ARISEN, Book Twelve - Carnage (36 page)

* * *

Park was down on the deck when Baxter found him – gloved up and withdrawing a syringe of gunk from Patient Zero, preparing to start sequencing the sample even as the plane accelerated toward take-off. But Baxter convinced him to take a minute out, led him forward, and made way as Park squatted down beside Zack, trying to ignore his ravaged abdomen being stitched up in front of him.

Not knowing what else to say, he said, “I’m Simon.”

Zack couldn’t nod, so he just blinked. “Zack.”

“You’ve got something to tell me,” Park said.

“I was there at the beginning,” Zack said, knowing he may or may not have a lot of time for this. “At the start of the plague, in Hargeisa. And even before that – at the creation of the virus.”

Park’s eyes went wide. This was definitely of interest. “Wait – the Alpha guys sent me a CIA report they found in Hargeisa. About an al-Shabaab bioweapon attack.”

Zack tried and failed to nod again. “Yeah. I wrote it. And if you’ve read it, then you know the virus that became Hargeisa started as a chimera…” He paused to get his breath, as well as to wince in pain. Noise had tried to give him more morphine, but he’d refused. “A chimera of smallpox and myelin toxin.”

Park nodded. “Yes. Priceless info. It’s helped me enormously.”

“Here’s what wasn’t in the report – because the world ended before I could update it. The virus mutated in the presence of rabies, specifically rabid dogs. It was only after that it became virulent in humans in the way that… that we’ve seen…”

Park’s eyes went wide again. His face said:
It all makes sense now
. “The last piece of the puzzle. Smallpox, myelin toxin – and rabies.” He had already been confident he could perfect a working vaccine with the early-stage sample they finally had. But, with that last piece of information, now he had this pathogen by the throat. He had its number. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Go,” Zack said. “Save us all.”

And when Baxter looked down into Zack’s face, the older man looked at peace. Like he was done.

“You hang on,” Baxter said. “You are
not
dying in Africa.”

Zack laughed weakly, then winced from the pain of the laugh.

* * *

Homer peered through the crack in the half-open door of the little office in the back corner of the hangar. With the front doors blown off, the entire structure was now pretty much open to the outside. And by having the office door mostly open, that gave the illusion of it being empty, too – rather than having a Team Six SEAL, an ace aviation mechanic, and a bank robber hiding behind it, their backs pressed against the thin wall.

And it was as Homer feared – Spetsnaz were not like cats who followed any moving piece of string. They were panthers, who stalked their prey with patience, commitment, and savvy. And the three trotting toward them now – including the biggest human being Homer had ever seen who wasn’t Predator – looked like the rule that proved the rule.

He was already turning to issue whispered instructions to Davis and Burns about what he needed them to do, in the brutal and close-quarters firefight that was about to erupt… when the giant and his minions changed their minds. They simply turned, ran back to the last of the vehicles, spun the tires, and roared off down the runway.

Well,
Homer reminded himself.
I’d rather be lucky than good any day.

“Come on,” he said to the others. “It’s about a mile to the beach.”

* * *

Reyes twisted at the waist again, to peer through the gap in the tires – just in time to see the last vehicle peel out and roar off. He had his .45 in his hand, resting in his lap. But he didn’t have the strength to raise it and take any last potshots. It didn’t matter, though.

He was still laughing his ass off about the grenades.

When he faced forward again, he saw three men exit the hangar at a run. He immediately recognized one as Homer.

Man
, he thought.
We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if we’d just listened to that dude earlier…

It occurred to him to try to shout at them – but he didn’t have the strength for that, either. So instead, he just watched them go, happy to see them alive, on their feet, operating. Good for them. His mind was getting a little fuzzy, but it did occur to him to wonder where they were headed. Then he thought: maybe back to the carrier. To reinforce the Marines fighting there.

That would be good.
He knew that Homer, or any of the Alpha guys really, could single-handedly turn a fight around.

“Get some,” he managed to whisper.

He realized he couldn’t see those three anymore, but wasn’t sure if it was because they were out of sight, or because his vision was fading. Or maybe because the light was failing as night fell.

And as the darkness descended, his vision filled again with the bright sunlight of southern California. It was that playground, in the pretty reclaimed little section of East L.A. where he would take his daughter. And he could see her now, five years old, riding the merry-go-round. He would always give her a fast initial spin, which would make her squeal with delight. After that, she wanted to do it herself, reaching out with her little foot and pushing off in the grass to keep herself spinning.

Reyes had never been religious, despite being raised by his devout Catholic grandmother. But in this moment, he could feel that there must be something more, something beyond what they could see. And he felt there was somewhere he had to go. And that his daughter would be waiting for him there.

Someplace like home.

With his last strength, he unzipped the top of the bag that still lay beside him, revealing Lovell’s serene and beautiful face. He was a little paler, but otherwise looked just the same as ever: switched on, happy, always ready to help. Reyes put his hand on Lovell’s cool forehead.

“We’re all going home, brother.”

Bloodthirsty and Brutal

Red Square – One Troop’s Strongpoint

Standing on their own rooftop, back from the destroyed one and open-air Spetsnaz shooting gallery next door, Major Jameson personally waved around a couple of IR strobes, guiding Charlotte and her “Fat Cow” Chinook helo back in and down. But even as he did, she was already giving him a tongue-lashing over the radio.

“You son of a bitch. You couldn’t have fucking WARNED me you were planning to blow the whole roof?”

“No, sorry, actually I couldn’t…” But then he had to get out of the way as the giant heavy-lift helo started coming down practically on his head. He decided to assume that wasn’t intentional on Charlotte’s part.

Eli leaned in to shout over the noise. “Seriously, though – how the hell did you know Spetsnaz had cracked our comms?”

Jameson shrugged while also ducking and backing away from the incoming hurricane. “It was the only way they could have captured Gibson and the plane so quickly. When he radioed his grid coords to Charlotte.”

Eli shook his head. “Damn. I had no idea you had it in you.”

“What – to be that clever?”

“No. To be so bloodthirsty, mate – so brutal.”

Jameson shrugged again, writing off the massacre of the Alfa Group patrol they had just perpetrated next door. “Fuck ’em. They were between me and the salvation of my home and my people.”

“Remind me not to get between you and anything you love.”

Jameson gave him a look that made saying it unnecessary.

Eli smiled in awe and gratitude and slapped his commander and friend on the back, then moved up to the rear ramp of the Chinook, which was already lowering. Within seconds, he and the rest of the men were pulling out a big blob-like empty fuel blivet, the only one that had been expended on the trip so far, and soon after that a couple of rucks full of ammo, quickly getting them distributed. As the men circled around and filled their empty mag pouches, Jameson pulled Eli in close.

“You really think this idea of yours will work?”

Eli smiled. “It’s so daft, I don’t see how it can fail. And, hell, your batshit-crazy idea about blowing up a rooftop underneath a fifty-thousand-pound helicopter worked. This one should be a walk in the park for you! Plus ten times as brutal.”

Jameson shook his head, then double-checked the contents of a rucksack, which he had filled with explosive charges, grenades, and rope. He went halfway up the ramp and threw it inside, then turned around and motioned to Sanders and Halldon. The two veteran Royal Marines nodded, then got the lolling Russian prisoner on his feet and pushed him up and inside. Jameson pulled on an ICS headset, and squatted down on the open ramp.

“Where are we going?”
Charlotte asked in his ear.

“Just across the square! I’ll point it out once we lift.”

The engines began to wind up, the noise and wind both pummeling. “One last thing!” Eli said. Jameson turned to see him still standing right beside the lowered ramp, very close to him. “You’re not going!”

“What?”

Moving fast for an old fighter, Eli grabbed him by the vest with both hands and hauled him off the helo ramp. Jameson passed his center of gravity, the cord of his headset yanking it off him, and with flailing arms flew through the air and sprawled out face down on the rooftop, the impact half-stunning him.

By the time he’d rolled over and bounced to his feet, Eli had already taken his place on the ramp – including wearing the ICS headset. And the bird was lifting off.

As Jameson stared, open-mouthed, Eli reached inside his vest, pulled out that battered old notebook of his, and tossed it down to him. “Keep this safe for me!” he shouted.

Horrorstruck, Jameson watched his old friend’s familiar face disappear into the night.

Smiling the whole way.

* * *

After a less than fifteen-second flight time, the Fat Cow flared in again, this time over the roof of Lenin’s mausoleum. The rear ramp had never been raised, and so Eli hopped off it the five feet down to the top of the building, then turned to take the prisoner as Sanders and Halldon handed him down. They then tossed out the rucksack and jumped out themselves.

There was no crew chief to tell Charlotte the team was clear, so Sanders circled around to the front and gave her a thumbs-up. She powered up again, and soared off into the night the way she came.

Eli did a quick scan of the rooftop, decided one spot was about as good as another, and started digging into the pack for breaching charges. But before he could get them set, Halldon hailed him over the radio. Running over and finding him on the opposite side of a small shed-like structure, he saw Halldon pointing at a door. “Think this goes anywhere?”

Eli made a fucked-off look, drew his crowbar from his belt, and popped the door, leaving the locking mechanism as intact as he could. When Halldon pulled the door open, it revealed a stairwell, leading down. Rooftop access. Eli went back for the bag, and he and Halldon cleared down inside while Sanders transported the prisoner.

They were in.

* * *

Jameson could see the Chinook coming back almost before it had left. He raised his voice to be heard by the others and said, “Everyone be ready to move. Take everything. Nothing and no one gets left behind. We’re all getting the hell out of here.”

He moved to the front edge of the rooftop and stared daggers at the tomb across the square.

So far, nothing was happening.

* * *

NVGs down, IR illuminators on, the three veteran Royal Marines worked fast in the pitch black of the mausoleum’s ground floor. While Sanders pulled security, and Eli dug around in the rucksack, Halldon leaned into the elevator shaft, which was still wide open. Looking down, he could see light coming up from ten stories below – which meant the shaft was still open at the bottom. Then he looked up, following his illuminator. He unclipped his rifle, took one end of the rope as Eli passed it over, and started climbing. In thirty seconds he’d looped it over something good and solid overhead, and right at the back of the shaft.

By the time he’d climbed down again, Eli had the other end of the rope trussed around the half-dead Russian. “Sorry, mate,” he said, as he and Halldon started pulling on the rope. The bleeding Spetsnaz Alfa operator swung out over the yawning black void of the elevator shaft. They kept pulling until he was still in sight, but just out of reach, at the back of the shaft. They then tied off the rope.

Finally, Eli planted charges on the front doors. He didn’t want them open. He wanted them gone. The three Marines ducked around the corner, and he hit the detonator. Before the heavy doors had finished rattling on the ground, and long before the smoke cleared, Eli ran out front, placing an armed grenade gently on the steps with each hand.

He ducked inside just before they went off, then stepped back out and cupped both hands around his mouth. And he shouted at the top of his lungs:

“
Oi – dead wankers! Spetsnaz buffet, all you can eat!
”

Moving as one, hundreds of dead guys, who had been slowly gravitating north toward the grenades Spetsnaz was setting off up there, now all turned to look Eli in the face. And as one they took off, walking or running straight toward him, where he stood in the open doorway of the tomb.

Eli turned and legged it, leading Sanders and Halldon at a run back inside and to the stairwell that led to the roof. They got inside – but instead of closing and locking the door, Eli left it open a crack and peered out. The trussed-up Russian, hanging in the elevator shaft, perked up just in time to shout in alarm. And Eli could see the first runners dash across the foyer and leap into the open shaft, arms extended out toward him.

Now the Russian screamed, Eli guessed because he was being grabbed or raked with nails by undead going at him like a piñata – before they fell off and hurtled down the elevator shaft like a meat bombardment. Eli watched just long enough to see those coming in behind follow the leaders – straight down the shaft. In seconds, dozens of them were pouring down it non-stop. Soon it would be hundreds.

The plug had been pulled.