. Just to be sure.

  “We should put ‘em in the cars and pull them off the road,” Strickland said, looking around at the blood-stained snow.

  Igor nodded agreement and they began to bend when a cry from Irina snapped their heads around. Both men charged into the trees, weapons up and ready to fight. Fear for her safety lent wings to Igor’s feet and he quickly outpaced the younger American. Bursting through into the clearing where he’d left Irina and her uncle, he skidded and nearly lost his balance.

  Shevchenko lay in the snow near the front of the Hunter, unmoving. Irina, on her knees, cradled his head in her lap. As Strickland charged in behind him, Igor knelt beside Irina, feeling a wave of sadness wash over him when he saw the small, nearly bloodless hole in the Admiral’s temple.

  “What the hell happened?” Strickland asked when he saw the wound.

  Rifle to his shoulder, he scanned the surrounding trees for whoever had shot the old man. Igor and Irina were speaking softly in Russian, his arm around her shoulders as she tried to maintain her composure.

  “We got another shooter?” Strickland hissed, still seeking a target with his weapon.