Beckham looked at the floor. An emptiness he hadn’t felt since his mother’s death filled him, like a vacuum had suddenly sucked out his insides.
“Let’s take a moment to remember our fallen brothers, men who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country,” Clinton said. He bowed his head, the glare from the overhead LEDs glowing off his shiny skull. “Your service will never be forgotten.” Clinton formed the sign of the cross and then swept his gaze across the faces of the assembled men. Beckham caught a glimpse of what he thought was grief. It was gone in the blink of an eye.
“Like so many other times in the past, we don’t have time to mourn our brothers. A situation, as you are all aware, has developed in Chicago. A suspected outbreak of the Ebola virus has hit the city. Brass is saying this is unprecedented. That we should prepare for the worst. I’m going to be honest. I’ve never seen anything like this in my career.” He looked at the television. Another headline crept across the bottom of the screen.
FEMA Arrives to Chaos.
Beckham felt a chill run through his body. How the fuck was that possible? The infection had shown up in Chicago less than twenty-four hours ago. How could it be spreading so fast?
He then remembered Tenor, the confusion on his face—the fear. And then he remembered the symptoms: the vomiting, the red blotches, the bruising and the hemorrhaging. The man had been infected for minutes, maybe less, before he started to change.
“Brass is working on contingency plans in case this thing spreads farther,” Clinton said before adding in a deeper tone, “I suspect it will.” He paused and reached for the remote as a new line of text scrolled across the display.
“Governor Paxton declares a state of emergency and activates the National Guard to help with evacuations,” a female reporter said. “Anyone in the following counties, please make your way out of the city in a calm and—”
Clinton shut the television off and faced the teams. “Steel yourself. This is only the beginning. For those of you that need to get caught up on sleep, I suggest doing so.” He grabbed both sides of the podium, his hands forming fists as he gripped the wood. “Any questions?”
Riley raised his hand, waiting for Clinton to acknowledge him with a nod before saying, “What will our role be in all of this, sir?”
The colonel shook his head. “That’s the first damn question I haven’t been able to answer in my entire career. Would you believe that?”
A few of the operators chuckled nervously.
“Son, I haven't a damn clue.”
By sunset the post was in chaos. Transportation aircraft roared overhead as they took off into the clouds, their rumble fading as they crossed the darkening horizon.
Beckham watched them disappear and pulled a cigarette reluctantly from Horn’s pack of Camels. The burly man faked a smile, showing off a broken tooth he’d gotten when an Afghani kid had thrown a brick at their team. The boy couldn’t have been more than seven years old, his face a mixture of smeared dirt and blood. He was lucky Horn hadn’t turned his M27 on him. Beckham had seen a trigger-happy Ranger kill an Iraqi teenager after a similar incident. The boy had also tossed a brick, but when he ran the soldier mowed him down.
The image would be with Beckham for the rest of his life.
They took a seat on the curb, watching the sky. Like the crimson sun drifting across the horizon, he found his mind drifting through the violent images of his past. His mind had become a photo album of death, and he was filling it with more images every day.
“You okay, Boss?” Horn asked. He took a long drag from his cigarette and held the smoke inside his lungs with his jaw clenched shut.
Beckham nodded. “Just remembering.”
“I get those moments, too. We all do.” Horn exhaled the cloud of smoke over his shoulder and flicked the cigarette onto the concrete. He reached for another and said, “Tenor, Panda, and Edwards all knew the risks, man. And they trusted you. We all trusted you, and me and Riley, we still do. You got us out of Building 8. If you had listened to Caster, we'd all be dead.”
Beckham nodded again. This time it was more to himself, like he was trying to justify his thoughts.
“We'd all give our lives for one another,” Horn added. He hunched over, placing his hands on his knees and stretching his back.
“Why is the pain always worse when it’s inflicted on one of our brothers?” Beckham ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, I’d rather take a bullet than see you hit.”
Horn nodded and took a short drag from his cigarette. Exhaling the smoke through his nostrils, he said, “Because that’s what it’s like to be a family. I feel the same way about Tasha, Jenny, and Sheila. I’d rather burn in hell for eternity than see them suffer.”
“I’d give anything to see my mom and dad again,” Beckham replied.
They sat there in silence for a beat until Horn chuckled and slapped Beckham’s knee. “We need to get you a girlfriend, man. You know that? You need a woman. A real woman.” Horn laughed as he stood. “You know what my wife has always said.”
Beckham knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to laugh with his friend. “And you know what I’ve always said.”
“You love Delta Force more than you could ever love any woman,” a deep voice said mockingly behind them.
The metal door to the barracks slammed shut. Riley stood on the top step, holding a bottle of Jameson. He was laughing hysterically. Gripping his chest, Riley chuckled some more. “Do I need to remind you of Kitty’s words? You know, that dancer from The Bing. She said you’re the best looking soldier she’d ever seen.”
“Don’t start,” Beckham said. “I’ve had my fair share of flings and girlfriends. They never worked out because I care more about this,” he pointed to his uniform, “Than some yoga instructor or smoking hot barista.”
“That’s not the only reason,” Horn remarked. He flashed a skeptical glare at his friend and flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the ground. “You’re afraid to get close to people because of your parents. You’ve been this way since I met you.”
A pair of streetlights outside of their barracks clicked on as the last hint of the sun faded away under a carpet of darkness. The darkness matched the feeling rising like a tide inside of him.
“You’re right man, but it’s just easier that way. I have my men to worry about. I don’t need a woman. Complicates things. Can’t have some girl on my mind when I’m trying to shoot bad guys.”
Riley chuckled. “I like complicated women.”
“You mean like that one you thought was a girl? Now that’s complicated!” Horn said, bursting into a deep laugh. He spied the bottle of booze in Riley’s hand and said, “Give that here.”
“Fuck you, man,” Riley replied. “That was an honest mistake.” He downed two gulps and then handed it off.
Horn raised it in the air and said, “Tonight we drink for Tenor, Edwards, and Panda.” He took a long swig from the bottle and ran a sleeve across his mouth before pushing it toward Beckham. “It’s the least we can do.”
Beckham grabbed the bottle. “To our fallen brothers,” he said. He gulped down the whiskey and felt it burn as it slid down his throat and settled in his gut. Tonight he welcomed the burn.
The three drank in silence, watching another plane take off in the distance. As the ground rumbled, Beckham knew everything was about to change. That the world was never going to be the same. What had happened in Building 8 was only the beginning. The next day was going to be a big day for the United States military.
-10-
Kate sat at her desk outside the BSL4 lab thinking she could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, but she knew that was impossible. Their lab wasn’t just airtight, it was underground. The faint noise reminded her she still hadn’t heard back from Javier. Her little brother was in the thick of the outbreak, and for the first time in her life she couldn’t do anything to protect him.
Frantic, she checked her phone again.
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No new messages.
She’d told him specifically the night before to send her a text first thing in the morning. It was almost 6 p.m. in Chicago. Something had gone wrong. She knew it.
“Kate, I just got off the phone with Pat. He’s okay, but is stranded at Fort Bragg,” Michael said.
“What do you mean stranded?”
“All military aircraft are reserved for evacuations.”
“In Chicago?”
Michael shook his head. “The country.”
Kate froze. There had to be some sort of mistake. “Where did you hear this?”
“Haven’t you checked your email?”
She shook her head and jerked her chin toward her computer. “I’ve been waiting on the sequencing results. I want to get them into the bioinformatics software as soon as possible.”
He nodded but didn’t seem to be listening to her. His tone changed when he spoke again. There was a trace of fear. Something she’d never heard before.
“This thing is spreading like wildfire, Kate. Cases are popping up in Wisconsin, Iowa, even Ohio.”
“But how?”
Michael ran a hand over his bald scalp. “The incubation period varies. Some people don’t exhibit symptoms right away.”
Kate let out a long sigh of frustration. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, but in a few minutes I expect we will learn more. Jed Frank is hosting a nationwide conference call.”
Standing, Kate eyed Michael. “I hope to God they know more than we do.”
“Me too,” he said walking across the lab to his station. “I’ll stream the call through.”
She pulled up a lab stool, dragging the rolling chair across the shiny floor. Michael sat a few feet away, pulling up the video software on his laptop.
Kate repositioned a few strands of loose hair. All of the key CDC players would be on the feed, and she looked like shit. She’d seen the worry in her features earlier that morning.
After fumbling with the computer screen, Michael managed to swivel the monitor in their direction. As they connected to the conference she saw the other CDC scientists shared the same exhausted looks. Everyone was trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
She scanned the small facial images at the bottom of the screen. They were all there. Faces she hadn’t seen in months: Jim Harper from Vermont, Angela Johnson from Ohio, Richard Clay from New York, and a handful of others.
Deputy Director Frank linked to the call a few minutes later. He wasted no time. “Talk to me, people. Someone tell me they know what we’re dealing with.”
There was no response.
“Michael, give me some good news,” Frank pleaded.
“We’re sequencing the genome. Should be wrapping shortly.”
Frank pulled away from the screen and then leaned back in with narrowed eyebrows. “Here’s what I know and the chain of events. Patient zero was a scientist named Jim Pinkman who'd been working for the Medical Corps. He arrived in O’Hare from a flight that originated at San Nicholas Island. He was part of a team working on a cure for the new strain of Ebola that's active in Guinea.” Frank pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Colonel Gibson of USAMRIID said the lead scientist, a man named Medford, was using VX-99 to try and destroy the Ebola virus. But instead of killing the virus, the compound and virus bonded. The lab went offline several days ago. Gibson then called in a special team that included Pat Ellis to retrieve a sample of Medford’s work. The mission failed. We believe… I believe that Pinkman was infected with whatever the team was working on.”
“That’s what’s spreading in Chicago? Some sort of hybrid Ebola virus?” Jim Harper asked. “Are you kidding me? This is an outrage!”
“Calm down, Jim. Obviously no one knows exactly what we are dealing with. We only have theories. But whatever this is, it’s spreading fast. Due to varying incubation periods and the violent behavior of the infected, we’re looking at an unprecedented outbreak here, people.” He coughed into his hand and then looked up at the monitor with a grave stare.
“Good news is it’s not airborne. The first phase of the virus seems to occur minutes after infection. The symptoms are hallucinations, agonizing pain throughout the body, and itching. Some patients also exhibit extreme paranoia. The second phase is vomiting and hemorrhaging. Depending on the severity of the case, this occurs anywhere from minutes to hours. What happens next is where the virus takes a strange and terrifying turn.”
He blinked twice then continued. “The final stage of infection occurs when victims engage in extreme violent behavior. There are hundreds of cases of self-mutilation and cannibalization. Even worse are the physiological changes to their bodies.”
“That’s science fiction,” came a voice.
Richard Clay was frowning in his window of the screen. One of the older scientists, the doctor had a controversial and tumultuous past with the CDC.
“Lesch-Nyhan syndrome is the only disorder I’m aware of that causes such atrocious sympt—”
Frank cut him off. “I assure you. This is not science fiction. Surely you have seen the videos.”
Richard waved off the comment.
“As I was saying, suspected cases all exhibit violent behavior. Doctor Chad Roberts has been on the ground in Chicago since this started. He believes the Ebola virus has mutated. Our theory so far is that this mutation has something to do with VX-99.”
Several outbursts erupted over the call. Kate watched as her colleagues argued back and forth. After a few seconds Frank said, “Calm down, everyone. Please.”
Kate used the opportunity to interject. “Whatever this is, we need to pull together all of our resources. Bickering won’t solve anything.”
Releasing an audible sigh, Frank narrowed his eyebrows. “Dr. Lovato is right. I know this sounds like a nightmare, and I know you are all worried about your families. That’s why we need to pull together and find a way to stop this.”
Kate pulled her phone from under the table. The display was blank; still nothing from Javier. She felt a wave of panic rush through her. Focus, she thought. He had ample warning. He’s probably on the move, evacuating with the others.
Frank spun in his chair as an assistant walked into his room. The man whispered something in his ear. He quickly returned to the monitor wearing a mask of worry. “Shit. I have to go. I want to know the second someone finds something. The second!”
The screen fizzled and faded. Michael bowed his head toward the desk, defeated.
“This is it, Kate. I told you.”
“What?”
“The extinction level event. The virus has already spread too far. I’m not sure we can stop it.”
Kate felt her phone buzz and frantically looked away from the distraught doctor. An incoming message from Javier popped onto her screen. She felt her heart race.
Couldn’t make it out of the city. Will call you when I’m safe. Love you.
“My God,” Kate muttered.
“What is it?” Michael asked.
“My brother, Javier. He never made it out of the city.”
Michael’s lips moved, but he didn’t speak. Kate knew what he was thinking. She was thinking the same thing. The likelihood of Javier making it out of Chicago was diminishing by the minute.
Kate stood and scanned the room. She couldn’t think. The fear and emotional stress was overwhelming. Stumbling forward, she braced herself against the desk.
“Kate, are you okay?” Michael asked.
Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes. Shimmering arcs of light crossed her vision. She couldn’t breathe. Gasping, she braced herself with her other hand.
“Kate …,” he reached out for her. “Kate, are you okay?”
Finally she nodded and said, “Yes, I’m fine. Just got really light-headed. I need to call Javier.”
“Of course,” Michael said, glancing up at her with concern. “I should call my wife, she’s probably worried sick.”
Reaching for her phone, she swiped the screen to see an incoming call. Her heart skipped a beat. “Hello?”
“Kate. It’s me. Pat.”
She slouched in her chair and pointed at her phone, lipping the word, “Ellis,” to Michael. He acknowledged with a brief nod.
“Good to hear your voice,” Kate said, trying to conceal her disappointment that it wasn’t Javier. “When are you coming back here?”
“I’m not,” Ellis replied. “Well, I am, but we’re not staying.”
Kate paused, her nostrils flaring in confusion.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We’re being evacuated.”
“What? Where to?”
“Plum Island. Colonel Rick Gibson, Commander of USAMRIID has requested the CDC to send us to that location.”
Silence washed over the line as she considered the ramifications of leaving now. They hadn’t even finished the sequencing yet. And then they would have to run the results through the bioinformatics software. That was just the beginning.
“Kate?” Ellis asked.
“Sorry,” she said. “We can’t leave. We’ve hardly started our work.”
“Atlanta isn’t safe,” Ellis replied. “Plum Island apparently has BSL4 lab stations and the military will be there to protect us.”
Kate cupped her hand over the phone. “They want to evacuate us to Plum Island.”
“What?” Michael mumbled.
She removed her hand. “When are you coming?”
“Tomorrow,” Ellis replied.
She looked at Michael. He stood there with his arms crossed, staring back at her blankly. She remembered what he’d said earlier, that the virus had already spread too far to stop. Kate wasn’t ready to accept that notion. She was ready to prove him wrong—she was ready to fight.
“We’ll be ready,” she said.
Chad Roberts wiped a bead of sweat trickling off his forehead. Slowly he pulled back the plastic curtain he hid behind. The darkness of the empty hospital room greeted him.
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