Recovery: V Plague Book 8 (22 page)

It got
completely dark very quickly.  Rachel didn’t think she’d traveled more than
fifty yards through the snow before the only light was the flickering torch. 
The light it cast danced in the forest and she continually thought she was
seeing movement, catching her breath and turning to only see the wavering
shadow of a tree or bush. 

As she moved
farther away from the lake she climbed the slope that she’d dragged Bill down
earlier in the day.  It was steeper than she remembered and the deep snow made
travel very difficult.  She couldn’t walk normally, rather had to lift a foot,
extend it forward and lean into it as she broke through the frozen surface of
the snow.  Each step sank more than twelve inches before reaching solid footing
and required a lot of concentration and energy.

  Rachel
knew she wouldn’t be able to run.  But she also knew that even if she could it
wouldn’t matter.  She’d never be able to outrun a wolf, even on flat ground in
good weather.  If the animal attacked her only options were the pistol and
flare gun.  If she even had warning that an attack was imminent.

Trudging up
the slope her back itched as she thought that the wolf could already be
stalking her.  Ready to streak in from behind and launch itself at her like a
deadly missile.  Slam into her back and knock her face down into the deep
snow.  All she’d feel would be that horrific impact before the beast’s hot
breath was on the back of her neck.

The mental
image became too much and Rachel stopped, turning to look behind her, fully
expecting to see the glowing yellow eyes and blood stained teeth.  But when she
looked, nothing was there.  Just the signs of her passage in the snow,
paralleling where the wolf had pulled Bill’s corpse across the surface. 

Below her
the campfire burned brightly, providing a brilliant beacon in the dark night
for her to follow to return to its safety.  Or illusion of safety, she
corrected herself.  It couldn’t be too safe if a predator had walked in and
dragged a body off as she slept.  But it was better than sitting huddled in the
cold, dark forest, waiting to die swiftly from a vicious attack or slowly from
hypothermia.

Forcing
herself to focus on the reason she was stumbling around the woods at night,
Rachel resumed moving forward, one difficult step at a time.  Soon she reached
a small flat part of the slope, coming to a stop when she saw the body a few
yards away near the base of a tree.  It had been ripped open, exposing the
internal organs, much of the meat on the lower half having been stripped off. 
Most of both leg bones were exposed and the snow around the corpse was stained
red with blood.

Turning back
and forth, Rachel held the torch as far above her head as she could and checked
her surroundings.  The light was weak and didn’t penetrate more than a few feet
beyond the body, but she did the best she could to see if the wolf was lying in
wait for her.  As she looked she kept the pistol up and traversing the forest,
in sync with her eyes.

After almost
a minute of looking she slowly climbed up and over the lip of the crest formed
by the flat spot on the slope, pausing to check the area again.  Still seeing
nothing she took a shaky breath and moved to stand over Bill.  Refusing to look
at the damage done to the body by the feasting wolf, she focused only on his
shoulders.

She couldn’t
remember which one he’d tapped when he told her about the transmitter so she
reached down and touched the one closest to her.  Even this far from the damage
to the rest of the corpse, blood soaked the fabric, but it was frozen stiff. 
And there was nothing under the material except dead flesh.  The other shoulder
was partially buried in the snow and she had to turn him over to get to it.

Kneeling,
she tugged on the body.  Expecting the weight of a full-grown man, she hadn’t
taken into account the mass that had been removed and consumed by the wolf. 
Wolves, she corrected herself.  She knew they lived in packs and besides, there
had been too much of the man consumed for it to have only been one animal.

The body
rolled easily, Rachel losing her balance and falling backwards onto her ass. 
The torch flew out of her hand, landing a few feet away, flaming end piercing
directly into the snow.  It went out and near perfect darkness descended.  Even
though it was only snowing lightly at the moment a thick layer of clouds
blocked any moonlight that might have helped her see.

The old
Rachel, the pre-attack Rachel, would most likely have frozen in place with no
idea what to do.  But she’d learned a lot from John.  Some of it in the form of
lessons as they’d had time, but much more of it from just observing how he
operated in different situations.  She might not be able to see but she knew
where the body was and just sitting there literally freezing her ass off wasn’t
going to improve her plight.

Pushing up
onto her knees she leaned forward and touched the body, tracing her hands
across the frozen face before finding the opposite shoulder.  There was the
bulge she remembered being pointed out to her.  The pistol was still in her
hand and she jammed it into her pocket and pulled out the knife.  Leaning in
closer she was prepared to start cutting the fabric of the flight suit, then stopped
as a thought occurred to her.

Was the
beacon self contained, or could there be a battery and antenna sewn into a
different location?  If she started cutting and severed either of those this
would have all been a waste.  Unsure what to do, she stayed kneeling over the
corpse, motionless. 

Finally she
realized that if her fears were correct there would be wires leading to and
from the beacon and she should be able to feel them.  Running her hand all
around the spot she was able to identify the perimeter of the device, but if
there was anything attached to it she couldn’t find it.

Growing
colder by the moment, terrified that the wolf would suddenly appear, Rachel
decided she had to take the risk and cut the material.  She set to work,
careful in the dark so she didn’t slice her hand with the sharp blade.  It only
took a few seconds to cut open the suit, reach in and remove the beacon.

It was
smooth metal, no more than three inches long by an inch wide and half an inch
thick.  As she grasped it a faint red light flashed on the surface.  She hoped
that meant it was functioning as designed and transmitting.  She felt something
as she withdrew her hand and reached down to touch the body.

A zipper. 
On the back of the shoulder.  Tugging it open she stuck her fingers in and they
came out the hole she’d just made on the front side of the G-suit.  Shaking her
head for not realizing there had to be an easy way to access the device she
wondered what else she wasn’t thinking about that could make the difference in
survival.

Slipping the
smooth metal beacon into her pocket, she stood and began forcing her way
through the snow towards the campfire.  She could still see it through the
trees, well below her current elevation, and it didn’t look like it was more
than a hundred yards away.

Moving onto
the slope she slid a few inches with every step until her foot went deep enough
to gain traction.  Fighting her way down she had covered half the distance when
she came to a sharp stop, barely suppressing a scream.  Between her and the
campfire she could clearly see the silhouette of the wolf standing motionless,
watching her.

As
frightened as she was, Rachel reacted in the manner she’d picked up from John. 
The pistol was back in her hand and she aimed at the dark shape as best she
knew how and pulled the trigger three quick times.  The crash of the gunfire
was shockingly loud in the silent forest, her ears ringing.

But it
worked.  The wolf bolted, heading into the forest directly to its front. 
Rachel had no idea if one of her bullets might have hit it, but she felt a
small sense of victory that at least she’d scared the animal.  She rushed
forward before it overcame its fear, stumbling and nearly falling several times
as she ran down the slope.

Reaching the
campfire, Rachel finally did trip as she tried to slow her momentum, falling
into the snow.  Scrambling to her knees she hastily piled more wood on the
fire, keeping it roaring.  Moving past it, she stayed on her knees with the
lake to her back and the fire between her and the forest. 

Unless it
wanted to take a dip in the icy water, the wolf wouldn’t be able to reach her
without coming into the light.  Taking the flare gun out, Rachel made sure the
barrel was clear of snow or any other obstructions before placing it on the ground
in front of her.  When the pistol ran out of ammo at least she’d have one more
shot before the wolf’s jaws closed on her throat.

Martinez
kept the HIND low to the deck, flying at no more than fifty feet of altitude. 
She was taking them slightly east to a small municipal airport where they could
refuel the beast of an aircraft.  Irina sat next to her in the cockpit,
prepared to speak to any Russians that might spot them and radio a challenge. 

The idea was
that by flying “nap of the earth” they would be able to avoid Russian radar.  The
sun was down and the sophisticated night vision system built into the aircraft
allowed her to stay low and dark, and hopefully undetected.

After
capturing the soldiers and the surviving pilot, Irina had convinced Colonel
Crawford to let the men go.  They were in the middle of nowhere, she argued,
and there was no need to kill them.  She reminded the Colonel that the Russian
military was a pawn, having been lied to by her country’s political leadership
about why they were really in America.

Reluctantly
agreeing, Crawford had taken everything except the men’s clothing, leaving them
some water and allowing each man to keep a knife.  Igor had talked to them,
explaining the reality of the situation, but they had cursed and spat at him,
calling him a traitor.  He had been withdrawn and introspective since they’d
taken off in the commandeered helo.

The upside
to switching from the Bradley to the HIND was speed.  As long as they could
find fuel they should reach Idaho ahead of the Major, even with his advantage
of a head start.  The downside was the loss of the FSOC system.  There was just
no way to transfer it to the Russian helicopter and they were now out of touch
with Pearl Harbor, which meant a laborious search of the Idaho mountains with a
thermal imager once they arrived.

Crawford
wasn’t happy with himself.  He should have communicated with Pearl, letting
them know, but once they’d successfully subdued the Russians and seized control
of the HIND there was a scramble to get in the air and clear the area.  He had
simply forgotten.  Now they were cut off.

Martinez had
needed all of five minutes to be comfortable enough with the foreign machine to
get it in the air.  With Irina sitting beside her, translating the Cyrillic
labeling on the control panel, she found what she needed and got them going. 
And the first order of business had been to find fuel as the helicopter was
beginning to run low.

She had
located the closest airport in a small pilot’s handbook she found in the
cockpit.  It didn’t surprise her that even though it had been issued by the
American FAA (Federal Aviation Administration), it was in a Russian aircraft. 
Locating a small airport that didn’t even have a tower, she headed straight for
it to top off their tanks before heading for Idaho.

“Do you have
anyone back home?”  Martinez asked Irina over the intercom.  They were in
private mode and no one in back could listen in on their conversation.

“No.  I’ve
been here in the US for several years,” she said after a few moments of
deciding whether or not to answer.  “What about you?”

“I’ve had my
helicopters,” Martinez said.  “There’s been a few men, but they were always
intimidated by what I do, so…”

Irina
laughed sadly, “Yes, I know what you mean.  Back home, before I came to
America, everyone that wasn’t GRU was afraid of me.  Once I got here, well,
American men expect to smile and you’ll just fall into bed and spread your legs
for them.”

Martinez
nodded, encouraging her without saying anything.

“And what is
with American men?”  Irina asked.  “Before I came here I was expecting strong,
confident men.  That’s what I saw in all the movies and TV shows that were part
of my training and preparation.  Men who weren’t afraid to be men.  The
instructors kept telling me that wasn’t what America was really like, but I
didn’t believe them.  Not until I got here, that is.

“Growing up
in Russia, especially in the Soviet Union, America is this mystical land of
supermen.  John Waynes and Gary Coopers and Clint Eastwoods.  I get here and…
well, the only one I’ve met that lives up to the Russian impression is Major
Chase.  Has America always been so soft and self absorbed?”

“No, it
hasn’t,” Martinez said.  “We got soft.  And don’t even get me started on men. 
I gave up on them years ago.  I got tired of worrying about their fragile
little egos being bruised because I was a bad ass helicopter pilot.”

“What do you
mean you gave up on them?”  Irina asked, turning her head to look at Martinez.

“I just
meant I’m really tired of men who are threatened by a woman doing a job that’s
traditionally a man’s.  You know, I’m one of only three female combat
helicopter pilots in all of the US military?  Well, I was.  Maybe now I’m the
only one.”

“I was
hoping you were…” Irina was interrupted when Scott climbed into the cockpit and
stuck his head between them.

“What’s
wrong with men?”  He asked.

“They’re
always butting in where they shouldn’t.  That’s what,” Martinez said, smiling
at Irina.  “Need something?”

“Yeah. 
What’s wrong with Igor?  He’s acting like someone just killed his dog or
something.”  He was speaking to Irina.

“The
soldiers we set free.  He tried to explain to them why he was helping you, but
they called him a liar and a traitor.  Igor is a very proud man, and he loves
his country.  He’s hurt, and he’s having to deal with it.”  Irina said.

“Should we
be worried about him?”  Scott asked.

“No, not at
all.  He will be fine.  He knows the truth.  It just really hurt him to hear
those words from a fellow soldier, even if they’re not true.”

Scott
nodded, accepting Irina’s explanation but making a mental note to keep a close
eye on the big Russian.  All they needed was for Igor to decide he’d made a
mistake and they’d have a very large problem to deal with.

“There’s the
airport,” Martinez said as he was having the thoughts.  “Go take a seat.  I’m
going to do a couple of orbits to make sure we don’t have a whole herd of
infected in the area just waiting for us to show up.”

Scott
disappeared as Martinez cut their airspeed and banked into a gentle turn.  As
the HIND circled the area she and Irina kept a sharp lookout through the night
vision, but didn’t see any movement.  Completing the first circuit, Martinez
widened the next one to get a better view of the area.

The town was
small enough to walk from edge to edge in less than ten minutes.  The main
street through the center of town was paved as it was actually a small state
highway, but it was the only pavement.  The rest of the streets were dirt and
so was the runway at the airport that boasted all of one rusting hangar with a
decrepit bi-plane sitting in front of it.

There was a
hand lettered wooden sign bolted to the wall of the hangar above the doors that
read “Simon Crop Dustin”.  Either the owner thought he was being a little
homespun by leaving the G off the end of the last word, or maybe he hadn’t paid
much attention in school.

Martinez
didn’t give it any thought as she brought them into a hover after satisfying
herself there weren’t any infected in the area.  Any in the open, at least. 
Touching down, the massive rotor swirled up a huge cloud of dust and she cut
the engines as quickly as possible.  The longer they ran, the more dust that would
get sucked in and potentially clog the intake filters.

A small fuel
truck was parked inside the hangar and Martinez ran to it with Irina, Scott and
Igor in tow.  The Colonel remained in the HIND with Johnnie Ray who had woken
with a splitting headache and a particularly nasty attitude.  It had taken
threatening him with Igor to get him to finally shut up.  He was understandably
afraid of the big Russian.

Cracking
open a valve, Martinez held her hand out into the narrow stream of liquid that
began pouring out.  She rubbed her fingers together, feeling the substance
before lifting her hand and sniffing.  Just because the truck had been labeled
as fuel didn’t mean that was what was in it.  She wasn’t going to risk all
their lives on what someone in a town this remote really had in the tank.

“We’re good
to go,” she said.

Scott jumped
in the cab, sticking his head out the door a moment later.

“No keys,”
he shouted.

Irina
translated and Igor stepped forward, waving Scott out of his way.  Using his
knife he pried the ignition switch out of the dash and seconds later the
starter whined to life as he hot-wired the truck.

“I’ve got to
learn how to do that!”  Scott said as Igor drove the vehicle to the waiting
helicopter.