Carlie Simmons (Book 2): In Too Deep Page 6

  Stopping at the edge of crumbling clay, both men stood frozen, gazing at the corpses below. The sound from their respirators increased as they studied the time capsule of figures beneath them. A blue tarp had blown off the bodies and was lying crumpled in a heap opposite them. At the sight of the two men, dozens of ravens took flight, leaving behind clouds of black flies and other insects that were crawling over the mummified remains.

  “All these years,” Viktor said, looking at Pavel. “We’ve finally found the last site.”

  “Those uniforms are very old. The type issued in the ’60s.”

  “Alright, let’s get down to the dirty work. I don’t want to linger here any longer than we have to.”

  “My God, their flesh is still shrink-wrapped to the bones and perfectly preserved,” Pavel said, scrunching his eyes together and staring at the skin. “But why is their complexion yellow?”

  After descending they began extracting brain tissue samples from the craniums using a handheld bone saw to open the skulls. Each of them cursed repeatedly at the constant barrage of flies and mosquitos that swarmed upon the open cavities.

  Chapter 13

  The flight on the C-17 cargo plane from White Sands to Barksdale Air Force Base in northern Louisiana took just over three hours. The small military base was the only operational facility in the south-central United States and was being held by close to forty-eight assorted military personnel who had managed to secure the site. Upon landing, a Blackhawk helicopter was waiting and they quickly hopped rides and flew south for ninety minutes before arriving over the burnt-out city of what was once New Orleans.

  As they headed towards the coast, the familiar scent of ocean air mingled with the rich organic aroma of the bayou below flooded through Jared, bringing back a montage of images from his boyhood.

  The untarnished memories of when life was good, before he was eleven, when his mom was still alive. The carefree days of canoeing in the bayous with his friends; of nights sleeping on the boat dock being serenaded by cicadas; and Sunday dinners once a month in the French Quarter at Arnaud’s historic restaurant with its antique light fixtures and lacy ferns.

  The last time he was back in New Orleans was five months earlier but it was only a brief stop to place flowers at his mother’s grave and pick up his leather daypack that was now nestled between his legs. He had planned to finish his business in Tucson and then head back to New Orleans before the world fell apart. Now with this deal he had made with Carlie, he might have a shot at briefly getting back to his uncle’s place on the river. He only needed a few minutes there.

  As the breeze off the bayou seeped in, he forced the memories of his family and youth away. He was no longer that person—that little boy. Life had intruded upon that peaceful world, and now, he thought as he looked out at the familiar city below, it was once again wrestling to steal his soul.

  He clenched the tattered shoulder straps on his Hilfiger pack and took a deep breath. Normally, he didn’t mind not knowing what tomorrow would bring but his heart raced as he stared into the darkness wondering what he would do next in this savage new world. Time to go to work, he thought, staring below at the current of undead mutants flowing across Bourbon Street. Only this time it ain’t going to be the marshals hunting me down or no tender woman’s arms to run to after the deed is done.

  Chapter 14

  Five Days before the Global Pandemic

  After collecting the tissue samples from the corpses the smugglers reburied them to cut down on the insects and birds swarming over the site. Pavel and Viktor set up a temporary lab in a fortified cinder-block building adjacent to the jungle airstrip. This was a two-level structure used by the smugglers for securing their contraband prior to shipment. The first floor was roughly ten by twelve and lacking any windows. Inside was a set of cement steps led into a subterranean storage area that was twenty by forty feet and contained food, water, cots, and medical supplies along with several workbenches for fixing equipment. The entire structure was powered by two large solar panels outside near the treeline.

  Viktor indicated that the tugboat wouldn’t return until the following morning so both men set to work analyzing the brain tissue specimens with their portable laboratory equipment. Neither of them had gotten any sleep since arriving as they pored over their findings and kept reanalyzing the samples on their microscopes.

  “I am shocked that these brain tissue samples still have dormant virus pathogens in them, albeit on a miniscule level,” said Viktor.

  “So we’ve ruled out aerosol transmission since none of the smugglers have tested positive after being exposed to the mass grave,” said Pavel, stopping to adjust his oversized protective glove. “But that is puzzling since the early research notes on KAD97 indicate that it was weaponized solely for aerosol transmission.”

  “Hmm…this is strange,” said Viktor, who pulled his head back from his microscope and motioned Pavel to come over. He glanced down into the eyepiece and then frowned.

  “Is this the same tissue sample from the same corpse I collected from?” Pavel said.

  “Yes, but a minute ago the cell structure was completely globular and now it has changed into a flat ribbon with spiked protrusions, as you see there. I’ve scanned for all known viral structures but I’ve never seen anything like this in nature or in the laboratory-designed specimens. It mutated within seconds which is unheard of, though that original globular pattern reminds me of the viral structure of yellow fever.”

  Pavel paused, tapping a gloved finger on the table beside him. “Yellow fever incubates in the body for three to six days, followed by a more toxic phase where jaundice develops, kidney function deteriorates, and death occurs within ten days without any organ damage. If that pathogen combined with the remnant KAD97 virus, then it could have mutated into this form here which is separate from the viral remains in the corpses. That would explain the yellow complexions.”

  “Yes, but don’t you remember—we tried that repeatedly back in the Soviet lab and it never worked. Why would it be an active vector now?” said Viktor.

  “The anopheles mosquito here is a hybrid. It evolved from the species of mosquitos from South America and those from the Caribbean islands….hmm…we will need to examine that angle more closely.”

  As Pavel bent over to get another look at the slide, the upstairs door of the building opened and the two operators, Jack and Martin, entered, with one being held up by the other as they staggered down the steps.

  Pavel and Viktor bounded up the stairs. Martin’s skin was jaundiced and he had bags under his eyes.

  “What happened?” said Viktor.

  “I’m not sure. He came down with a high fever an hour ago and then started declining from there,” said the guard. “Seven of the smugglers are also afflicted plus there are radio alerts from mainland Cuba of people going on rampages, mauling each other after coming down with similar symptoms.”

  “Where are Alonso and the rest of his men?” said Viktor.

  “They sealed themselves into their other storage facility across the airfield,” said the bald operator.

  Pavel stepped forward and examined the man’s face and eyes. He turned back to Viktor. Pavel helped Martin down onto the floor. He doused a rag with water from a bottle on the table and wet the man’s forehead.

  “If this virus should get off the island, there will be no way of containing this. There isn’t even an antidote,” said Viktor.

  “Those freighters that are making their way back to their home countries…you don’t think that they are carrying any infected on board, do you?”

  “We don’t even know what the incubation time is yet, plus the virus appears to be constantly mutating.”

  “God—we need to get a message out to the rest of the world,” said Pavel, grabbing the mic for the ham radio on the desk.

  “No, it’s against protocols to broadcast what we’re doing here on an open channel. I will send word to my agency contact back in the States,” said Vik
tor, reaching into his pack and pulling out a SAT phone. “The U.S. can’t have any connection to this.”

  Chapter 15

  Carlie watched a few video feeds that General Adams’ staff had recorded of the initial outbreak near the French Quarter. A 700-foot U.S. freighter had lost control of its steering and collided into a riverside park full of afternoon picnickers. The impact caused half of the riverfront to collapse and sent thousands of terrified people into the streets. The multi-agency response wiped out a large portion of the city’s emergency responders and law-enforcement agencies who were the first to be exposed to the deadly contagion.

  Carlie kept reviewing one video in particular that featured live interview footage of a survivor thirty minutes after the event. A thin black woman was talking to the camera.

  “People were jumping into the Mississippi when the freighter struck. Others were scrambling to grab injured friends. I got out and went back around the side to help others when I saw the boat captain staggering around. His face was baked yellow and all wrinkly. I was moving up to help him but then he rushed towards a young woman and her baby. He lost his footing on the battered dock and fell into the Mississippi.”

  Shane and Matias were leaning over either shoulder watching the footage. “Sounds like this unfolded quickly just like it did in Arizona,” said Matias.

  “How can you react to something that moves so fast? All you can do is get out of the way. No wonder there are so few survivors in most of the large cities,” said Shane.

  “Where was the freighter coming from?” said Amy.

  “Cuba, actually, if you can believe that,” said Carlie.

  “Was this another one of those refugee boats like you hear about coming out of Haiti?” said Jared.

  “No—humanitarian. Our government and many others, for the second time since 1963, was sending 22,000 tons of corn there to help in the aftermath of Hurricane Mitchel that ripped through Cuba last month.”

  Carlie heard the pilot’s voice shouting back. “Five minutes to the LZ.”

  “Copy that,” she said, giving everyone a thumbs-up while closing the ruggedized mobile laptop. She looked over at Shane. “As we discussed earlier, once we reach the freighter, I’d like you to lead that phase of the op. You have far more experience boarding vessels than anyone here.”

  “That’s fine by me. Besides, a good leader knows when to delegate,” he said, racking the slide on his M4. “By the looks of it, the vessel is a Handymax Series B bulk freighter so the entrance to the cargo hold will be at the stern—or rear of the ship for those of you who are landlubbers.”

  “Look who’s talking, you desert rat—you’d been living in Arizona longer than me.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s worked out OK for me so far,” he said, winking at Carlie and then returning to checking his vest for magazines.

  Carlie unbuckled herself from her seat and moved across the cabin towards Jared. She sat beside him and unfurled the map in her hand. “You’re sure this is the best avenue of approach to the waterfront?” she said, pointing her finger at the highlighted circle on the map.

  “You’ve asked me that three times now. I’m beginning to think you just enjoy my company.”

  She gave him a hard look and tapped her finger on the map again. “I sweated my tail off on those streets for years with my old man when I was younger. I know my way around there like a flea on a coondog’s ass.”

  As the helo circled the wrecked storefronts along the river, Carlie craned her head away from the map and could see the wrecked freighter in the moonlight.

  “Set down on that twelve-story hotel a mile to the south,” she yelled to the pilot over the rotor wash. She looked around at the other operators in the cabin. “My team will head over to the frigate and into the cargo hold down below while Boyd’s team maintains a secure perimeter on the outside. SAT imagery from General Adams indicates that the nearest concentration of creatures is about a half-mile out from here but there are sure to be stragglers roaming around. With sunrise not far off, there ain’t gonna be any time for sightseeing.”

  “Thirty seconds,” shouted the pilot.

  Shane leaned over towards Amy and Jared. “If anything does go down, just remember your muzzle control. You’re both used to high-stress situations, so rely on your breathing and mental focus,” he paused, looking at Jared, “…or whatever the hell voodoo you use to stay calm.”

  As the Blackhawk descended, a swirl of leaves and debris spun around the rooftop. Carlie looked at her two teams and saw that everyone was ready. She noticed Boyd looking away from her with a smirk. She found herself already irritated by the man and they hadn’t even seen action together. Maybe he’d be different on the battlefield, though she hated going into combat blind with men she only knew from personnel files. It seemed like every time Carlie entered a new group of operators, she had to fight her way through their convoluted gauntlet of respect to a degree unlike her male counterparts.

  She pulled her scrutinizing gaze away from Boyd as the helo came to a standstill on the derelict roof of the Westin Hotel, eight hundred yards from the Mississippi River.

  Chapter 16

  The doors of the Blackhawk slid back and both teams exited. Boyd led his team of five operators along the rooftop, sweeping for hostiles. Once the area was deemed secure, he instructed one man to position himself on the south side of the roof with his sniper rifle trained on the riverfront. He and his remaining men followed Carlie and her team down the stairwell to the lobby.

  Carlie and Shane led the way, followed by Amy and Jared, with Matias in the rear. They moved down the gray corridor with their flashlight-mounted weapons illuminating the path that led to ground level. Their boots clanked on the metal steps and the muffled sound of nervous breathing filled the stairwell.

  Once the lobby was secure, Carlie whispered to the rear for Jared to come up. “You’re up front with me until we get to the freighter. I know we already went over the route on paper but that’s a different beast than having boots on the ground. You’re my mobile GPS unit so if we need to head a different route or duck into an alley, let me know.”

  “Happy to be at your backside,” said Jared, who placed his hand on Carlie’s shoulder. She glanced at him and frowned, causing him to remove it as quickly as he had placed it there.

  Carlie returned to scanning the partly illuminated street, the outside of which was littered with burnt cars and shattered storefronts.

  “Looks like the week after Mardi Gras,” Jared said. “The best way to the freighter is to head right on Iberville Street here and then over the tracks to the riverfront. There’s a sidewalk that skirts along the Mississippi. After that, it should be about a straight shot to the crash site. After that, we can retreat the same way or head through the French Quarter along some backstreets I know of in the red-light district.”

  “Everybody hear that?” whispered Carlie. “My team will run point and plow the road ahead if necessary. Boyd—you and your team will fall in behind us and provide cover support,” she said, glaring at the sergeant.

  After she saw everyone giving the thumbs-up sign behind her, Carlie stepped through the gaping hole in the lobby window and onto the sidewalk, with everyone falling in behind her single-file.

  Chapter 17

  Doctor Efron was hovering over a microscope, analyzing a new slide as the rest of his staff bustled around the laboratory. He would look at the blood sample for a moment and then abruptly pull back, comparing his notes on the clipboard beside him with the calculations in his head.

  These samples are mutating at a different rate than they were yesterday. What the hell is going on? With a virus that moves this fast, I better get some fresh blood for comparison. He started tapping his fingers on the steel countertop, then he reached for the inter-office phone on the wall and dialed in a three-digit number.

  “General Adams, this is Efron. I need to go down into B-wing and extract fresh blood samples from some of the captive mutants.”

>   “Very well, I’ll send a team of my men down to accompany you.”

  A few minutes later, Efron was met outside the vault-like door of the lab by six soldiers clad in desert tan fatigues. Each man was equipped with M4 rifles and large canisters of pepper spray. Corporal Avery, a barrel-chested man who had a stained front tooth from too many years of smoking unfiltered cigarettes, nodded at Efron.

  “Time to lasso another meathead, Doc?”

  “Yes, I need to obtain some additional blood for my experiments.”

  “Ya know, if you said that with a crooked grin, you’d make it sound even creepier,” Avery said, then proceeded to lead Efron and the rest of his group down the hallway.

  They walked down a series of corridors for fifteen minutes, passing the chow hall, sleeping areas, and armory until they reached the rear of the missile range facility. Avery tapped a security code into the keypad which opened a steel door that led down another long hallway.

  As they rounded the corner to the last cement passage, Efron saw a large bay door straight ahead that was closed. To the right were four empty missile containment chambers. The front of each ten-by-twenty room was made of heavy-gauge metal bars that were anchored in the cement of the floor and ceiling. All but one room contained missile launch components. The last one held four soldiers who had been attacked a few days earlier while returning from outside the compound in their truck. Before the men had turned, General Adams ordered the soldiers on site to quarantine the infected inside the empty containment cell. Efron later requested to keep them intact to observe any changes and provide him with blood samples rather than risk sending someone outside again.

  Leaning against the wall beside the rooms were two eight-foot poles with restraining nooses. These had previously been used by ranchers in the area for subduing calves during immunization roundups.