Antivirus (The Horde Series Book 1)

by Michael Koogler

  “Jen is vital to the next phase of the plan,” he found himself saying, and quickly wondered why he thought that. Shouldn’t he just kill her?

  To what plan? Why do you need her? How did you even know she was here?

  “I just…did.”

  No, it wasn’t you, Perry. It was the Horde.

  “Doesn’t matter, Jon,” he bristled and again began moving along the length of the trailer.

  Keep telling yourself that, you delusional son-of-a-bitch.

  “I’m going to kill her and, when I do, I’ll be done with you,” Perry went on.

  Jon Sherrard laughed inside of his mind. Didn’t you just say she was vital to the next phase of the plan? Kind of hard to do that if she’s dead.

  “Shut up!”

  Face it, Perry. You’re only doing what it makes you do. You…

  A stab of light stopped him and Jon Sherrard found himself looking through his own eyes again for a brief moment. A car had turned the corner and was coming up on the rear of the rig, its headlights illuminating the scene. Suddenly, a blackness far deeper and thicker than he had ever known descended upon him and Jon Sherrard knew no more.

  Perry Edwards had only a fraction of a second more awareness than Jon, enough to feel the loss of complete control as something caused Jon’s body to vault itself over the side of the rig and out of the car’s headlights.

  Then the blackness took him, too.

  The Horde had come.

  Chapter 34

  United States Government Mobile Lab, Helena, Montana: “There!” Lieutenant Martz called out, pointing through the windshield of the car as they approached the mobile lab.

  “What?” Alders and Bolson asked in unison, peering at the darkened rig.

  “What did you see?” Alders added.

  “Someone was on the roof,” she said excitedly, her eyes scanning the area around the rig that was illuminated by the car’s headlights.

  “I don’t see anyone, Dani,” Bolson said, forgetting for a moment where he was. “Are you sure?”

  “There was a man on the top of the rig,” she answered. “He went over the side as soon as we turned the corner. I only saw him for a second.”

  “Look,” Alders pointed out as he slowed the car to a stop behind the trailer. “Power’s out on the rig. Even the running lights are off on the trailer.”

  “Mobile labs operate in secrecy,” Martz pointed out. “They probably wouldn’t even run the lights.”

  “They would if they don’t want local law enforcement knocking on the door,” Alders said. “What’s the manpower compliment of one of your labs?”

  “Typically a two-man driving crew,” the major replied. “From one to four scientists in the lab itself, depending on what the project is.”

  “Security measures?”

  “The lab is sealed from the inside during an operation. It is usually kept locked down by an outside source. In this case, that’s probably General Hawthorne.”

  “Any fail safes?”

  “Hard to say,” Bolson shrugged. “Ops vary, as do security measures.”

  “Best guess?”

  “Sorry, agent, but I don’t have one. What’s happening here is unprecedented.”

  Alders snorted and opened the door, stepping out into the night. He pulled his weapon and waited for Martz and Bolson to do the same. They were computer geeks and generally went unarmed when they went about their work, but he had insisted earlier that they carry their weapons at all times.

  “Let’s assume that Lieutenant Martz did, in fact, see a person on top of the rig,” Alders said quietly. “That means it was likely Jon Sherrard.”

  “What would he be doing here?”

  “I imagine it’s because his wife is inside,” Alders retorted. “Scientist like you should have easily made that connection already.”

  “But how would he know that?”

  “You’re the ace that created that thing that’s inside of him. You figure it out. In the meantime, we need to assume that he’s in the area.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Driver check,” Alder said shortly, moving forward, his weapon and flashlight out. “Stay with me and be alert.”

  Together, they moved quickly along the side of the trailer. The trailer was an unremarkable refrigerated Great Dane, at least on the outside. The reefer unit was silent. The Kenworth tractor was shut down, too, and Alders noted that the driver’s side door was open. He swept the beam of his light around and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, hurried toward the open cab door. That was where ordinary ended and the horror began. The inside of the cab looked like a bomb had gone off. It was splashed with blood, and what remained of the driver, or drivers, was only so much biological remnants spattered on the floor, seats, and ceiling. Alders didn’t need to see anything else to know what had happened and he quickly snapped the flashlight away from the grisly scene.

  “He’s here,” he said quietly, turning back to the two military people who had not yet seen the inside of the truck cab.

  “What about the drivers?”

  “They’re dead,” Alders answered quickly and then held out a hand to stop Martz from going any further. “Trust me,” he added, his voice soft. “You don’t want to see that.”

  “But if…”

  “You don’t want to see that,” he repeated grimly. “Let’s get the lab opened up.”

  “Not possible without power,” Bolson said, his voice tight. “Loss of power locks the entire lab down.”

  “What about those inside?”

  “An auxiliary power source runs air and other essentials,” the major answered. “That’s located inside the trailer itself. The refrigerator unit on the trailer is actually the generator that powers the lab itself when it’s in operation. I’ll check it out.”

  Before Alders could object, Bolson grabbed the hand-bar on the tractor’s faring and swung himself up onto the catwalk to get at the reefer unit. He never saw the figure of Jon Sherrard materialize out of the darkness between the cab extenders. Alders’ shouted warning was too late as the alien appendages whipped through the air. Several of them wrapped themselves around Bolson’s arms and legs, immobilizing him as another plunged into the doomed man’s abdomen. Thomas Bolson let out a startled gasp and a low moan as he was held up for several agonizing seconds.

  On the ground, Alders’ first shot went high as he made a conscious effort not to kill Bolson. His second shot might have found it’s mark, because a moment later, Bolson was falling forward, clutching his gut as Sherrard vanished into the gloom on the other side of the truck.

  “Tom!” Martz shouted in alarm, rushing forward as Bolson’s body slumped off the catwalk and to the ground.

  “Keep your weapon out!” Alders commanded, his eyes darting around, wondering where Sherrard would come from next.

  Martz ignored him, holstering her sidearm and kneeling beside her partner and sometimes-lover. His face was already bathed in sweat and his mouth was working, as if he was a fish out of water. “Tom,” she said, running her hand across his forehead. He was burning up. “Hold on.”

  Alders knelt beside her, keeping his weapon out. He looked quickly at the hole in the man’s gut as Martz ripped open his uniform to get a better look at the injury. It was a puncture wound, but there was very little bleeding. The hole itself was dark, almost black, and the edges were red and puckered. A little blood leaked from it, but not like is should have been. Something was keeping him from bleeding out and it looked like some kind of ball was located just underneath his skin. The lump was almost the size of a baseball and very pronounced.

  “What is that?” Alders asked as Martz’s fingers dancing lightly over the protrusion.

  “Foreign substance of some kind,” she answered quickly. “It’s firm, but pliable.”

  “Sherrard put something inside of him,” Alders guessed.

  Martz simply nodded, looking back to Bolson face. It was white with pain, but his eyes were open and bl
inking rapidly. His mouth continued to work, but nothing came out. “We have to get him to a hospital,” she said hurriedly.

  “I don’t think he’s got that kind of time,” Alders replied, snapping on his flashlight and shining it on the wounded man’s face. What they saw caused them both to withdraw in horror. Raised lines, almost like veins, were beginning to appear on his face, running along his cheeks, jaw, and across his forehead. They were black and pulsed visibly under the light.

  “What about the lab?” she asked helplessly.

  Before Alders could reply, the sound of tearing metal ripped through the night and a man’s scream erupted from the darkness. Alders jumped to his feet and hesitated, turning both ways before realizing that the noise had come from the front of the trailer. “Stay with him,” he hissed to Martz. Crouching low, he hurried along the side of the trailer, stopping at the edge. Counting to three, he spun around the corner, his weapon ready.

  He was too late.

  One of the trailer doors had been torn from its hinges and hung at an angle off the side of the trailer. Inside the trailer, he saw only darkness. He brought up his flashlight and swept it through the back of the trailer, rapidly taking everything in. A raised examination table sat in the center of what was a highly functional mobile lab, but it was empty. A sheet had been discarded and was lying just inside the trailer door. Of Jon Sherrard, he saw nothing. But the trailer lab was not otherwise empty. A white-coated man was crouched in the far corner, his eyes wide and terrified.

  Seeing no immediate threat, Alders quickly hauled himself up into the trailer. “Are you okay, sir?” he asked, training the flashlight on the man.

  The scientist hesitated only a second before his eyes cleared and he stood up. “Yes, yes,” he stammered, his voice quivering. “I’ll be fine. Who are you?”

  “Agent Rick Alders, Homeland Security. You?”

  “Doctor Travis Timpson.”

  “Can you tell me what happened, Doctor Timpson?”

  “Being that you’re here, I imagine I have nothing to add to what you probably already know,” the doctor replied, a slight edge to his voice.

  “Where’s Sherrard?” Alders took a guess.

  “He’s not here, agent. He got what he came for.”

  “What was that?”

  “His wife.”

  Alders looked at the empty gurney and shook his head. This whole thing was out of control, and he had to figure out how to regain it quickly. “Doctor,” he said, looking up. “We have an injured man outside.”

  “How badly?”

  “Hard to say,” Alders said, holstering his weapon. He didn’t know why, but he knew they were out of danger for the moment. Sherrard had claimed what he came for. He had no more reason to hang around the trailer. “I need you to see if you can help him.”

  “I’ll need power,” Timpson said helplessly. “Sherrard must have cut it.”

  “I’ll get the unit running,” Alders said. Turning around, he jumped down from the trailer. “Martz!” he called out, hurrying to where she was still kneeling beside her friend. Alder’s stopped short, looking down and sweeping his flashlight over the man’s features. He was appalled at how much he had changed in the past couple minutes. Whatever was happening to Thomas Bolson, it was happening quickly. “Martz,” he said, bending down and gripping the wounded man’s shoulder. “We need to get him into the lab. Hurry!”

  Together, they hoisted Bolson to his feet and Alders helped steady Martz. “Get him inside,” he said quickly. “I’ll get the power back up.” Without waiting for a reply, he swung himself up on the catwalk and had only a momentary hesitation at remembering what had happened to Bolson. Shoving his fear down deep, he aimed the beam of his light over the power unit. He saw the hole punched into the casing almost immediately. Putting the flashlight in his mouth, he popped open the panel and surveyed the damage. It was minimal. Sherrard had only severed some wiring and Alders quickly went to work repairing it. He had the power back on in under three minutes and then hurried to the back of the trailer and climbed into the lab.

  Timpson and Martz had laid Bolson on the gurney and were bent over him, trying to save him. Timpson had used a scalpel to open the stomach wound, exposing the mass that had been just underneath the surface of his skin. Under the now-bright lights of the lab, he could see it clearly. It was dark gray, almost black, and seemed to be pulsing. Its surface was lined with small ridges and had numerous thin filaments protruding from it. These filaments shot off in all different directions, buried deeper inside the man’s body.

  Fighting down his revulsion, Alders looked at Bolson’s face. Unfortunately, it barely resembled what it had in the past. Thomas Bolson no longer had a mouth—instead a chitin-like coating of new skin sealed it closed. That same scaly shell seemed to cover not only Bolson’s mouth, but most of his face and skin, disappearing beneath his clothing.

  “What’s happening to him?” he asked in shock.

  “I don’t know for certain, but I would guess he is being reformed.”

  “Into what?”

  “Some type of drone, I would assume,” Timpson replied, shaking his head. “I think Mister Sherrard might be trying to create a soldier.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Do you have a better explanation?” Timpson snapped, his head down as he probed the mass that seemed to be feeding the physiological change happening in Thomas Ayer’s body. The mass wasn’t hard, but as he pressed a probe into its surface, several tendrils shot out of it, wrapping around the cold metal. With a startled shout, Timpson let go of the probe and snapped his hand back.

  “It’s alive, isn’t it?” Martz asked in horror as she watched the tendrils slip back inside the mass.

  “In a sense, yes,” Timpson answered. “I would hypothesize that it is some kind of nanite-based organism, controlled by Mister Sherrard and transforming this young man into something that will serve him.”

  “And you believe that’s a drone soldier?” Alders asked.

  Timpson nodded and looked back to the young man’s face. It was no longer recognizable. He reached down and tried to pull one of the eyelids back, but the flesh was hard and the lid refused to open—at least until Bolson snapped open his eyes himself, revealing solid black orbs.

  Timpson uttered a startled cry and fell back as Bolson sat up on the table. His hand shot out, fingers closing on Martz’s throat. She tried to scream, but her air was cut off and she beat helplessly on the creature’s armored forearm.

  Alders immediately pried frantically at the man’s fingers, but his grip was too strong and the agent could see blood beginning to well up around the fingers. Bolson was literally crushing her throat. As Danielle Martz’s eyes began to roll back in her head, Alders pulled his weapon and put three bullets center mass into the creature’s chest. Bolson responded by swinging his other arm to the side, clubbing Alders aside and sending him crashing into one of the lab’s work stations.

  He stood up, holding Martz’s feebly-kicking body off the floor. A high-pitched buzzing sound suddenly ripped through the trailer and Doctor Timpson buried an electric bone saw into the back of Bolson’s neck, just below the skull. The creature shuddered and suddenly Martz was free, falling to the floor in a heap. But Timpson kept pushing the saw deeper, forcing the whirling blade through the toughened armor-like skin, severing the spinal column. Ayers fell forward and Timpson continued to work the saw, finally severing the creature’s head completely. Only then did it finally go still.

  Wincing in pain from the force of the blow he had received from Bolson, Agent Alders crawled quickly over to the young woman’s body. She was face down and he gently turned her over. He only needed a moment to realize she was dead. Her throat had been crushed, the flesh mashed into a pulp by the force of the creature’s fingers.

  Gritting his teeth, he climbed to his feet and looked at what remained of Thomas Bolson. The man’s body had been almost totally covered with the hard, fibrous armor, and his face had been al
most completely erased. Only Timpson’s quick thinking with the bone saw had saved them.

  “If Sherrard is making soldiers…” he began, looking down at the severed head.

  Timpson finished the thought. “We’re screwed, Mister Alders,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Nothing more needs to be said. If Jon Sherrard isn’t stopped, the human race is over.”

  “Can he be stopped?” Alders asked, looking up.

  “Wish I knew,” Timpson replied with a sigh. “But you better move quickly if you want any shot at stopping him.”

  “Why?”

  “He came here specifically to get Jen Sherrard,” Timpson answered plainly. “I can think of only one reason that a male AI life form would need a female.”

  “Reproduction,” Alders guessed immediately. “But wasn’t that what this was all about?” he added, pointing to the major’s headless body.

  “This?” Timpson scoffed. “This was just a quick drone creation. He could probably make these in numbers we don’t even want to fathom.”

  “So what does he need Jen for?”

  “With Jen, he could conceivably procreate.”

  “You mean make more copies of himself?”

  “That would be my guess,” Timpson nodded gravely.

  Rick Alders stood silently, processing what had happened and the possible outcomes. In the end, there were only two ways out of this. They would either have to stop Jon Sherrard, or the end of humanity was all but inevitable. Reaching down, he retrieved his gun and slid it back into his shoulder holster. “Get on the horn with whoever your contact is and get reinforcements headed here as quickly as possible.”

  Timpson shook his head sadly. “I can tell you right now, that will do no good,” he answered. “If my superiors don’t have confirmation that the threat is contained, they’ll destroy this city.”

  “Are you serious?” he asked in shock.

  “They have a pretty good idea about what’s going on here,” the doctor went on. “They will leave the entire state of Montana a smoking, radioactive ruin before they even consider any other alternative.”