Due to the failed bombing run, scores of infected humans and animals had escaped into the general population. Fort Hood was sixty miles from Austin and about one-hundred-and-fifty-seven from Dallas. It had been a nightmarish situation.
By the time the Sils Advanced Research Facility was destroyed, Butsko had learned that Fort Hood had fallen to the zombies, and was now just a smoldering combat site overrun by the reanimated bodies of the infected. Butsko, however, had nowhere else to go. He, Wilder, and the remaining survivors from Sils had headed to Fort Hood. Once there, Butsko had organized everyone, and put together a plan to secure the base. After wiping out the remaining infected, they’d checked their supplies and cordoned off most of the base. Fort Hood was now a fraction of its former size and was more manageable to defend.
That had been two years ago. Today, Fort Hood had a little over a thousand soldiers and around five-hundred civilians within its walls. Everyone contributed, and everyone fought. Butsko and Wilder had set up training programs that taught civilians how to fight hand-to-hand and how to handle various types of weapons. When the world became a battlefield, everyone was a soldier. You either learned to fight, or you died.
*****
Wilder made his way to Butsko’s command office and gave Butsko a sharp salute as he entered the room.
“Good to see you back, soldier,” Butsko said as Wilder sat down.
“That was a rough one, Sir,” Wilder said.
“I know,” Butsko sympathized, “and I hope you enjoyed it, because that was your last running mission.”
Wilder’s eyes perked up. After the first few successful ‘running missions,’ as they’d come to be called, word had spread of their success, and many military-based operations still functioning in Texas, Arkansas, and Florida had begun to carry out similar missions based on Butsko’s recommendations.
“What happened?” Wilder asked, already knowing the answer.
“They… learned,” was all Butsko said.
“Learned?” Wilder asked. “What the hell did they learn?”
“They learned to stop chasing soldiers into an abandoned building,” Butsko responded as he met Wilder’s eyes.
“But how?” Wilder asked, not knowing if he really wanted to hear the answer.
“We’re not sure of the exact details, Dan,” Butsko said. “All we know is that the base in Eglin was doing their first running mission and everything went pear-shaped.”
“Wait,” Wilder said, almost cutting Butsko off. “It was their first running mission?”
Butsko nodded.
“Then how the hell did the zombies ‘learn’ anything?” Wilder asked.
“I’ve been asking myself that exact same question, Dan,” Butsko said as he stood and walked over the map of the U.S. on the wall.
“It happened here,” Butsko said, pointing to a black-tipped pin sticking in the map. The pin was near the Eglin Air Force Base about three miles southwest of Valparaiso, Florida.
“Was the base attacked?” Wilder asked, the concern in his voice noticeable. The majority of the military bases in the U.S. had been completely wiped out. The few that had made it were damaged and were barely functional. The last thing they needed was to be attacked by a large group of the infected.
“The base was completely wiped out,” Butsko said somberly. “The only details I managed to get was that Eglin was carrying out their first running mission into a small hanger by the airport. Everything had been going exactly according to plan.” Butsko stared at his hands as he related the story to Wilder.
“Just as their runner entered the hanger, a group of infected branched off and ambushed the soldier guarding the back door,” Butsko said.
Wilder looked at Butsko with heavy eyes.
“The runner had no escape and was torn apart,” Butsko said. “Every soldier around the hanger was slaughtered. It was like the zombies knew they were there.”
“What about snipers and other supporting soldiers?” Wilder asked, hoping to get some good news.
“Those details are unknown,” Butsko responded. “But I knew Colonel Wolfe, and just like us, he’d never endanger any of his soldiers or civilians by not providing the proper backup.”
“How did you find out these details?” Wilder asked.
“Wolfe managed to relay some intel over the CB radio before…” Butsko hesitated. “Before he was torn apart.” Butsko then looked straight at Wilder: “I heard those fucking things as they tore him apart, Dan. He could’ve saved himself, but I think he was trying to warn us of something.”
“Are you sure the entire base was wiped out?” Wilder pressed on. “Should we mount a search and rescue mission?”
“You know we don’t have the manpower or the means for a search and rescue, Wilder!” Butsko barked back at him. “We’re barely holding our shit together as it is.”
Wilder knew Butsko was upset and blamed himself for the massacre at Eglin, but they needed to know more about what went down. He waited for Butsko to regain his composure.
“The base is gone,” Butsko said after a minute of silence. “There’s a small pocket of survivors at what remains of the Maxwell-Gunter Air Force Base in Alabama. I’ve been in communication with them for about two weeks.”
Butsko stood with both fists resting on his desk. Wilder only saw Butsko like this a few times before. He knew Butsko was hurting, but he also knew Butsko didn’t know what to do next, and that’s what pissed Butsko off. Wilder waited for him to continue.
“I managed to talk Maxwell’s C.O. into flying a drone over Eglin,” Butsko finally said. “They picked up nothing but the infected over every square inch of the base. If there were any survivors hidden away, you and I both know they’ll be long dead before we can get to them.”
“Jesus Christ!” Wilder shot back at him. “We have to at least try, don’t we?” he asked as he looked into Butsko’s eyes.
“Come on, Wilder! Don’t you think I’ve already considered that option? We’re down to somewhere between 1,250 to 1,500 survivors at this base, and the civilians are starting to outnumber the trained soldiers.”
Wilder knew he was right, but it didn’t sit easy with him knowing that there could be people in danger and dying, and his hands and feet were tied.
“Tell me this,” Wilder pondered. “How did those things know the running mission was a trap if that was the first running mission they ran?”
“I don’t know,” Butsko said.
“How did these fuckers learn about a running mission before one was ever carried out?” Wilder asked rhetorically. “We know the cause of this mess isn’t a virus or a parasite, right?”
“We don’t know much, but that much is true,” Butsko agreed.
“A virus was used as a delivery system to introduce bio-nanotechnology into injured soldiers’ bodies,” Wilder continued. “These nanites are essentially mechanical, right?”
“That’s where things get muddy,” Butsko said. “They started off as machines, yes. But before we got wiped out at the Sils lab, the eggheads said there was evidence the machines—the nanites—were fusing with the body’s biology, and becoming essentially one creature.”
Wilder walked over to the window, trying to process what Butsko had told him. Punching the wall next to the window, Wilder inhaled deeply.
“What is it?” Butsko asked.
“This is crazy,” Wilder said, not directing his thought to Butsko. “What if, and this is a huge ‘what if,’ George… what if the nanites were able to communicate with each other?”
“‘Communicate,’” Butsko repeated. “What the hell are you talk…”
Wilder stared at Butsko with wide-open eyes as they both chewed on what he was proposing.
“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting… ” Butsko said as he sat down in his chair, letting his thought trail off.
“Then we’re fucked even more than we once thought,” Wilder said, finishing Butsko’s thought.
The men looke
d at each other hoping one would find a flaw in the theory.
4
Will to Heal Center
Spicewood, TX
Walt woke up the next morning still holding Stevie.
Each morning Walt rose from bed and looked out the window at the beautiful scenery that surrounded the Will to Heal center, and for a split second he convinced himself that everything would be okay. As he stretched this morning and his eyes made their way to the window, he realized those days were over. The ugly wooden boards where the glass used to be always sent a different message.
There’s no hope for us, the voice in Walt’s head lamented. He knew the world would never be able to go back to how it was two years ago.
*****
Walt walked to the dining area of the rehab center and marveled at how this small group of junkies and drunks, himself included, had managed to hold it together for the last two years.
Will to Heal had been a new approach to treating addiction, and many of the experts in the field had laughed at what he tried to accomplish. Results, though, were the only things Walt cared about, and he’d seen the same result time and again as each of his patients got and stayed clean.
From his own experiences, he knew how hard it was to remain sober. While in various rehab facilities there were no temptations, and everywhere you went you had nothing but support. You had trained counselors ready to talk with and support you twenty-four hours a day, and you also had the combined strength of others who were also trying to clean up their lives. But once you left the facility and returned to reality, it was tough.
Really tough.
Old friends would look you up to go party with them; places wouldn’t hire you because of your criminal record; family disowned you because you lied to them one time too many. All you had out in the real world were meetings. No matter if they were Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous, they all spouted the same thing:
Rely in your Higher Power, said the voice of hundreds of counselors and people in recovery.
This is the ‘cure’? Walt had thought. In a world full of technology and scientific breakthroughs, a ‘Higher Power’ was all that was offered to addicts?
That wasn’t good enough for him, and he knew that addicts deserved better.
Walt could remember plenty of times when he thought of a ‘Higher Power’ as he’d stumbled in his recovery. As far as he was concerned, his ‘Higher Power’ had helped guide the needle back into his arm.
“Hey Walt,” Cheryl said cheerily as he walked by her in the dining room. “How’s that new window treating you?”
“If you’re asking me if it’s holding up, then it is great,” Walt responded. “I don’t think the Hulk himself could bust those boards down.”
“But,” Cheryl said.
“But I feel like a caged animal in there without my window,” Walt said, trying to smile.
“I’ve got news for ya, chief,” Dennis said as he walked up to Walt. “We are caged animals. We’re in the cages now, and those things out there run the world.”
“Damn, Dennis,” Walt said with a smile on his face. “You make it sound like we’re in a zoo, and we’re the ones in the cages.”
“Do I?” Dennis asked. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? We’re no longer at the top of the food chain, are we? We’re all just walking hot meals to those fuckers out there.” Walt could hear Dennis’ voice take on a dark tone.
Everyone in the dining room stopped talking and eating as they listened to Dennis and Walt. Walt knew he had to lighten up the mood.
“Well, then,” Walt continued, “I guess we better make ourselves as unappetizing as possible.”
Walt smiled, and Dennis took a deep breath and smiled back.
“I’m sorry, Walt,” Dennis said. Then, to the rest of the people in the dining room, added: “I’m sorry, everyone. Some days it gets to me more than others.”
The people around Dennis patted him on the back and reassured him.
“No need to apologize, Dennis,” Walt said. “We all know exactly how you feel.”
The Will to Heal center was down to just twelve people—four staff members and eight residents still receiving in-patient treatment. At capacity, the center held fifty patients and had a staff of around forty, twenty of which would’ve been on duty at any given time. The shit hit the fan during the weekend when there was only a skeleton crew working. Back then, the Center had experienced a turnover where thirty-two residents completed the program and went back to the real world.
Walt often wondered about those who’d re-entered the real world to find it all going to shit. Had they remained sober and stayed alive, or had they decided to go out with a final bang? He wasn’t sure what he would do if he were in the same situation.
Walt had taken over as director of the Will to Heal center three years before the outbreak. The owners of the property had been looking for a new direction. They’d wanted to offer addicts something besides the standard Twelve-Step program; something that directly dealt with the source of the addiction. That’s where Walt had come in. Walt had never attained a degree higher than his GED and afterward had become a certified counselor. But Walt’s curiosity never died.
After going through so many Twelve-Step programs only to relapse time and again, his voice of reason, Steven Spalatucci, told him to find his own way that worked for him.
If the steps they’re giving you aren’t taking you where you need to go, he remembers Spalatucci telling him, then build or find your own damn staircase.
That’s exactly what Walt did, and he found his staircase in biology and science. He spent endless hours educating himself on how the brain behaves and how different neurotransmitters may or may not play a role in addiction. He never officially became an addictionologist, but he was respected in various addiction research circles for the contributions he made.
That’s how the owners of Will to Heal found Walt. They heard about his research into the roles that the neurotransmitters dopamine and serotonin play in addiction, and were impressed. His theories were mocked by some, but from others they were believed to be the future of finding an actual cure for addiction.
*****
Walt grabbed some food and sat down next to Cheryl. She was a pretty, twenty-five-year-old woman who had an inner strength that radiated out. Cheryl always wore her light brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She said she always wanted to be ready for anything at any time, and Walt knew she wasn’t joking.
Over the last two years, Cheryl became a warrior—the fiercest fighter the center had. She’d helped Walt organize the ground patrols at night and had developed a training program for those who wanted to learn to fight.
Cheryl had been one of the last patients to arrive at the center before the outbreak. She’d admitted herself due to a prescription pill addiction. Cheryl had aspired to be a champion in the world of MMA fighting, and had pushed her body to the breaking point almost every day. She’d trained to the point of wearing down her body and then turned to painkillers to help her start training the next morning.
As with everyone else in the hallways of the Will to Heal center, what started off as a crutch quickly became a daily coping mechanism.
Walt remembered the day Cheryl admitted herself into the thirty-day in-patient program. He’d asked her why she was there, and Cheryl had told him that she was stronger than her addiction, and that by admitting herself into the program, she was taking the first step to proving to herself that she was indeed stronger.
“How did the rest of the night go?” Walt asked Cheryl as he sat down.
“You know I always love ending the night with a bonfire,” Cheryl said as she smiled.
Walt laughed. “Find any more of those things wandering around?” he asked.
“No,” Cheryl said, “and that worries me.”
“That worries me, too,” Walt agreed. “They’ve always been so predictable. They always hunt in groups of six to eight, so why the lone wolf last night?”
Walt stared at his oatmeal as his mind drifted away. It just didn’t make any sense that suddenly the infected were changing their behaviors. Walt laughed because he was still in the habit of attributing human intelligence and behaviors to the infected.
I may not know exactly what they are, he thought, but I know they aren’t human.
Then Walt said: “Let’s make sure we double down on the patrols tonight. I’ve got an uneasy feeling, and I don’t know why.”
“I’m with you,” Cheryl said. “I was actually going to ask you if you were okay with me sending out extra bodies.”
It always made Walt uneasy when the people in the center referred to him or looked to him as the leader. He’d never served so much as a day in the military. Hell, he’d never even watched any of those survivalist shows that had been popular at the time of the outbreak.
“Survival,” Walt said out loud.
“What?” Cheryl asked around a bite of oatmeal.
“Dennis said these things are occupying the top of the food chain, right?” he asked. “What if they adapted a new strategy in order to survive?”
“I’m not following,” Cheryl said, putting down her spoon.
“We’ve really tightened up around here over the last two years,” Walt said. “We haven’t lost anyone to the infected in over eight months.”
“Okay,” Cheryl said as she sipped her bitter coffee.
“So what if they’ve changed their strategy?” Walt asked. “I know, I know,” he continued before Cheryl could interrupt. “I know these things don’t have a ‘strategy,’ per se, but what if they somehow adapted to their surroundings?”
“I’m still not following,” Cheryl said.
“When this shit-storm first occurred, the infected picked us off left and right,” Walt explained. “They were getting plenty of meals before we established out current system of patrols and other safety measures.”
“Aahhh,” Cheryl said, her eyes lighting up. “I see what you’re getting at. They know there’s a food source in here, but since it dried up by us being more cautious, you think they might have adapted to ensure their own survival. Right?”
Outbreak (Book 2): The Mutation Page 4