The Susquehanna Virus Box Set

by Steve McEllistrem

  She felt a hollowness in her gut. Was that anxiety or relief? On the one hand, she didn’t want her friends Marcus and Sinda to get hurt. On the other, she’d been silently rooting for Jones to succeed, to somehow rescue her.

  Wally6 zoomed in on Jones, who lay on his back, his right arm raised above his head. He stared at the mangled hand in what looked like disbelief that slowly transformed into fury. Then almost faster than Sally23’s eye could follow, he sprang to his feet, deactivated his shield and shot David—a deadly red laser pulse. As Heather got to her feet, Jones shot her in the back. She pitched forward. This was the Jones Sally23 had been expecting.

  The elderly black couple at the edge of the sculpture area backed away toward the protection of a large tree. Probably not Jones’s backup: more likely just trying to get out of the way. Sally23 hoped they wouldn’t get hurt.

  “Where’s Andre’s team?” Sally23 asked.

  “Any second now,” Sally2 replied.

  Jones raised his head and howled. His yell turned into laughter. “You think that can stop me?” he called to the night. He stepped over to David and kicked his head, which flopped to the side.

  “Come on!” he roared. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  Now Andre’s team emerged from behind the sculptures, wearing shields that formed pale yellow halos around their bodies. Jones again activated his shield, which displayed an iridescent glow around him.

  “Well,” Brosk said to the room, “you wanted to die. Now you get to.”

  “What are you talking about?” Wally5 said. “It’s six against one.”

  “End game, Jones,” Jarrod called as he approached. “You have to shut down your shield to fire, whereas one of us can fire at you at all times.”

  Jones snorted. “You’re telling me about shields? Stupid son of a bitch!” Jones dropped his shield for a split second to fire a quick red burst at Jarrod. His shot bounced off Jarrod’s shield and sailed into the night. Ron and Paulo began firing at him from a ninety-degree angle, long red strikes that engaged his shield continuously, turning it a bright yellow, giving him no opening to attack.

  “Your people will be dead in seconds,” Brosk said, his lips twisting in a smirk.

  “Shut him up,” Sally2 said, her eyes locked onto the left screen, which showed Andre and Jarrod advancing cautiously.

  Wally2 touched the pad on his tablet and Brosk stiffened.

  Sally23 glanced at Brosk’s face. He stood rigidly, staring at the screens. This whole thing felt wrong. Even as that thought crossed her mind, the two old people hiding behind the tree lifted their canes and fired their disguised Las-weapons at Marcus and Sinda, who had just dropped their shields to fire at Jones. The purple laser strikes from the two old people hit Marcus and Sinda, who cried out and fell to the ground. Sally23 cringed. She squeezed Brosk’s hand reassuringly and thought she detected a slight increase in pressure.

  Now Jones walked toward Ron, absorbing multiple laser strikes with his shield, which began to glow a yellow-orange. Pocketing his Las-pistol, he pulled a knife and began to sing a familiar tune, though Sally23 couldn’t remember where she’d heard it before:

  “We’re gonna kill ’em all,

  The giant and the small.

  The reckless and the brave

  Are headed for the grave.”

  Ron dropped his Las-rifle and pulled out his three-bladed knife, held down low. He flicked it back and forth as Paulo approached Jones from behind, his plas-glass knife slicing through the air. The blades spun so fast that Sally23 could discern only a blur through their shields. On the adjacent screen Andre and Jarrod turned to fire upon the old black couple, whose shields glowed faintly as they advanced.

  Jones chuckled. “Come on, boys,” he said, “let’s have some fun.” He beckoned them closer with his knife.

  Ron pounced.

  Jones easily parried the blow and sliced Ron’s belly open. He spun as Paulo came at him from behind, twirling faster than Sally23 would have believed possible, his knife sweeping across Paulo’s face. Ducking Paulo’s thrust, Jones slid sideways, kicking Paulo in the groin. As Paulo screamed, Jones sidestepped, lunging at Ron, planting the knife under Ron’s chin, driving it up into the brain. Then he pulled the knife out, swung back to Paulo and thrust the knife into Paulo’s chest, up to the hilt with a thud. Neither man’s blades had touched him.

  Andre and Jarrod exchanged fire with the old black couple. Somehow between bursts of laser fire Andre managed to toss a grenade at Jones’ feet.

  “Run!” the old woman yelled as she and the old man neared Andre and Jarrod.

  Jones sprinted away. The grenade exploded before he’d gone ten feet and he flew through the air, his arms and legs flung out by the explosion. Sally23 heard the bang first on the vid connection and then the echo a half-second later as the sound waves from the park reached their headquarters.

  Sally2’s eyes were fixated on the screen, following Andre as he closed on the small black man.

  “We must evacuate now,” Sally23 said.

  Wally2 and Wally3 looked at her nervously. Wally5 grabbed his bag, while Wally6 zoomed in on Andre and the old black man, who began grappling with each other. On another screen the old woman reached Jarrod, who grinned.

  “Come on, you bitch,” Jarrod said, his knife dangling so the plastic blades shimmered in the glow of his shield.

  Andre was having trouble with the little old man, who appeared to be getting the better of him. Sally2 stepped towards the screen, settling next to Brosk.

  Brosk glanced to his side. He managed to wiggle a couple fingers of his left hand but wasn’t able to reach out to grab Sally2, who had carelessly placed herself next to him. Sally23 wished she could somehow disable the controls on Brosk and allow him to kill Sally2. Patience, she told herself.

  She contemplated running for a moment—taking Brosk and heading for the tube, disappearing in the heart of London. But Wally2 still held the computer that controlled Brosk’s movements. And running was a death sentence anyway. She raised her eyebrows at Wally3, who activated the dispersal scatterer that would mask their retreat from a trace scanner.

  Sally2’s lips parted slightly as she watched Andre and the old man fighting. It should have been over quickly, but the little old man was surprisingly strong. And fast. No doubt enhanced.

  The old black woman closed with Jarrod as sirens sounded in the distance. The old woman’s shield merged with Jarrod’s. He lunged forward, his blades scything downward viciously at her neck, but she was no longer there. Faster than Jones even, almost faster than Sally23’s eye could follow, she slid beneath the swiping blades, and plunged a plas-glass spike into Jarrod’s neck, thrusting it up into his brain. He toppled over instantly.

  “We have to go now,” Sally23 said. She gestured to Wally5, who took Sally2 by the arm and pulled her toward the door.

  “Right,” Sally2 said, awakening from her trance. “Let’s go.” She turned to Sally23, her eyes glistening. “Thanks.”

  ***

  As Major Somers’ people arrived, the sirens dying away, Zora glanced at Curtik, who lay on his back, staring at his mangled right hand, a look of utter confusion on his face. She felt like laughing and crying at the same time. Ned, she saw, was using a form of judo against their attackers’ leader. He contorted his body, twisting and turning as the larger man tried to hit him. And though it seemed like Ned wasn’t getting many blows in himself, his attacker was clearly tiring. She moved closer, preparing to step in.

  The man grabbed Ned, who fell backwards, pulling the attacker with him, twisting in the air so that he landed on the man’s chest. He poked the man’s eyes and landed a punch to the guy’s throat even as the attacker hit him hard on the side of the face. “Go check on Curtik,” Ned managed to say.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m fine.” Ned held his open palm against the big
ger man’s throat and a sizzling sound mingled with the man’s screaming. Major Somers rushed forward from one of the vehicles, a Las-weapon in his hands. He directed the officers to spread out and check the bodies of their attackers but Zora was pretty sure they were all dead.

  She left them to their work and found Curtik staring at his mangled hand, his jaw quivering with fury. She remembered waking up after the explosion that killed her for a few minutes—the confusion and pain. Was it better to have no warning?

  “I told you to activate your shield,” she said.

  “I’m gonna kill ’em all,” Curtik said. “I’m gonna torture ’em and keep on torturing ’em until the agony makes ’em beg for death.”

  Zora grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. “We’re going to have to get you a new hand. Good thing you’re wearing combat fatigues. The tourniquet and the anesthetic seem to be working. Does it hurt?”

  Curtik shook his head. “Completely numb. Looks cool, like something out of a horror vid.”

  Zora examined Curtik’s ring finger and pinkie, the only two digits still attached to the hand. They were nearly stripped to the bone and Curtik’s palm had lost almost all its muscle; it was just a bloody mass of tissue. She pulled out a QuikHeal bandage and placed it over the wound, wrapping it around the entire hand.

  “Thanks,” Curtik said.

  As they walked toward Ned and Major Somers, the attacker now completely subdued, Zora tried to distract Curtik. “What were you singing?”

  “The refrain from Death to the Mob.”

  “Let me guess—the Crystal Skull Bangers.”

  Curtik nodded. “Their best song. I’m gonna sing it when I kill those bastards.”

  Ned had planted his right foot on the chest of the large black man, who was squirming as he whimpered. Major Somers stood beside Ned, a smile on his face. He gestured to a disk barely visible beneath Ned’s foot. “Neuro-stimulator?”

  “Just happened across it,” Ned replied.

  “What’s it do?” Zora asked.

  “Combines painful electrical impulses with drug dispersion to suppress will. Quick and reliable.” Ned glanced at Curtik. “You okay?”

  “Could be worse.” Curtik held up his mangled hand. “Just a flesh wound.”

  “Where’s your base?” Ned asked the man. “Tell me and the pain stops.”

  Sobbing now, the man murmured softly. Ned leaned down and listened for a moment, then straightened. He twisted the disk and the man went silent. Then he removed the disk from the man’s chest.

  “Why didn’t we get neuro-stimulators?” Zora said, elbowing Curtik.

  “Yeah!” Curtik said. “Where’s our neuro-stimulators, Neddy?”

  Ned shook his head. He gave Major Somers an address and the two men started off at a run. Major Somers spoke into his PlusPhone, calling for a tech squad. As Zora began to follow, she noticed that Curtik had stayed behind. He unsheathed his knife, knelt down and stabbed the unconscious attacker in the groin.

  “Curtik,” Ned yelled, “what are you doing?”

  “Just cleaning my knife,” Curtik replied. He got to his feet stiffly.

  “Happy?” Zora asked.

  “I’d be happier if I could clean it a few more times.”

  “Come on.” Zora grabbed his jacket and pulled him away as more police vehicles arrived. When they exited the park, a large police van followed them. They caught up with Ned and Major Somers at a darkened commercial building two blocks away. Zora’s scanner showed no bio-signs inside.

  “We go in carefully,” Ned cautioned. “The place might be loaded with booby traps.”

  The police van stopped, discharging a handful of tech officers, each suited in biohazard gear and carrying a scanner. They handed around masks, which everyone put on. As Zora helped Curtik seat his mask over his neo-skin face, Major Somers fired a red pulse at the door, destroying the lock. He pushed the door open, leading the techies inside. Ned, Curtik and Zora followed, weapons drawn.

  A few boxes littered the lobby floor. On the wall to the right two large screens showed the scene at Holland Park. Officers strolled the perimeter searching the ground while more techies knelt over bodies. Medics worked on the large black man, who lay immobile on his back. A small crowd of citizens had now appeared, drawn by the police presence.

  The techies in the lobby moved to the stairways—three went up, two down. Ned pointed at the disappearing feet of the three. “Follow them. Be careful. See if you can spot anything that might help us figure out where they’ve gone.”

  Upstairs, while the techies studied scanners and opened doors, Curtik and Zora entered a room lined with empty countertops and open cabinets. A machine sat abandoned in one corner. Zora realized it was a chemical mixer.

  “Another manufacturing cell,” she said.

  A small explosion sounded down the hall, causing her to jump. She glanced down the hallway as one of the techies emerged from another room.

  “Sorry,” he called out. “Triggered a booby trap. Some sort of white powder. You’d better get out of here just to be on the safe side.”

  “Come on,” Zora said to Curtik.

  He stood inside the doorway, looking up into the far corner, where a small camera covered the room, a tiny red light blinking off and on.

  Curtik held up his wounded hand and smiled at the camera as Zora dragged him toward the stairs. “Be seeing you soon,” he called.

  Zora opened a channel to Ned and said, “Anything on your end?”

  “Nothing,” he replied. “They’re gone. And they used a scatterer, so we can’t track them.”

  “We’ve got a camera up here,” Zora said. “Maybe we can track the signal if they’re watching us.”

  “Good idea. We’ll put someone on it right away.”

  Chapter 15

  Lendra sat behind her desk, her face in her hands, trying not to worry about her daughter, who had suddenly become critically ill. The President would be calling soon. How she wished she could just grab Sophie and Jeremiah and drive away from here, from all the headaches surrounding this damned virus. But Sophie needed the doctors and Curtik had lost his hand and she just knew Jeremiah blamed her for that even though his face had shown nothing when she told him. Let it go, she thought. There’s work to do.

  Across the room, Jay-Edgar ran compilations of broadcasts of the EuroNews Network and the 24-Hour Real News Network—both programs devoting their time to the virus and its increasing death toll.

  Dr. Poole sat beside Jay-Edgar, analyzing statistical data, searching for patterns that might identify the remaining cells of the Susquehanna Sally movement. She occasionally asked Jay-Edgar to display an image or run a scenario based on input she culled from her interface. The holo-projections would change for a moment while she studied the results, after which she would nod and Jay-Edgar would return to the compilations.

  Lendra forced herself to look away, instead returning to the task of analyzing the Gaia Manifesto, studying it for the thousandth time, trying to discern any tiny clue it might divulge about Susquehanna Sally.

  God, it was difficult to concentrate on the job at hand. Sophie had caught a staph infection called TEM1 from the nanny Isabella. One of a new breed of superbugs resistant to current antibiotics, it had mutated from an earlier version after exposure to some of the new drugs used to treat the symptoms of the Susquehanna Virus. Now she apparently had beaten back the virus, but was still carrying a high fever.

  The hell with it!

  Lendra got up and headed for the door, gesturing to Dr. Poole as she left the office. Making her way to the infirmary, she passed Hannah waiting in the hall, so she knew Jeremiah was inside. She nodded at Hannah, a little surprised that the two Elite Ops troopers weren’t standing guard with her. He must have sent them away; they would never have left him voluntarily.

  Lendra entered the in
firmary and stopped at the window to the quarantine area, where Sophie and her nanny Isabella now resided. Behind the glass, Jeremiah held their daughter, wearing neither biohazard suit nor mask, while Sophie clutched his finger in her tiny fist. Sophie stared up at Jeremiah as he spoke with Isabella, putting the nanny at ease. How did he make it seem so effortless?

  As Lendra stood watching, they spotted her. Jeremiah walked Sophie to the window so she could see Lendra. When Sophie noticed her, she reached out with her free hand, keeping hold of Jeremiah’s finger, trying to grasp both her parents at the same time. Lendra felt her knees weaken. She reached out and touched the window, partly to get closer to her daughter and partly to prevent herself from toppling over. Jeremiah held up Sophie’s hand and waved it at her until Lendra waved back.

  Lendra turned on the intercom.

  “…isn’t that right, Sophie?” Jeremiah was saying. “Soon you’ll be all better and Mommy can hold you again and sing you songs and play with you. And you still have Isabella here to watch over you. Aren’t you lucky? I wish I could stay here with you for hours, but I have to go back to work.” He looked at Lendra. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “No, that’s not necessary,” she replied as he handed Sophie off to Isabella. Sophie wailed as he headed for the sterilization showers.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Lendra called through the intercom. “Mommy will be back to visit you soon.” She began singing Children’s Moon to Sophie, an old song that Jeremiah had sung to his son Joshua before the boy was abducted and turned into Curtik.

  Gradually Sophie quieted in Isabella’s arms. Lendra’s voice died away as Sophie settled into a troubled sleep. Isabella put her down for a nap as Jeremiah emerged from the quarantine area.

  Lendra shut off the intercom. “You’re wonderful with her,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “She’s my daughter too. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just needed to see her.”

  Jeremiah nodded, but he didn’t leave. Instead he looked at her, assessing. She felt as if he were testing her, as if the slightest wrong move would drive him away. How she wished she could reach out and touch his face once again—kiss him and hold him and breathe in his comforting scent.