by John O'Brien
Circling the first marked building, Robert places a single round into it. The eruption of fire and smoke scatters debris far into an adjacent parking lot. There’s a breeze blowing, and the smoke clears quickly showing that the building has fallen in on itself – a jumble of concrete, plaster, and rebar. Small plumes of smoke drift upward from the rubble and are whisked away in the wind. Scanning the building, the sense of the night runners that used it as shelter is gone.
We hit several other buildings in the same fashion, but soon find our time whittling away. There always seems to be another small group in another structure. Frank was right, there has been an influx of night runners around the bases. We have a choice to continue demolishing buildings or continue our scouting. We have verified Frank’s sightings, but I won’t be able to sleep comfortably tonight until I also verify that we are clear from any imminent attack. With that thought, I radio base to let them know of our findings and proceed to search for any signs of vehicles or encampments.
The rest of the flight is much the same – finding scattered groups of night runners in urban areas – although I note the farther north we travel, the denser the packs become. As we travel east and south, they dissipate dramatically. All of the monitors are running and we should be able to pick out heat signatures, but there’s no sign of a buildup or human group. It takes a few hours, but we cover north, east, and south out to a range of three hundred miles. I would like to go out farther as a fast-moving military convoy can travel almost four hundred miles in a night. However, we just don’t have the time to cover that much area and be back before dark.
Upon returning, I notice a convoy of Strykers , Humvees, loaded flatbed trucks, and tanker trucks heading south down Interstate 5. Contacting base, I find that the runway hasn’t been finished; we’ll have to set down at McChord. Hopefully we’ll be able to move the aircraft in the morning.
Into the Sunset
The compound is a bustle of activity – our plans being put into motion. The consolidation of our resources takes some of the work crews, but others continue working on our housing. At the southern end of the compound, machinery and crews are carving out a runway and associated ramp space. All-in-all, it’s a good sight to behold. Many things are coming together, but I feel the looming pressure of time. With the late afternoon closing in, I step into the darker interior of Cabela’s.
Harold is at one of the tables staring intently at the screen of a laptop, its blue light reflecting off his face. He shakes his head and his fingers move rapidly across the keyboard before he returns to stare at it intently once again. Looking up quickly as I make my way across the first floor, he waves me frantically to him.
“Any luck?” I ask, coming to stand at his shoulder.
Swiveling in his chair to face me, he answers, “I don’t even know where to begin.”
“How about in the middle?” I respond.
“What?”
“I’m kidding. I’ve always found the beginning to be the best place. Let’s try that,” I state, glancing at an open document on the screen.
Harold sighs heavily and takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “You were right to take this hard drive, although not for the reasons you initially thought. There were more than a few hidden, locked files. The algorithm wasn’t that hard to figure out, but it’s as I suspected, the director was definitely in on this,” Harold says.
“In on what?” I ask, trying to make sense of the files spread across the laptop screen.
With another sigh, Harold spins back to face the laptop. “There are files here denoting locations, test results, goals, maps of facilities, lists of names, transmission modes, a—”
“Whoa. Slow down, Harold,” I interrupt.
“…few corrupted files, satellite control, nanotechnology,” Harold continues as if I had merely blown hot air into the room.
I reach down and grab his shoulder, making him turn to meet my eyes.
“Harold, slow…the fuck…down. What are you talking about?” I ask, having gained his undivided attention.
“I told you I didn’t know where to start,” he murmurs, turning to the screen once again.
With another deep sigh, he rubs his face. “Okay, remember our conversation about the rogue network and me getting in there momentarily?”
“Only too well,” I reply.
“Keep that conversation in mind as I go through this,” he says, closing the documents on the screen, but leaving one in place.
“This,” Harold says, pointing to the screen, “is a report from test results conducted with nanotechnology. I haven’t read through the entire thing but, from what I have read, it shows results of various transmission modes to administer nanobots.”
“Nanobots? And you mean transmission to people?” I ask with a sick feeling settling in my stomach.
“Yes. And the ones mentioned here are particularly nasty ones. They adhere to the cerebral cortex,” Harold answers.
“And?”
“They contain small explosives.” Harold pauses to let the emphasis of what he is saying settle in.
“This was tested?” I ask, the sick feeling settling deeper.
“Yes. With varied results. The transmission was tested with food, liquids, aerosols, and a few others…including vaccines,” Harold answers, emphasizing the last.
“Fuck me,” is all I can reply with. “This still sounds like contingency planning and think-tank stuff. They test nasty shit all of the time. It doesn’t mean it’s enacted.”
With a small shake of his head, Harold pulls up another file. “This says differently.”
“What am I looking at now?”
“This,” Harold says, pointing at the screen again, “is a plan initiating the whole mess. It lists a phased approach…building locations, facility maps, along with the goal of emerging and taking control of resources…the whole thing.”
“Still, it’s just a plan in a document. There must be a thousand such plans nestled in computers everywhere. There is a contingency plan for almost everything. Again, that doesn’t mean they are put into place and acted on,” I state.
“True, except for several emails I culled out.” Harold opens yet another document. “These messages detail information about putting the nanobots into the Capetown flu vaccine. If I read these correctly, they put these in two-thirds of the vaccines distributed.”
The room feels both colder and warmer at the same time. All else fades from my consciousness except Harold and the screen with the open documents. As if this world wasn’t fucked up enough, it suddenly becomes more so as I read through several emails that Harold consolidated.
“So, let me get this straight. This all says that this was a planned event. Whoever this was, or is, administered these nanobots with the intention of killing off two-thirds of the population, effectively destroying the infrastructure, and then they planned to emerge and take control of the resources?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Harold responds.
“So, the deaths weren’t from the flu at all, but from these nanobots?” I say, more rhetorically than as an actual question. “How does that explain the night runners?”
“Here’s the funny thing. I don’t think the deaths were from the bots at all. I think they were actually from the vaccine itself. With regards to the night runners, I can’t find any indication in any of the tests mentioning DNA alterations. I get the feeling that it’s something they didn’t see and comes from the vaccine itself rather than something concocted. I think it really messed up their plans.”
“How do you know that?”
“There are several urgent messages that were passed back and forth asking what was going on. The replies come back with how they don’t know. Then…nothing,” Harold answers.
“If that’s true, then the nanobots are still there,” I state.
“So it would seem,” Harold replies.
“And they can initiate this, well, destruction anytime they want,” I comment.
; “I think so. Although…”
“Go on,” I say.
“Well, the vaccine pretty much took care of the population in that regard. Only ones who took the vaccine would be at risk, and most of those either died or became night runners,” Harold states.
“So, if that’s true, then why haven’t they initiated these nanobots? Why are we still seeing so many night runners?” I ask.
“Keep in mind that only two-thirds of the vaccines contained the bots according to these reports. Maybe they were initiated and what we’re seeing is what is left. Maybe the DNA changes altered the bots in some way. I don’t know the answer to that one.”
I realize that I’ve gone from a skeptic to a believer. It makes sense with what we are seeing. However, it still points to the fact that it was the flu vaccine rather than this plan that brought about the downfall, created the night runners, and brought us to where we are now. It also means that this group is possibly still out there.
“Okay, let’s leave that for now. Did you find out anything about this group? Where they are located? How many are we talking about?” I ask.
Harold closes the files currently open and opens a few others.
“According to what I’ve managed to find so far, there are, or were, thirty-two sites across the world,” Harold answers.
“Thirty-two sites?! That puts us against something much larger. What kind of size and arsenal are we looking at?”
“Quite substantial on both accounts. Enough so that they could walk over us while enjoying a refreshing beverage,” Harold responds.
“Then why haven’t they?”
“Now that’s the question. By the timeline established in the plan document, they should have emerged and taken control. We should have seen them by now.”
“This team and their attempt could be the beginning of that emergence,” I say.
“I don’t know about that. Like I said, it appears the vaccine itself may have screwed their up plans. I found several indications that the sites mentioned weren’t able to come into operation due to the swiftness of the spread. All sites, that is, except this one,” Harold says, pointing to a document on the screen. “This appears to have been manned before the vaccine was distributed and, by all indications, it still may be. The notes show that this is a command and control facility. It doesn’t seem this place has a large arsenal, but only houses a security force, along with technicians, and a communications center. I think this is where our friend came from.”
I look closer at the document on the screen. The facility doesn’t have a name associated with it other than the designation, A-CC-1. The coordinates show an underground location approximately twenty miles to the northeast of Denver. Scrolling through the pages, I come across a blueprint detailing the facility layout. I don’t see anything about any defenses or a complete layout of their equipment. It only notes that there is a battalion in place as a security force along with an accompanying equipment list of Humvees and a small number of Strykers. This force far outweighs anything we have in regards to personnel.
Leafing through some of the other sites, I hope that Harold is correct in that they aren’t in operation. The details show armored vehicles and personnel to spread out to nearby bases to take control of the forces there – armored vehicles, weapons, and aircraft.
After a brief look, I see it wouldn’t take a genius to know that we wouldn’t last but more than a couple of seconds should we ever encounter this armada. The battalion in place at the command and control facility is more than we can handle on the ground. The Spooky is the only thing that would keep the balance should this force come against us. The pressure of time weighs even heavier. There’s so much to do and, although we have this information, there is so much more that we don’t know. If this is the group who sent the shooter against us, at least we now have a location. We are still way behind the curve with regards to capabilities, though.
After leaning over Harold’s shoulder for so long, I straighten and attempt to stretch the tightness out of my back. I would like to stretch the tension out of my whole body and soul, but this will have to do.
“Thanks, Harold…I think. Do me a favor and print out everything you find on that facility. And dig deeper to see if you can find a definite status on those other facilities. I want you at the group meeting tonight. And, if I hear a single, ‘I told you so’…”
“Hey, I wish this shit wasn’t true, believe me. And I’ll be there.”
I leave to clean up and have a bite to eat. What Harold found occupies the entirety of my mind. Lynn tries to strike up a conversation about something or another, but I merely grunt and nod my responses as I try to sort through the information. I notice the buzz of her attempts at conversation go quiet. That, in itself, sets off an internal alarm. We’ve been together long enough to know that isn’t a good sign. I turn to look at her.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” she asks.
More internal alarms.
“Of course I have,” I answer, quickly plowing through my memory to see if I can remember anything she did say. No luck.
“Okay, what did I just say?”
“That you like toasted bagels,” I say, throwing out the shield of humor in an effort to block what I know is coming next.
“Yeah, Jack, that’s exactly what I said.”
“Look, I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask.
“I asked you how the flight went.”
“Fine,” I respond.
Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, she rises and walks off. I hear her mutter something about “men”, “dense-headed”, and something else that sounds a lot like my skin being removed. I’m also pretty sure my heritage was called into question. It’s good to have her back. I sigh and return to my food, the thoughts once again crowding into my “apparently” limited head space.
I think about heading over to talk with our prisoner again, but the information Harold found can’t wait. At my request, the others gather to meet earlier than normal. It seems like there is a never-ending stream of things coming at us and I wonder how long we can last. It’s not that I feel like giving up, or in, or whatever, but it’s just exhausting at times when we are constantly confronted by danger. I also wonder just how long our sanity will prevail. It’s like swimming into a riptide. We must swim to keep our position, but we don’t ever seem to be gaining any ground. Yes, I know, swim to the side; but where is the side in this situation?
“I’ve brought Harold because he found some rather…um…interesting information on the hard drive we brought back from the CDC director’s office,” I say, starting the meeting. “I think I’ll leave it to him to explain.”
In a better sequence than how he told me, Harold explains what he found. Similar questions to the ones I had are asked and answered to the best of his, and my, ability. Harold finishes delivering the information to a very shocked group.
“Frank, just out of curiosity, do you know how many of us in the compound took the vaccine?” I ask.
Frank shakes his head slightly, coming out of whatever thoughts were cycling through his head.
“I’m sorry, Jack. What?”
I repeat the question.
“I remember us looking into this a while ago. I think eight, but that’s not including any of our newer arrivals,” Franks answers.
“Find out, would you. And I need to know who. I know this may sound harsh, but if they decide to trigger this technology, I don’t want others at risk if it’s done at the wrong moment,” I state.
“You mean, anyone on the teams or in a leadership capacity,” Lynn comments.
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” I say.
“Will do, Jack. I’ll see to it in the morning,” Frank replies.
“Jack, you asked me to look further into the files. I’m reasonably sure the other facilities weren’t manned, and therefore, aren’t operational. The only other thing I found is that this command and control facility seems to be run by something o
r someone named Nahmer,” Harold chimes in.
“Nahmer?! Are you sure about that?” I ask, startled.
“As reasonably sure as I can be,” Harold says.
I’m sure there was a resounding thud as my jaw hit the floor. I’m stunned into silence.
Lynn notices my reaction more than the others. They seem only partially here as they sift through the information.
“Does that mean something to you, Jack?” Lynn asks.
“I’ve heard that name before, and I’m not even sure it’s real person. As the story goes, she was one of Mossad’s most successful agents and led several assassination squads. That was all hearsay though and, as far as I know, never really verified. It was more of a boogeyman kind of thing,” I answer.
“That would explain the attempted hit,” Frank says.
“I don’t know. While we may have this info, there isn’t really anything to connect them with our being targeted. It could be something completely different,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Jack. If this information is true, it’s pretty easy to connect the dots. We are a strong enough threat to them taking control of resources, especially now that they may be limited,” Lynn states.
“While that may be true, the only thing that can actually connect the two is our prisoner,” I comment.
It’s then that I notice that Drescoll isn’t with us. Perhaps it’s because he usually chimes in about now with an opinion. I’m sure I would have noticed that he wasn’t here if so many other thoughts weren’t crowding my mind.
“Where’s Drescoll?” I ask.
The others turn toward where he normally sits, perplexed as I that he isn’t there.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since this afternoon,” Bannerman says.
“Shit,” I say, rising. “Lynn, find his team and find out where he is.”
“Okay, Jack. Where are you going?”