Omega Pathogen: Mayhem (11 page)

“Holy shit!” Jeremy says, eyes wide and fixed on the weapon.

“Damn, Dad, are you gonna go Rambo on their asses?” Chris adds.

“No, guys. This is loaded with pepper gas; you know, one of the gasses that are used for crowd control. The wind direction looks good, so I’ll pop out a couple rounds and see if it works at keeping them back.”

Jim locates six gas masks and gives one to Chris and Jeremy, and one to Arzu. He gives a quick demonstration on how to don and test for a seal. He then places the smallest two on Berk and Kayra. Kayra thinks it’s cool, but Berk begins to cry about wearing it and keeps trying to take it off.

Jim has Jeremy wrestle with Berk to get him to keep it on while he steps up onto the turret platform and prepares to open the hatch.

“Everybody ready? Give me a thumbs-up,” he says, a muffled distortion to his voice.

He receives thumbs-up from Arzu, Chris, Jeremy, and even Kayra, with what he’s sure is a smile on her face by the way her eyes are squinted.

Jim unlocks the hatch and opens the turret. Taking another look at the direction the grass is bent and then noticing the direction of the windsock for the helicopter landing pad, he’s satisfied the wind isn’t going to blow the gas back on them.

If the wind shifts, he knows he can just seal up the hatch; the gas can’t penetrate the MRAP as long as it’s closed up. Jim takes a best-guess aim; it’s been a while since he’s fired this type of weapon. He fires one for effect, and then adjusts the trajectory slightly to the left and a little closer for better spread of the gas.

Seeing the spread of the gas moving to the right and away from their location, he decides to send out a couple more, adjusting aim again, trying to land the rounds more to the left and closer still to the MRAP to get better dispersion of the gas.

After two rounds, Jim’s satisfied. He pulls in the M-32 and holds it out for Jeremy to grab. He then bends down and seals the turret hatch. “Jeremy, put that back in the locker. Everyone leave your masks on and wait here.” Jim heads to the rear of the MRAP and leans to Chris so he can better hear.

“Chris, when I say, open the door and I’ll hop out. Close it up when I’m out. You stay here and keep a look out, when I come back, open her up, OK?”

“Got it, Dad,” he replies with the same distorted voice as his father. Jim adjusts his AR-15 in the low ready position, sets his feet, crouches at his knees, then points to the door with his left hand and gives a thumbs-up.

Chris, already with his hand on the doorknob, sees his dad’s signal, turns the knob and pushes open the door. Jim jumps out and with his AR-15, following his line of sight as he turns left and right, checking the area for threats. Pleased, he sees the infected coughing, rubbing at their eyes, and clawing at their throats, none of them approaching him.

Jim gets to the rear compartment of the Pathfinder, taking a look to make sure no squatters are inside. He flips up the hatch, grabs the closest thing within reach and runs it back to the MRAP. Chris, watching for his dad, opens the door as soon as he approaches. Jim tosses in the bag and turns back to the Nissan, looking around with his AR-15 following his eyes.

Back at the rear compartment of the Pathfinder, Jim gathers three more duffels and heads for the MRAP again. Repeating the procedure, Chris is ready and opens the door, takes the bags from his father, and closes the door as he turns back.

Chris keeps watch out the rear window as he moves the four duffels out of the pathway. He sees his dad returning, and as soon as he’s at the door, he’s got it opened. Jim tosses the last bag in the back, and then follows behind it.

Chris slams the door and latches it. Jim lifts his mask and informs the rest they can do the same since no gas had blown inside. “OK, Arzu, would you mind driving us to Costco?”

“No problem, baby. Seat belts first, everyone.”

“I have to go pee,” Berk interjects.

Arzu is extra careful while Berk is relieving his bladder and then picks up more speed after he’s seated and strapped in. During the short trip, Jim grabs two
MOLLE (Modular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment
)
tactical vests and removes the
SWAT
embroidered patch on the front and back of the vests.

He then gathers Chris and Jeremy closer and they load spare magazines and fill the magazine pouches on the vests. “Why’d you take off the SWAT patches?” Chris asks his father.

“We have no idea what kind of people we’re going to run into. Some might be the sort that will feel greatly liberated from the constraints of order that the rule of law has put on them,” Jim responds.

“Basically, you’re saying we may run into some assholes who will take the first opportunity to shoot someone, especially law enforcement,” Chris replies, realizing the implications.

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of scum that will take the chaotic situation to do things they’ve wanted to do, or have been already doing, and will ramp it up now in this state of mayhem we’re in.” Jim collects the M-32 grenade launcher, reloads the spent Oleoresin Capsicum cartridges and slings it onto his back.

He then collects his gas mask, attaches it to his vest and has Chris and Jeremy do the same. Arzu pulls up to the store and stops. “No infected outside, maybe it’s the sunlight,” she observes.

“Yeah, it looks good outside. Hopefully it’s clear inside too, but I doubt it,” Jim responds while looking out the windshield toward the front of the store. “Here’s the plan; Arzu, when we’re ready, you swing the MRAP around so the back is facing the entrance to the store. You can see behind you with the video feed here,” he points out the monitor set into the middle of the dashboard.

“When we hop out, you’ll need to lock the door and try to keep a 360-degree watch around us, and look out for us to come hauling ass.” They don the radios and test them. They do the same with a set of night vision goggles for each of them that Jim retrieved from one of the equipment lockers.

Jim asks Arzu to reposition the MRAP. She smoothly maneuvers the huge vehicle with the rear facing the front of the store. Jim, Chris, and Jeremy disembark the vehicle, and Arzu locks the rear doors.

As they approach the doorway to the store, Jim feels the weight of their situation seemingly getting heavier on his shoulders with each step. He’s going into a building with two of his children to conduct a tactical building search. He knows for a fact he’s more than rusty at this. They’ve only had an extremely small fraction of time to do anything remotely close to training. They haven’t had enough time.

“Let’s be smooth, guys. We’ll clear an area around the interior of the entrance to start with. We’ll see what we see and move further in if it looks good,” Jim says in a low voice as they stage at the right side of the entrance.

Chapter 18

Siberia, USSR 1974

The thing that had been Vladimir sits on the top bunk, looking around the dimly lit guards’ quarters, with frothy saliva drooling down his chin. He has no memory of this place in which he finds himself. He doesn’t know enough to realize that he should care that he doesn’t recognize his surroundings.

The ambient noises of the underground complex make him constantly look to each new sound he hears; the sounds of air vents in multiple directions, of ticking, and of air blowing through the vents as the heating and ventilation system attempts its battle with the chill…

The sounds of dripping water from corroded pipes in another direction, the hum and buzz of lighting fixtures nearby, the sounds of laughter and conversation; what was Vladimir no longer knows what laughter is. He no longer knows the words he hears. But he does know it comes from something he feels is a threat. He must attack this threat.

He jumps from the top bunk bed and lands in a semi-squatting stance. He pauses and listens again for the noises from those he feels are a threat. He lets out a low and deep growling sound, and begins to cautiously make his way to the doorway of the quarters.

He stops at another doorway where he hears the water dripping. He can smell water. The smell causes his salivation to increase. He must drink. He carefully inches closer to the door where the smell comes from. The smell of water becomes stronger, and this causes him to disregard his safety and hastily enter the guards’ bathroom.

The sound of the dripping is louder; he knows the splash of the drops means he can quench his thirst. What was Vladimir sees the sink and the dripping water from the faucet. He goes to the sink, bends over, and laps at the droplets.

Frustrated by the lack of water available to him from the slow-dripping faucet, he begins to strike it in anger. Then he freezes mid-blow when he hears another sound. He doesn’t recognize it except that he hears the sound of water.

The nearby toilet, like most all the plumbing, is faulty and the rubber seal in the tank leaks into the bowl. The thing that had been Vladimir looks at the object and sees the water in the bowl. He forgets his anger with the faucet and moves to the toilet bowl to get his fill of water.

“What the fuck, Vladimir?” the voice startles him, and he quickly removes his head from the toilet bowl, whipping it to the side to face the sound. “If you wanted something to drink. . .” The other guard can’t finish his words before they and the grin on his face are interrupted by the swift attack by what had been Vladimir.

Before the older guard can react, Vladimir pounces on him. His last thoughts are of the pain of teeth gnashing the flesh of his face and hands as he attempts to defend himself. And
why in the hell was Vladimir drinking out of a toilet
?

Below the guards’ quarters, in the laboratory, the colonel sits and observes the two infected prisoners inside their cells. The recently attacked man lies on his bunk with a pillowcase around the left side of his head, and a bandage for his ruined face and left eye that were damaged by the infected. He tosses and turns in the bunk, periodically gently grasping at his head.

His attacker stands at the bars of his cell, gripping them with white-knuckled force. His head and eyes constantly move throughout the cellblock area. He issues a deep and low growl at times.

Doctor Kosktov and Doctor Levonen are immersed in their task of compiling all data related to the work conducted in the underground facility. The files and paperwork are easily packed up. However, the viral samples are a more delicate process.

The doctors carefully fill a cryogenic storage container with liquid nitrogen. They then place the six samples of their altered virus, labeled as ‘SCARV’, into the cryo tank.

“What is the temperature of the cryo tank, Doctor Levonen?” Doctor Kosktov asks as he looks over and checks off procedures as they conclude each step.

“Maintaining minus 57° to minus 63° Celsius, sir,” Levonen replies to his mentor, with his eyes fixed on the thermometer of the cryogenic tank.

“Nearly finished, Doctor Levonen,” notes Kosktov as he reviews the checklists for data and sample transfer from the facility.

“When will we be leaving, Doctor Kosktov?” Levon asks, staring at his mentor with an excited tone and nearly elated expression on his face.

“I’m not sure that any of us will be going with the colonel and his team; he’s only ordered the data and samples to be prepared for transfer. We may still be staying here to continue research on the pathogen, or something else. You know that our position doesn’t permit us to know such things,” Doctor Kosktov replies, attempting a neutral tone to his voice, its hint of melancholy not unnoticed by Levonen.

Deciding to leave the matter, Doctor Levonen continues to assist securing samples.

After another forty-five minutes, the reports, video, and audio recordings are properly filed and packed in a container. The container is locked and a numbered seal affixed. A packing list is placed into a separate attaché case and locked as well.

“Let us go report our progress to our master, Comrade Colonel Azarov, shall we?” Doctor Kosktov says with a hint of sarcasm not missed by Levonen. As Doctor Levonen rises from his seat in front of the portable cryogenic storage, he replies, “Yes, sir,” and follows Kosktov out of the room. Doctors Kosktov and Levenon arrive in the holding area to find Colonel Azarov still fixated on the observation window.

The colonel gazes intensely at the two prisoners in the holding area as he quickly scribbles notes on a pad of paper; scribbling notes, looking up at the prisoners and then scribbling more notes. As the two doctors approach, the colonel continues his pattern. Without pause, he asks, “Have you finished packing the data and samples?”

“Yes, Colonel. We are finished packing all of our research,” Doctor Kosktov answers, with a slight hint of disdain in his voice.

“Doctor Kosktov, this facility, the equipment, the prisoner test subjects, all the research here, and you and your staff are the property of the State,” Colonel Azarov says with a tone to his voice that holds an underlying threat.

The statement and its tone are not lost on Doctors Kosktov and Levonen.

“Doctor Kosktov, in thirty minutes, you will prepare a verbal and written synopsis of your research and alterations of this virus. Your priority will be to focus on the use of this virus as a weapon. Your written report will be given to me prior to your lecture. Is this clear, or do you have any questions?”

“No, Comrade Colonel Azarov. I only ask where you would like to conduct this lecture.”

“We will do it here, close to our prize,” Colonel Azarov replies. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he returns his attention to the observation window and his notepad.

Again, Doctor Kosktov leaves for the laboratory, to correlate and compile the data into a brief synopsis.

Chapter 19

Present

Jim, Chris, and Jeremy steady their nerves near the entrance of the Costco. Chris and Jeremy stare toward the front, at the entrance they’ll take inside. Jim does his best to keep observing a 360-degree area around them.

Recognizing his sons’ tunnel vision since their circumstances permit it, he immediately takes the opportunity corrects them. “Psssst,” Jim issues the sound quietly to get his sons’ attention. Once they snap their eyes on him, he points to his eyes with his index and middle fingers and instructs them in a stage whisper, “Remember, watch your sections.”

Chris and Jeremy remember their assignments and focus on their own area of responsibility for threats. Jeremy backs away slightly from the entrance and turns to keep security on the rear of their formation.

Chris inches a little closer to his dad and focuses his attention on his area, the left flank of their position, AR-15 carbines in the low-ready positions. Jim’s area of responsibility in their formation is ahead and right flank. They had trained this way whenever they had only three working as a team.

It’s clicking,
Jim thinks to himself. He knows Chris and Jeremy are smart. He also knows they have no experience operating in hostile situations where people are trying to kill them. Jim takes two quiet and deep, calming breaths to steady his own nerves. Then, in a low voice he says, “Jeremy, Chris. Remember how we trained.”

Both of his sons turn and make eye contact with him, and give a quick nod of their heads. Looking through the intact glass doors and the windows nearby for any movement in his field of view, Jim sees no threats. Their view inside is limited to around twenty-five feet from the doorway.

Jim removes his left hand from the foregrip of his rifle and checks the right-side sliding door. He’s able to get his finger into the gap between the two doors, but not able to slide the door open. Repositioning his AR-15, adjusting his sling so the firearm is positioned to his back, Jim attempts to force the door open again with both hands.

Still unable to move the door more than a fraction of an inch, Jim retrieves a roll of duct tape from his backpack. Deciding he has no other option, Jim elects to break the glass door. Jim begins placing the duct tape on the glass of the doorway.

Jim sees Chris and Jeremy give him quick puzzled looks and quietly informs them, “The tape won’t stop all noise, but it should reduce it.” Jim replaces the tape in his backpack and unslings the pickaxe. Giving a quick look to his sons, he asks “Ready?” They nod, and he turns his attention to the door. Jim grips the axe and pulls it back like a baseball player ready for a pitch. He takes a deep breath and swings with all his might. The force of the impact from the pick side of the axe causes immediate and intense pain to travel up both Jim’s arms, but it doesn’t put a crack in the glass door.

“Shit,” Jim whispers as he looks for a mark on the doorway. Behind him he hears stifled laughter. Winding up again, Jim swings at the doorway and is rewarded with a spider web of cracks. On the third swing of the axe, at least half of the glass doorway is cracked enough to use the blade side of the axe to chop through the glass.

Although the duct tape helped greatly, the glass falling and cracking still seems louder than what Jim would like. Jim replaces the pickaxe on his backpack and readies his rifle. Turning quickly to his sons he says, slightly out of breath, “All right, guys. Let’s go.”

They file in as they’ve practiced. Jim leads them to the edge of the light entering the entrance, and they take a knee and try to let their vision adjust. The building isn’t as dark as they had anticipated; even without power, it is lit by skylights spaced out in the ceiling.

After listening for any indication they’re not alone, they move further in and widen their formation. “Arzu, copy?” Jim calls on the radio.

“I hear you, go ahead.”

“We still good outside?” Jim asks.

“Yes, it looks good right now,” Arzu replies.

“We’re going further inside. Let us know if we have any visitors, OK?”

“OK, you guys, be careful.”

Jim looks to his Chris and Jeremy, and is given a thumbs-up from both. “Let’s see what we can find,” Jim says as he rises from his right knee and begins a crouched walk toward the left interior wall.

Chris and Jeremy fall in behind Jim, Chris keeping watch on their right flank and Jeremy securing their rear flank. As they walk, Jim reminds them of the plan to secure the building. “We move forward, keeping the wall to our left. Then once we complete a circuit, we’ll secure each aisle where we need to get supplies.”

Jim hears two quiet replies of “Got it,” from Jeremy and Chris. Jim realizes this is a far from perfect plan. He knows to properly secure a building of this size; it would take several more armed people and much more time than they can afford to take.

The search along the interior walls goes painfully slowly, but without incident, other than the three of them barely controlling the urge to vomit near the seafood and meats section. They make their way back to the entrance. It’s unspoken, but they know that the interior of the store has enough space to hide many threats.

Chris gets the first turn at pushing their shopping cart as they leave the comfort of the entrance to go deeper into the store. Jim leads them, with Jeremy pulling rear security as they cautiously head to the aisle with bottled water.

About the center of the store, the three of them freeze at the sound of a squealing and wobbling noise that comes from the cart.

“Shit,” Chris whispers.

“Yeah, shit. Nothing much we can do about it now, guys.” Jim says and they resume their foray.

Their cart pushes forward, wobbling, and squealing, echoing throughout the Costco. “Dad,” Chris whispers, causing Jim to halt and turn to look to Chris. Jim smiles as he sees why Chris has stopped them. On the end of the aisle is a display of WD-40. “Glad it wasn’t a snake,” Jim says to Chris and Jeremy as he turns back around to cover his section. A few sprays later, Chris quietly says, “OK, go ahead.”

Minus the squeal and with a great reduction in the wobbling, they continue on, passing by some aisles containing items they need, but not as much as they need water and food. Reaching the aisle containing water and sports drinks, Jim has Chris and Jeremy pause and wait until he goes further down to the end.

He checks low shelves cast in shadow as he walks in a crouch with his rifle muzzle, tracking with his eyes. Reaching the far end of the aisle, Jim signals for Chris to start loading cases of water. “If you need a break, let me know,” Jim instructs Chris as he turns back to face away from the aisle. Jeremy takes up a position where they entered the aisle to provide security as well.

Although it seems like an eternity, the large shopping cart is filled with several cases of water quickly by Chris, and they make their first trip to the entrance. With the frame of the door creating an obstacle, Jim lifts the front of the cart over the frame, with Chris pushing while Jeremy provides overwatch.

After haphazardly unloading the cart into the MRAP, they take a glance around the exterior and head back inside the store.

Chapter 20

Present

This time, Jeremy has the task of loading the cart as they go through the same procedure, loading water and some sports drinks. On their way back out to the MRAP, Jim has them pause, and directs Jeremy to grab as many containers of roast and instant coffee as he can stack in the cart.

The second trip goes smoothly like the first, and they return to the interior a third time, this time Jim taking the cart duties, with Chris and Jeremy providing security.

Knowing they have a fairly good supply of food, although they’ll need more, Jim decides next on the list is jerry cans for fuel and possibly water storage.

On their way to the automotive area of the store, they come upon the aisle with cleaning items. Jim signals to his sons and they provide security while he gathers some bleach, dish soap, laundry detergent, and several containers of handy-wipes.

The three continue to the automotive section. Once both ends of the aisle are secured by his sons, Jim starts picking through items as quickly as possible, not finding as many jerry cans as he’d like: only four blue fifty gallon plastic cans.

Jim places the cans, jumper cables, and a toolbox with tools into the cart. Pleased with the find, he also grabs several spotlights. Jim then notices something he hadn’t thought to get: storage containers. He makes a mental note to get some on the next trip in, and then grabs every ratchet-strap and all the bungee cords he can find and tosses them in the cart.

With a full load, they make their way toward their exit. Chris, in the lead of their formation, glances to the left down aisle fifteen, points his rifle down the aisle and says, “Contact left.”

Prior to hearing Chris call out, Jim noticed his movement, shifted the cart to the right and brought his rifle to a low-ready position. Checking the integrity of their right flank, Jim sees Jeremy go into action as they trained. Jeremy stops and faces the rear of their little formation with his weapon ready.