The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  The guard had dodged to the side of the doorway, evading Lendra’s faltering laser. Jeremiah fired once, the particle beam cannon bucking in his hands with the recoil, but even as he did, he saw a purple light fly from the guard’s weapon through the open doorway at Lendra. She screamed as Jeremiah’s blast knocked the EO off his feet, his shield destroyed.

  Fighting the urge to run to her, Jeremiah swung around, his weapon lining up on Major Payne, his invisible camos now essentially useless. The energy signature of the particle beam cannon, not to mention the sight of it floating in the air, gave his position away. And he wore no shield. If he took a hit, his body would be shredded.

  Major Payne already had his weapons lined up on Jeremiah when Weiss and Truman dove into his legs. As the major fired, his right knee buckled slightly. The blast from his particle beam cannon went into the ceiling, showering the lobby with debris. But his Las-rifle fired a blue pulse that struck Jeremiah in the left shoulder. Several soldiers threw themselves at the EOs guarding the door. A powerful smell of rot flooded the room—the nerve gas. Rage filled Jeremiah, displacing the fear. He aimed the cannon at Payne, who kicked backward, freeing himself from Weiss and Truman as he brought his particle beam cannon up.

  More soldiers flung themselves at Payne. Jeremiah had to hold his fire. Payne was less concerned. He fired at the soldiers indiscriminately. Brave fools! One was hit by a particle beam pulse and exploded, bits of skin and bloody bone flying across the lobby. Another began screaming and ran toward the door, where he was cut in half by red laser fire from one of the EOs. The homeless men fell to the floor, moaning in terror. A few soldiers collapsed. Jeremiah ducked, but he still couldn’t risk firing at Payne. Two soldiers clung to Payne desperately. The major tossed one off, shooting him with a red laser pulse. The other hung from the arm holding the particle beam cannon, his jaw working angrily. Screams and the intensifying whine of the EOs’ power packs assaulted Jeremiah’s ears.

  The EOs guarding the door also hurled soldiers aside. To the soldiers’ credit, some of them managed to keep clear heads and continue the fight; others screamed, trying to escape the poisonous gas. One flailed his arms in a berserk motion, barking like a wounded seal until a laser pulse in the head silenced him. A female soldier clinging to one of the EOs snarled in fury just before she was thrown off. She crashed into the monitors along the wall and slumped to the floor. Jeremiah peered through the smoke, his heart racing, his eyes darting from the monitors to Payne and the EOs, waiting for an opening. When an EO with a gold cross on his chest managed to free himself from the last of the soldiers, Jeremiah fired the cannon. He hit the shield squarely, knocking the EO off his feet, the concussive force rendering the man unconscious.

  Carlton leapt into the fray, throwing himself at Weiss as Truman again tackled Payne. Jeremiah, holding his position, waited for an opening. Payne tossed another soldier aside before firing the cannon at Jeremiah, narrowly missing only because Truman had grabbed his arm. The cannon’s pulse slammed into two homeless men at the far side of the room, splashing blood and flesh across the walls. More soldiers piled on, driving Payne to the floor. The air in the room grew fouler, the smoke heavy.

  The EO at the door twisted his body, separated himself from the last of the soldiers, turned his cannon and Las-rifle on Jeremiah and fired at the same instant Jeremiah pressed the trigger. Jeremiah’s body tensed in expectation of the explosion that would tear him to pieces. But miraculously, his round impacted with the round fired by the EO. The resulting detonation hammered him to the floor as another laser pulse hit him in the thigh. He landed with a grunt, the pain stoking his fury. His muscles contracted. Adrenaline surged. With a bellow that chafed his throat, he struggled to his feet and limped toward the EO, wanting only to kill. He fired again, blasting the man through the ruined doorway. The soldiers outside were being tossed about by two more EOs, who sliced them in half with long red laser pulses. Slowly, the EOs converged on the shelter. On the monitors, Jeremiah saw EOs entering the power substation that led to the Escala.

  He spun back to face the center of the room as Payne jumped to his feet, his Las-rifle coming up, aiming at Jeremiah. But even as he fired, Quark, in a blur of motion, shoved Jeremiah aside and launched himself through the air. Payne backed up, trying to evade the big man as Payne’s laser pulse sliced through Jeremiah’s stomach. Fighting the nausea, he rolled to his feet and brought his particle beam cannon up, but Quark had Payne in his grasp now, his massive hands locked around the major’s neck. And as Payne fought to turn the particle beam cannon and Las-rifle on Quark, Quark pried the major’s helmet off. Then one hand grabbed the particle beam cannon while the other twisted the Las-rifle from Payne’s hands. The weapons crashed to the floor as Quark drove Payne against the wall.

  Jeremiah left them struggling with each other and half-ran, half-hopped outside. One of the two EOs had just thrown off a soldier, who flew through the air. The EO fired his particle beam cannon, blowing the soldier apart. Less than a second later Jeremiah fired. His cannon’s blast demolished the shield. The EO fell backward, unconscious. Three soldiers immediately jumped him.

  The last EO fired everything he had at Jeremiah—the Las-rifle and the particle beam cannon. Jeremiah’s legs gave way and he fell forward, firing the cannon as he hit the ground, his aim slightly off, the recoil pulling the shot wide despite his efforts to hold the cannon steady. Still, he managed to nick the EO’s shield, which must have been defective because the EO exploded, arms and legs flying apart.

  Jeremiah tasted blood. His body ached—his arms numb after the heavy recoils of the particle beam cannon. Needle-sharp stabs from the laser strikes shot up his legs, but his blood still sang with rage. He got his hands under his chest and raised himself to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily. Although he saw no EOs approaching, he knew more would arrive soon. He had minutes at most. Clenching his teeth together against the pain, he ran back inside the shelter. On the monitors, the EOs were inside the power substation, descending into its basement. Jeremiah knew they would find the hidden entrance very quickly. He had to find a way to stop them.

  In the center of the lobby two men were locked together, their hands at each other’s throats: Weiss and Carlton. Rolling across the floor, Quark and Major Payne continued to grapple. Payne, with his exoskeleton and armor plating, had fewer exposed areas and tremendous strength but even so, he couldn’t match the power of Quark. The big Escala fought with an intensity Jeremiah had never seen before in a human being: punching, kicking, twisting. Writhing like some cornered animal. It was all Payne could do to protect his head. Finally Quark managed to get his hands around the major’s wrists. Then he smashed his head into Payne’s nose—once, twice, three times—until Payne went limp.

  Down the hallway that led to Lendra, the EO he’d shot earlier began to stir. “Don’t kill Carlton,” Jeremiah yelled to Weiss as he jumped over them, shoving men aside. For an instant, he considered firing the particle beam cannon again, blowing the EO into a thousand bits now that his shield was down. Instead he took half a dozen steps and heel-kicked the EO in the helmet, sending a shooting pain up his leg.

  He found Lendra where he’d left her, just inside the doctor’s office. Fortunately, the EO had fired a purple laser pulse at her instead of his particle beam cannon. She was still alive. She lay on her back, barely conscious, clutching her stomach and moaning. Jeremiah flung himself at drawers until he came across the QuikHeal bandages. He ripped one out of its package, knelt before Lendra, pulled her arms apart, tore her shirt and thrust the bandage onto her stomach.

  For the first time he noticed that his camos were ruined—torn and blood-covered, the sensors no longer working. A laser pulse must have hit the control panel. He pulled off the hood and face covering. Lendra, the pain in her eyes slowly receding behind the mask of anesthesia, looked at him dully, and he knew the bandage wouldn’t save her.

  She cringed, moaned as a fresh wave of
pain hit her, then reached out a hand and clutched his shirt. Her eyes clamped shut. She pulled him toward her, mewling quietly.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Jeremiah lied.

  She opened her eyes, brought them into focus on his and said, “Don’t leave me.”

  Jeremiah took her hand in his. She held on ferociously.

  He wanted to stay by her side, but too many lives were at stake. As he pulled away from her, he got an idea. He grabbed the knife she’d brought and sliced open the back of his hand. Then he shoved his fist under the QuikHeal bandage, letting his blood mingle with hers.

  She writhed in agony, screaming as he held her down. He had to sit on top of her to control her. “Keep still,” he said. “I’m trying to help you. Giving you some of my blood. It might keep you alive. Okay?” She grimaced, squeezed her eyes together tightly and stopped struggling.

  “I’ve only got seconds,” Jeremiah said as he pulled his hand free. Slick with blood and gore, his hand throbbed, but it had almost stopped bleeding. “If I’m going to save you, I’ve got to go.” Eyes still closed, Lendra nodded briefly. Jeremiah wiped his hand on her shirt, then re-positioned the QuikHeal bandage, adjusting the anesthetic setting to maximum. As the pain lines in Lendra’s face succumbed to the narcotic of the QuikHeal bandage, Jeremiah slipped out the door and ran to the lobby.

  Chapter Thiry-Five

  On one of the projections, Doug watched three Elite Ops enter a building. As they crossed the threshold, an alarm sounded.

  “Shut that off,” Quekri said.

  When the noise died away, Doug said, “They’re here, ain’t they?”

  Quekri nodded. The Escala wore blank expressions, as if their imminent discovery were unimportant. Doug’s stomach fluttered. Maybe he could still get out. The Elite Ops weren’t after him. If he could run away, give up the Escala, he’d be free. Hell, he’d even go back to jail—happily. Then he caught sight of Zeriphi across the room. She looked at him and he thought of his child, yet to be born.

  “We gotta fight,” Doug said. “Or run.”

  “There’s nowhere to go,” Quekri said. “And we’re scientists, not soldiers.”

  “You’re gonna be dead scientists if you don’t do something. They’re gonna find us any minute.”

  “Yes,” Quekri said.

  The others in the room nodded their agreement, as if some scientific theory had just been proven. Their calm exterior drove Doug into a near-frenzy.

  “Where you keep the weapons?” Doug asked.

  “Zod’s team took them all.”

  Doug threw up his hands. “But you must have a few, right?” As Quekri shook her head, Doug said, “What about Quark? Can he help?”

  “He’s going to the shelter to try to rescue Devereaux,” Quekri said. “We’re on our own.”

  “You got a air vent we can climb out of?”

  Again Quekri shook her head. “We use air recyclers.”

  “Then we gotta fight,” Doug said. He glared at Quekri. Slowly, the others turned to face him. Were they smiling? Did they think this was funny? He said, “You people may be smart. You may be evolved. You may be where humanity’s gonna be in a hundred years but, unless you fight, you’re gonna die right here. My child too. Don’t you wanna stop that happening? Don’t you wanna continue your species?”

  “I’ll fight,” Temala said as she glared at Doug. For an instant, he thought she meant to attack him. But when she smiled uncertainly, he smiled back.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “We can’t defeat the Elite Ops,” Quekri said. “Even if we had their weaponry, they would win. All we can do is drag out the inevitable.”

  “Then that’s exactly what we’re gonna do,” Doug said. “You’re human, ain’t you?” At their nods, he said, “Well, humans’ve always been fighters. So prove you’re human and fight. Find anything that can be used as a weapon. Bring it to the table in the main room ASAP. Okay?”

  Temala immediately bounded away. The others stared at him, then looked at each other, eyebrows arching, shoulders shrugging. Doug wanted to scream. He was barely holding himself together and they acted like this was some kind of game. Finally they began to depart, glancing at him as they did so. One patted Doug on the shoulder as he went by. Only the technicians remained behind. The one who had called out the names of the dead looked at Doug and said, “We’ll fight,” before turning back to his projections.

  Doug stepped out into the main cavern, where he waited for the Escala. They drifted in, carrying odd items, which they either placed on the table or leaned against it: four laser torches, two RDX-HMX explosives, several dozen small-charge detonators, three shields and an ancient handgun. There were also about a dozen shovels and other tools that could be used as clubs. Temala held one of the shovels—almost a child’s toy in her massive hands. She, at least, looked ready to fight. Standing around the table, the Escala looked at Doug, hands at their sides. Calm. Maddening. Doug’s throat tightened up.

  “That’s it?” he said. “That all you got?”

  “I told you we’re not fighters,” Quekri answered.

  The technicians emerged from the monitoring room and walked over to the table. The one who had spoken before said, “They’re coming.” He stared at Doug, waiting for his orders. The Escala all turned to Doug. They were depending on him! What was he supposed to do? He’d assumed that because of their genetic transformations, they would be better than him at everything; and no doubt they were smarter, stronger and faster. But they were scientists too, with no experience in battle. And who was he to lead them? A recovering addict who’d been in a few street brawls.

  Doug picked up a las-knife and flipped it on. It put out a purple laser pulse that projected out a few inches. This was the device they’d used to cut away the cell bars. Doug said, “What are we supposed to do with this junk?” They stared at him, as if he could magically transform these few items into successful defense mechanisms. Doug put the las-knife back on the table. “I’m just a stupid black man.” He winked at Temala. “You guys be the geniuses. Ain’t there some kinda weapon you can make from this? Anybody?”

  “Perhaps,” Probst said, “we could use the las-knives to detonate the explosives, bring the cave down on top of us once the Elite Ops reach us.”

  “Interesting,” the technician replied. “The calculations would be tricky but…”

  “Okay,” Doug said. “Good. Better than nothing. What about surrender? That an option? Any chance they’d let you live?”

  “Doubtful,” Quekri said.

  They inclined their heads in unison, craning their necks. And then Doug heard it too. The Elite Ops were shooting at something.

  “Okay,” Doug said, “everybody grab a weapon. Anybody fire a gun before?”

  When they all shook their heads, he picked up the revolver.

  “Strobe the lights,” Quekri said. “And let’s put smoke in the corners. Heat sources might confuse the Elite Ops’ infrared sensors.”

  “Good thinking,” Doug said. “What else?”

  Shull, Dunadan and Warrow—the three young astrophysicists—reached for the shields. Dunadan looked at Doug and said, “We’ll set off the small-charge detonators—try to take out their shields. If you see them flicker, that’s when you fire. Okay?”

  “Got it,” Doug said.

  Probst and the technician each grabbed an explosive. Probst said, “We’ve got to draw as many Elite Ops into the cave as we can. We’ll try to blow the RDX-HMX using the las-knives. The small charge detonators won’t provide enough energy to do the job. If we time it right, the explosion might bring the cave down on top of the Elite Ops.” And us, Doug thought. “Of course,” Probst continued, “if we wait too long…”

  “Eight or maybe ten seconds,” the technician said. “That ought to be enough time to blow the RDX-HMX.”

  Doug nodded. He
tried to swallow, found that he had no saliva in his mouth.

  “Most of us can move to the tunnels,” another technician said as he grabbed a pickaxe. “We’ll have a better chance in close quarters. And if the cave comes down…” He looked up at the ceiling. Doug followed his eyes into the blackness. He shivered.

  Quekri put a hand on Doug’s shoulder and said, “They’re going to emit a nerve gas that smells like rotting flesh. It will paralyze you with fear. Indecision. Panic. We’ve found that the best way to fight through that is with anger. Understand?”

  Doug tried to smile. “So I’m gonna be more scared than this?”

  Quekri nodded. “Lots.” She clapped him on the back and grabbed a shovel, then made for one of the hallways.

  Zeriphi stepped out from behind a group of Escala and grabbed a metal pole with a claw on the end. Doug so wanted to comfort her, be comforted by her. She held the pole up in front of her and stopped in front of him—so beautiful, her eyes black and somehow bright in the dim light. He reached out, grabbed her arms, looked up into those dark eyes and said, “I’m sorry about Zod.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Zeriphi, after this is all over, perhaps you and I can make a new start, just the two of us, until the baby comes along. I want to try. I—”

  She shook her head with a sad smile and said, “We’re not going to survive this.” Then she walked away.

  My child is going to die here.

  Doug watched Zeriphi until she vanished in the darkness, then crouched behind the massive sofa in the main cave. Though it offered only the illusion of a hiding place, he felt better not completely exposed to the Elite Ops. He could still maybe work an angle once they came in—if they were as bad as Quekri said they were, if everything went to hell, he could put up his hands and say, “Thank God you’re here. They were holding me captive. I think they were gonna eat me!”

  No.

  He’d fight, hoping his death would miraculously save Zeriphi and their child. Probably, this was going to be the way it ended for all of them. The void of death was coming. He thought of Devereaux—the man’s courage and dignity—and drew strength from that. The lights now flickered on and off, and the smell of smoke grew thick. Doug’s eyes watered. He’d never before been in a fight where death seemed a certainty. He’d never even thought about death back then. Plus, he’d usually been high on something. He wished he’d gone to the bathroom while he had the chance.