Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (2 page)

At his grin, she relaxed a little and refocused on the job at hand.

* * *

Sharp watched Grace rush away for about two seconds too long.

“Do I need to replace you with Runnel?” Cutter asked.

He jerked his head around to stare at his commander. He’d thought Cutter had been briefing the rest of the team. “No.”

Cutter stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his feet apart. “Then pull your tongue back into your head. You’re damn near panting after her.”

“Not fucking likely. She’s just the only person on this base who can beat me in poker. If something happens to her, I’ll have nothing to do for the next month,” he said. “Besides, something’s not right. She’s been off her game since Marshall decided to be an ass. She’s our number-one asset. I’m worried.” The way he’d found her the other day, damn near passed out, shaking and hyperventilating like she was about to fly apart... It had hit him—a sucker punch to the gut. She was reliving something awful.

Post-traumatic stress disorder.

How many guys did he know who lived with PTSD? Ten, twenty, fifty?

What was Marshall’s connection? Something he’d done or said had set off a bomb in Grace’s head.

Even weirder, Marshall hadn’t liked it when Sharp wouldn’t leave Grace alone with him.

What the hell had Grace been involved with that earned her the dislike of a career military man who normally didn’t give a rat’s ass about what a doctor like her might be doing or not doing?

“Still, watch yourself. Word around the base is, he’s got a hate on for the doc and you got in the way.”

“What do you know, Cutter?”

“Nothing specific. Marshall hasn’t talked, but his attitude toward the doc is clear. He hates her guts.”

Cutter was right, Marshall’s face had been twisted by disgust and hostility as he stared at her the night he got between her and the colonel. What had happened to cause it? Whatever it was, Sharp wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her. She worked just as hard and long at training their allied troops as the A-Team did. And she was
good
.

“Sharp.” Cutter’s voice had a wary edge and he took a step closer. “Be careful, man. I like the doc, too. Hell, the whole team likes her, but you and I both know falling for someone while on deployment is a mistake.”

“Preaching to the choir here, boss. I might enjoy the view on occasion, but there’s a line I have no interest in crossing.”

They’d both watched as a former team member fell hard for a woman he’d met while overseas. The relationship disintegrated within weeks after he’d been reassigned. It had damn near broke him, and he’d left the military altogether.

“I respect her,” Sharp told his commander. “She’s smart and she’s worked her ass off this last year. I also think Marshall has some kind of vendetta against her. The look on his face the other night...” Sharp shook his head. “He’d have killed her if he could have. She belongs to
us
.”

Cutter was silent for a couple of moments, his gaze steady on Sharp’s face. Finally, he angled his head toward the knot of soldiers and gear. “Come on, no one is going to bother her now. Marshall needs her. Get your shit together.”

Cutter had one thing right. He needed to keep his focus on the mission. Sharp followed the other man, but there wasn’t much for any of them to do, since they were always ready to move out on a moment’s notice. Every man on the team had developed the habit during training and had only refined it since. One of their instructors used to say that an unprepared soldier was a dead soldier.

Sharp joined the rest of his team, double-checked his weapons, pulled on his battered gear and bio-suit and got out of the way.
Focus.

Cutter was talking with Bart, one of their communications guys, when Colonel Marshall walked in a few minutes later with another half-dozen soldiers behind him and headed straight for the Special Forces group.

“Cutter, storm coming at twelve o’clock,” Sharp informed him quietly.

By the time Marshall came to a stop, the entire A-Team was standing at attention.

“Sir,” Cutter said with a salute. “The go-team is ready, sir.”

“Where’s that damn doctor?”

“She’ll be here in six minutes, sir.”

Marshall grunted. “You’re taking these men with you on this mission. Two additional medics, Yanik and Anderson, and four of my infantry for security. Your mission objective is to assist Major Samuels.”

For the first time since their arrival two weeks ago, Marshall was actually helping a situation rather than shitting all over it.

“And make sure that bitch doesn’t screw up,” Marshall added. “I want the men on that patrol back in one piece. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

The team saluted and Marshall stalked off like he was Patton or something.

“So much for that guy not being a tremendous bag of dicks,” the team’s second in command, John Leonard, said in an undertone.

Chapter Two

Grace entered her quarters at a run, slamming the door against the wall.

Down
,
girl.

She came to a stop, closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly three times. Having an aneurism now would not be good, but her racing pulse didn’t seem to be listening.

Too damn bad. Time to work.

Grace pulled on her bio-suit and her equipment packs.

Altogether, she carried fifty pounds of additional equipment.

She wasn’t going to whine. Sharp and the rest of his team each carried at least one hundred pounds of weapons, ammunition and survival gear.

Grace headed toward the area of the base where air support landed and found Sharp coming toward her.

He looked her over, taking in her holstered sidearm, pack and bio-suit. He appeared to take note of everything in once glance, his nod satisfied as he turned to walk with her to the base’s landing pad.

Really? He was checking her gear like she didn’t know what to bring? The time was coming when she was going to have to knock some sense into big ol’ papa bear Sharp.

Commander Cutter was helping to load the helicopter and giving last-minute orders to the other team members accompanying them.

When she approached the bird, he pulled her aside and yelled in her ear, “When it comes to the source of what killed those villagers, you’re in charge. If the situation changes and it becomes necessary to bug out of there, you do whatever Sharp and Leonard tell you. Got that?” Cutter pulled back to look her straight in the eyes. “Sharp’s got one job on this mission and that’s to keep you alive so you can figure out this shit. Don’t make it difficult for him.”

“Sharp is teaching me to play chess,” she told Cutter. “I can’t let anyone kill him until
after
I’ve beaten him at least once.”

Cutter looked at her like she’d lost her mind, shook his head and pointed at the helicopter.

She took it as an order to get on board.

The bird was cramped with gear and men, but Sharp had a jump seat for her smack-dab in the middle of the aircraft. She stowed her backpack under her feet and buckled up. Leonard flashed a hand signal to the pilot and they lifted off.

The helicopter shook like an alcoholic drying out for the first time. The vibration always did something funky to her stomach. There wasn’t anything she could do until they landed except hang on to the bottom of the jump seat and talk her guts into some kind of truce.

Sharp nudged her arm a few times and she glanced at him. He gave her the universal thumbs-up and down hand waggle to ask how she was feeling.

She would have liked to flip him a bird, but she’d have to let go of the seat, so she stuck her tongue out at him.

He shook his head at her, but left her alone to suffer in relative silence. Or as silent as it got on a giant, vibrating, flying washing machine. The landscape outside the helicopter flashed by in muted browns, beiges and creams. A rolling, rocky, ravenous country that had devoured invaders for centuries.

An entire village this time.

How many more would die?

She didn’t bother trying to count the minutes; it wouldn’t do her any good, and it might even make her feel worse, so she let herself fall into an uncomfortable doze. It was a trick she’d learned to do during residency when she often had to work thirty-six-hour shifts. It didn’t matter where she rested her head: a desk, a gurney, even sitting up with her head jammed in a corner. She could sleep anywhere, for about twenty minutes.

The next thing she knew, Sharp was shaking her arm.

Grace opened her eyes and looked around. They were descending into a dry valley, mountains all around.

As the helicopter landed she could see low buildings—some wood, some stone—and a few soldiers waiting for them.

They weren’t wearing full bio-suits, just full-faced breathing masks.

The team disembarked, Grace in the middle of the pack, the safest spot.

The helicopter took off as soon as the last man was away.

As soon as it was far enough away for them to talk with the first soldiers on scene, she said, “I’m Dr. Samuels, the on-site bug expert, and this is my team.” She gestured at Sharp and the men ranged on either side. “We received a very short summary of what happened.” If you could call Colonel Marshall’s angry two-line description any kind of explanation. “Can you run us through it again?”

“Ma’am,” one of the soldiers said with a salute. Must be the patrol’s leader. The mask partially obscured his face and muffled his voice. “We arrived at zero-four-thirty. It was still dark, so we weren’t concerned when we didn’t see anyone at first.”

“At first?” Her breathing ground to a halt. “When did you realize there was a problem?”

“About fifteen minutes after we arrived.”

Fifteen minutes was a long time to be in the same environment as a lethal agent without any protection. Marshall had made it sound like they’d gotten their breathing gear on right away.

“We secured the perimeter and all was quiet, so we went to the home of one of the villagers who’s a friend. He’s given us good intel, food and water in the past. He was dead, along with his brother, sister-in-law and their kids.” The soldier stopped to clear his throat.

It must have been bad.

It was probably going to get worse.

“I’m going to tell you an old doctor’s trick,” she said to him. “When you look at the dead, remember these aren’t people anymore. What made them human is gone now. We have a duty to figure out what happened here so no one else dies. Focus on that.” She paused, then added, “Mourn for them later, as you should.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded and continued in a more professional tone, “We got out of there as soon as we saw what had happened. We checked the next home and realized they were dead too. We put on our masks and called for help.”

“Where did you put your masks on? Here or farther away?” she asked.

“Over there, ma’am.” He pointed at a spot about fifty yards east of their position near the village well.

Not far enough.

“I’d like you and your men to give a more detailed report to...” She glanced at Leonard.

“Sergeant Bart, communications,” he said with a chin gesture in the right direction.

She picked where Leonard left off. “While I begin my assessment.”

The soldier saluted and walked toward Bart.

“I need all the homes checked for possible survivors,” Grace said to Leonard. “Who do you—?”

“Rasker,” Leonard barked. “Do a perimeter check. Williams, Lee, start checking the rest of the village. Make sure the patrol didn’t miss anyone.” He looked at her as they headed off. “Anything else, Doc?”

“No, you’ve got everything covered.”

With a nod to Sharp, who hovered behind her, she approached the first house. Grace pulled out a small digital video recorder, sucked in a deep breath and prepared herself to see whatever awful thing was waiting for them.

She walked inside. Sharp followed.

The house was small. A hearth dominated the middle of the room, probably so it could heat the space evenly. The bodies were huddled together against the far wall under blankets as if they’d just gone to sleep.

Sharp shone his flashlight on their faces. Blood trails ran down from their noses, eyes, mouths and ears. Everyone had bloody lesions on their exposed skin. The victims’ eyes were all open and varying expressions of agony had been frozen on their faces.

Whatever caused their deaths involved pain and suffering.

This kind of kill rate narrowed the field of possible agents to a viral hemorrhagic fever caused by something like the Marburg or Ebola viruses, another virus that attacked the liver or even anthrax. The problem was, none of them killed in just a few hours. An influenza virus like SARS or MERS could kill quickly, but the timeline was still too short and the symptoms were off.

What the hell was this?

She shunted shock, horror and fear into a locked box deep in her head. “Are these all the occupants of this house?” she asked Sharp. “If someone died before the others, would they have moved the body somewhere else?”

“Maybe.” He turned around and said to someone, “Check the rest of the house and outside for more bodies or recent graves.”

She took a closer look at the victims. Three adults and three children.

The lesions on the faces of the children looked no different from the ones on the adults. That might mean the disease progressed the same way, regardless of age.

She reexamined the position of the children, between the adults, wrapped tightly head to toe in blankets. The adults were clearly positioned to protect the children and keep them warm, indicating that they likely got sick at the same time as the adults.

Grace went back to the hearth and lifted the lid on a small pot sitting on top. It was filled with something that looked like water. She poured some out into a bowl sitting in a stack on the floor close by. Tea?

No other recent source of food was immediately evident.

Was this the source of the agent that killed them?

From the condition of the bodies—no burns, evidence of seizures or skin discoloration—she could cross off chemical weapons.

Was the agent airborne or did the victims have to have direct contact with infected fluids or tissue?

So many questions and, so far, no answers.

“I want to look in the other homes.”

“Is it me or does everyone look the same?” Sharp asked.

He had a good eye for details. “It’s not just you.”

They left the first house and entered another and another. The same horror greeted them in each home: entire families, young and old, men and women, all of them dead. All of them with bleeding eyes, noses, mouths and ears. All of them with bloody lesions.

It appeared that everyone in the village got sick at the same time. The chances of that happening by accident were nonexistent.

Water, food, air or more than one?

Grace and Sharp went through a half-dozen homes before she decided she’d seen enough. She needed to collect samples and determine what it was that killed all these people.

She and Sharp joined Leonard and Bart at their hastily erected communication post, where Bart manned the satellite phone and computer. She gave Leonard a brief report.

“Man, so many little kids,” Leonard said, shaking his head.

“I’m going to start collecting samples,” she said to him in a tone so cold she expected frost to coat the air between them. She knew it made her sound unfeeling, but what they didn’t know was she paid dearly for her professionalism in emotional pain after the crisis was over. “Anything else in the patrol’s report that might be pertinent?”

Leonard swallowed hard, but answered readily enough, “The last real-time contact anyone outside the village had with anyone inside the village was a little over sixteen hours ago. Contact with another patrol through here. No indication of a problem.”

Grace checked her watch. It was now zero-seven-thirty. “Bart, contact the base and have that patrol placed in isolation. I want them checked to be sure they aren’t carrying our deadly agent.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Sharp. “So, something happened in less than seventeen hours to kill every person in this village.”

“Sixty-eight people,” Sharp added. “So far.”

“Do we have an idea of how many permanent residents there are in this village?”

“I’m afraid not. The only census taken in Afghanistan was back in the seventies. Nothing since. The population can be very mobile if there’s a natural or man-made disaster. They just move to another part of the country.”

“So, we have no idea if any survivors packed up and left in the middle of the night?”

He shrugged. “Extended family, traders or even someone just traveling through the area could have stopped here.”

“Well, the news can’t get any worse.” If someone had left the village and taken the illness with them, the infection could spread.

“Doc,” someone shouted, stress making the word sound higher-pitched than it should.

Here came the worse news. She should’ve kept her mouth shut.

Grace squinted at the soldier coming toward her at a run. It was Rasker.

“Did you find any survivors?”

“No, ma’am, we found more bodies.”

Rasker hadn’t been coming from the village, but toward it. “Someone leaving or returning?” she asked him when he got close enough.

He shook his head. “Not people.”

Not people?
She’d thought she couldn’t get any more afraid of whatever this was.

She was wrong.

Any disease affecting animals as well as people, especially bacteria or viruses, ran a much higher risk of becoming a pandemic. A worldwide killer.

“Show me.”