Dark Cure: A Covid Thriller (Dark Plague Book 1)

by Bradley West

  The sound of a key in the lock jolted her out of the flow state. In came a squat man she hadn’t spoken with but knew as “Bomber” Horne. Not knowing what else to say, she opened with, “Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

  “I dunno. Is there somewhere else around here I can get my cock sucked?”

  “Leave now and I won’t mention it. If you don’t, I’ll scream. Your bosses don’t want my antibodies contaminated by your body fluids.”

  Horne’s face darkened in anger. “You forget where you are, bitch. You’ll do as I say and if I don’t like it, maybe I hurt your baby, or maybe I fuck you up. You tell anyone and I promise you’ll regret it. On your knees and lots of tongue action. Play with my balls too.”

  He broke eye contact to free his erection and testicles from behind his zipper. Not this, not now, not ever. Striding forward, she clenched her right hand as she straightened her left arm and jammed it under Horne’s chin. The man raised his arms in self-defense, but not before her right fist struck his larynx twice. His much stronger hands had her forearms in their grasp, so she pulled herself close and kneed him in the balls. His legs buckled and he let go. Using her freed hands, she attacked his eyes with her thumbs, striking home with her right but missing with her left, nails drawing blood across his forehead and cheek. She completed the move by gripping the back of the now-kneeling man’s head and pulling it down to meet a piledriver right knee to his front teeth. For good measure, she kicked his exposed genitals like she used to take penalty kicks in soccer. He wouldn’t be wanting a blowjob for quite a while.

  Stephanie panted with exertion but otherwise felt nothing out of place other than a bloody knee. Careful to lock the door behind her, she gathered the still-sleeping Tyson into her arms and headed into the hallway.

  * * * * *

  Carla recalled a W.C. Fields’ aphorism that Uncle Sal was fond of: “If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.” Holland had sent her team to select centrifuges as well as the ancillary equipment needed to create convalescent plasma treatments from the blood of Covid-20 sacrificial lambs. On the other hand, the constituent parts of an 896MX batching array differed from what plasma separation required, and she’d need a full set of the former to synthesize Nancy Jacobs’ formulation. Carla mixed up her equipment requisitions to keep the Livermore box-tickers from calling an end to their trip. The two warehousemen from Bettadapur’s ran around like headless chickens, fetching the bewildering mix she specified. Tina Francisco and Robert Nedd unpacked, powered up, and approved most of whatever they inspected, rejecting the odd functioning machine to further slow things down. Nearer to the dock, lab techs Tien and Flora cleaned, re-boxed and sealed the selected goods. A Bettadapur’s salesclerk scanned barcodes on the resealed boxes before they were loaded onto the Livermore delivery truck. With so many hands, the pace was fast—maybe too fast. Carla needed a critical mass of lab instruments on that truck in case the rescue team arrived early. She also had to drag out the acquisition process to ensure that they didn’t finish before the calvary arrived. Just to add spice to the mix, there were two off-duty cops around, probably as a response to last night’s failed raid.

  Carla approached Sleepy John and his clutch of equipment printouts. She could scarcely believe that he was the senior man on the ground. “How about you and I take a drive to pick up dinner? Maybe something finger-licking good?”

  John looked at her hard. She was playing with him, but to what end? Knockout redheaded scientists who earned the big bucks dated investment bankers and Silicon Valley bullshitters. On the other hand, everyone had been locked down for so long that people were hornier than teenagers on spring break. Maybe young Carla just wanted a diversion before she returned to Livermore’s basement to design more WMDs? Besides, what’s the worst thing that could happen, a slap in the face? “I’m more of a pizza man myself,” he said. “Let me ask one of the Bettadapur’s people to order a few pies for takeout, and you and I can pick them up.”

  “Don’t wait too long. I’m famished,” Carla said. She turned around and went back to her station, not trusting herself to keep a straight face.

  * * * * *

  Two hundred yards away, Sal and Melvin stood next to their vehicles. A sweaty Jaime jogged down the lane and rejoined them. While he’d been away, Melvin had inspected and loaded Travis’ two M-4s and Jaime’s rifle, plus sorted their miscellaneous pistols, magazines and web gear. Melvin had given Sal verbal instructions on the tactical rifles' use, but the older man was still leery. “As Jaime would tell you, half this game is intimidation and nuthin’ gets people’s attention like a big gun with a thirty-round mag.”

  Jaime interrupted to share his intel. “The front gate’s open and there are two vehicles there from Livermore—a moving truck and a small bus. Believe it or not, our white goods truck is where we left it last night. There’s an empty cop car and three other vehicles parked next to it: There could be eight people in addition to the three Livermore guards. There’s no way to know. We’ll have to wait and take them when they drive off.”

  Eleven people to neutralize? How were the three of them, even armed with automatic weapons, going to control so many men without casualties or someone raising the alarm? Sal was at a loss. “Did you see anyone?” he asked.

  “No, I didn’t go any farther than the parking lot between the buildings. I still have the keys to the truck.”

  “Those plates will be hot, but at least it won’t have a tracking device like the Livermore vehicles. Maybe we can load Carla’s equipment after all. If so, we’ll have to hit them here and reload all the boxes.”

  “If we had eyes inside, I could come up with a plan to take them where they are,” Jaime said.

  “I think I can arrange that,” a pensive Sal said. “I’ll climb in through the same window Travis used last night. Since they haven’t even towed our truck, they won’t have had a chance to fix the bathroom fan yet either. I’ll break into their AV room and look at the warehouse video feeds and text you what I see.”

  “You sure you want to do that? The men’s room is only thirty meters from the warehouse entrance. Our truck provides partial cover, but anyone in the area could spot you.”

  “You’re way too wide to fit through the gap. I’ll manage.”

  “Sounds like we need three drivers to pull this off,” Melvin said. “I can take the Audi: power steering and all that shit. Leave that lucky letter behind along with an M-4 and a Glock. Besides, I have a house in South San Fran where we can stay tonight if the roads are too dangerous.”

  Sal handed over Cruz’s handwritten letter giving Sal Maggio a free pass. “Just hope they don’t ask for your driver’s license if you get stopped. Tell them you’re from the south of Italy where my people run a little tanner.”

  Melvin forced a smile. He decided the man meant no offense but was tone-deaf like many rich white people. On the plus side, Sal had leadership skills and determination. On balance, Melvin was pleased he hadn’t shot Sal when he’d aimed at him that night in Stinson Beach, even if he had kicked him in the balls.

  Jaime handed Sal a handful of zip-ties and his Smith & Wesson. “There’s six in the cylinder, so don’t drop it. Use a firm two-handed grip, sight down the barrel and press the trigger like you did at the range. It’ll kick like a bitch. If it goes to shit, shoot them in the chest: There’s too many of them to fuck around. I’ll bring the clean M-4 for you as well.”

  * * * * *

  Stephanie hadn’t anticipated that the abductors would have locked the door to every external-facing classroom on the first floor. After seven or eight tries, she grew desperate. Tyson was awake, hungry and smelled his mother’s milk. He fussed and sought a nipple. No one had raised the alarm; maybe she still had time for a quick feed to quiet him down. If the doors into the gym weren’t locked and it was empty, she and Tyson could hide. If she were very lucky, the emergency exit doors wouldn’t be wired to explode. She followed the gym► pointers on the wall
and hustled down to the end of the long hallway.

  Burns carried a tray featuring tonight’s entree, cheeseburgers with pickles and neon yellow mustard, and crinkle-cut fries garnished with ketchup packets. He felt lightheaded after a long day of Tor browser installations and replying to customer inquiries. The lounge room key wasn’t in the lock. More disturbing was the sight of an inert form on the floor through the door’s window. The body lay face down, but Burns knew it had to be Horne from the fireplug physique. Burns rapped on the door, “Bomber! Let me in! It’s Fraser. Where’s the woman?”

  Horne raised himself onto all fours and turned his head toward the sound. His left eye socket was a bloody mess. His nose was smeared across his right cheek, upper lip split and swollen, with blood around his mouth and down his chin. Horne winced as he aborted an effort to speak, revealing toothless and bloody upper gums. He raised a hand to his damaged eye, then pitched forward onto his palms and vomited onto the carpet. Burns looked through the door’s window at extreme angles and confirmed there wasn’t anyone else within view. “Wait here! I’ll get help!” he shouted, set down his tray and ran. He hoped that Muller was still with Katerina in the science lab. Where Shuckies was, heaven only knew.

  * * * * *

  “Smiley” Shuckies prided himself on his fitness even though he was past fifty. He was an age-group podium finisher in the triathlon circuits held near his Napa home. He hated indoor workouts, but there wasn’t much else to do in this cruddy gym. He finished his thirty minutes on an inclined treadmill and toweled off. In walked their hostage with her son at her breast. “Why are you down here?” he asked in a neutral tone, pearly whites on display.

  “Fraser sent me to check out the equipment. He said I could workout starting tomorrow, and I wanted to see what was around. I’ll come back.” She turned to leave.

  “No! Come on in. I’ll show you around. It’s mostly just treadmills and stationary bikes, that crap housewives use while they watch TV.” He realized his faux pas. “No offense intended.”

  “None taken,” she said as the door clunked shut behind her. The exercise area occupied an area next to the basketball court, but she could see EXIT lit up in green at the other end above a steel door with a push handle. How to evade Shuckies? And then how to exit without triggering an alarm or blowing up her child and herself? She jumped as Shuckies’ cell phone buzzed.

  * * * * *

  This was Sal’s second solo adventure with a .357 magnum, assisted this time by a long-bladed screwdriver and hammer. His ballcap and sunglasses served as an attempt to foil facial recognition programs. He followed Jaime’s instructions and walked down the empty road, through Bettadapur’s open front gate and up to the showroom front door. The plan was to tug on the handle of the locked door, feign surprise, and meander around to the back while using the parked vehicles to shield his approach to the men’s toilet window.

  The plan fell apart when he pulled on the front door and it opened. He stepped into a chilly room as light through the double glass doors dimly illuminated various specialist equipment on the shelves. He ditched his sunglasses and felt his eyes adjust. Along most of the back wall was a vacant sales counter. To the left was a hallway that led to offices and the rear. Sal hustled out of the semi-lit display area into the sanctuary of the dark corridor. He couldn’t read the signage on the doors, turned on his phone’s flashlight app and saw that his battery was almost dead. Predictably, the CCTV room had a steel door and was deadbolted shut. Two minutes of fruitless prying did nothing but bend his screwdriver. Hammering so close to the rear doors would be heard in the warehouse. Time to seek advice. He texted Jaime: At AV room and can’t open door without noise. Advice?

  Seconds later came the reply: What can you see from back door or windows? Coming your way. Sal walked another ten feet and inspected the rear door. Someone had fitted plywood where Travis had shot out the glass. Unlike the front door, the glass was frosted. He tested the double doors and they too were unlocked. Hot damn, should he open them up and take a peek or wait for Jaime? If he stood here long enough, someone would walk through to lock the showroom and the game would be up. His heart raced as he opened one door a crack and looked out at the rear lot. A truck took up most of the view, backed flush against the dock with open rear doors. No one was in the cab, but someone in a blue decontamination suit came into view with a stack of cartons on a hand truck.

  “That hot scientist wants every last one. I told her there’s a display model in the showroom, so she told me to bring it. Back in a second.” Gravel crunched as the man approached.

  Sal ran down the rear corridor as the back doors opened behind him and light flooded inside. He flattened against the wall and closed his eyes. He heard nothing and opened them: He was alone, and it was dark again. The phone flashlight revealed the men’s toilet just feet away. He ducked inside, where it was almost pitch black. He felt his way to the cubicle, swung the door open and sure enough, the gap was still open where Travis had pulled out the exhaust fan. He texted: Big truck at loading bay blocks warehouse. Men loading boxes. One man in my building. Hiding in toilet.

  The reply came immediately, but it wasn’t what he had expected. Carla and one guard just drove out. She gave a thumbs up. Wait for my signal and climb out. No sooner had Sal read the message than his phone died.

  * * * * *

  Shuckies listened to the caller for several seconds as he stared at Carla. “I’ll be damned! An eye? She’s here with the baby. I’ll bring her straight away.”

  Stephanie wrenched Tyson free of her breast, held him tight against her bosom and sprinted for the exit. Shuckies smoothly stepped in front of her with a pistol in his hand. “If you run through that fire door, a nail bomb will shred us both. Turn around and let’s see the boss.”

  “You know she’ll kill my baby and me, don’t you? She’ll take my blood until I’m dry and then she’ll do the same to Tyson. All she cares about is our antibodies.”

  Smiley smiled. “Ma’am, I’m not the chief science officer on the USS Enterprise. I’m not even on the bridge.” His grin faded and he used his weapon to motion her to turn around. “I’m in charge of security and if Bomber gets hold of you, he’ll do worse than drain your blood.”

  * * * * *

  Muller burst out laughing again when Shuckies walked in with Stephanie and Tyson. She didn’t see the humor, just a grim-faced Burns and Katerina using a dishcloth to clean blood off Horne’s battered face.

  “What do you weigh?” Muller asked Stephanie.

  “One hundred and ten pounds,” she said as she stared at the leader and held Tyson even tighter.

  “And you managed to half-blind a decorated Ranger. You kicked out his teeth, and worst of all, you squashed one of his plums.” Muller laughed again.

  Stephanie saw that Horne’s left hand held a bag of frozen peas to his groin.

  Horne became aware of his assailant’s presence and glared at her through his good eye with such a murderous rage that Muller shut up. Stephanie absorbed that hateful Cyclops’ glare, and it shook her to the core.

  “You’ll have to kill him,” Smiley said in a low voice. “He’ll never let this go.”

  Katerina sensed the private exchange and looked up from Horne. She spoke to Stephanie. “You had your chance, and you blew it. Your baby is mine now.” She fixed a diabolical smile on the terrified mother before she returned her attention to the pulped mass of Horne’s face.

  chapter twenty-nine

  FIGHTING CHANCE

  Monday, July 13: Burlingame and Oakland, California, night

  Better to be hiding outside in the parking area than trapped in the men’s room with a dead phone. Sal stood with one foot on top of the toilet seat and the other on top of the old-style hydrant flush mechanism. The windowsill was high enough that he could barely get his elbows over the edge when he thrust himself upward. For several fraught seconds he supported his weight on his forearms as his sneakers scrambled to grip the tile wall. The bolted-in exh
aust fan’s metal frame gave his fingers a one-inch hold. He made a desperate grab with his left hand and the frame supported his entire weight. He gritted his teeth and pulled himself up, using his improved position to grab the outside edge of the windowsill. Next up was his left knee, and soon he had his head, arms and upper body through, wriggling free like a worm from half an apple. He looked around and saw Jaime hurrying down the backside of the building.

  The Juarez Marine stopped underneath the window. “Stretch out your arms and I’ll lower you down,” he hissed.

  It was an inelegant descent that ended with Sal in a heap in the parking lot. He dusted off his Giants cap and pocketed his scratched sunglasses. The two men hustled over to the delivery truck they’d abandoned the previous night and knelt by the cab.

  “I parked around the corner,” Jaime said. “Take the keys to my F150. Follow me and make certain Carla’s people reach the pickup and lie low. When you have all four, drop them at the staging area and Melvin will take them to his house. We’ll meet up once I load the lab equipment into this truck and find Carla.” Jaime unlocked his lost-and-found stolen truck and tossed the keys onto the front seat. “I’ll take care of any guards. Just watch my back.”

  “Okay, but my phone’s dead,” Sal said. “How do we communicate?”

  “Just follow me twenty meters back. Watch our flank.” Jaime discarded the space blanket wrapped around the two military rifles and handed Sal an M-4.

  Sal felt like an imposter as he watched Jaime work his way to the dock using vehicles as cover while he bumbled along at the rear and stopped to look over his shoulder every twenty feet. Jaime disappeared around the corner and Sal braced for gunfire. Instead, a man and a woman in orange hazmat suits ran toward him. They had to be part of Carla’s crew, so Sal stepped out from cover. “Are you with Carla?” he asked.