Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution (21 page)

This man would carry with him vital information regarding the prisoners, tactical ability of the troops, and with luck, an update on the progress to develop and utilise the virus. Without further contemplation, I rushed towards the last place I’d seen Sergeant Cross.

An equal buzz of activity and excitement swept across the Port of Murmansk.

Russian Federation base, Port of Murmansk, present day.

Darkness fell. Dimitri, despatched with vials of the modified viral serum to inseminate the base water supply, crept silently among the shadows to the main water storage tower.

Soon after, dressed in his military uniform, Commander Rostok took position behind the wheel of the 4 x 4, loaded with the compressed gas agent. He waited for a waved signal from Dr Aslanov, and then opened the valves on both cylinders to release the biochemical payload. The propellant butane gas, lighter than air, would lift the tiny molecules of the virus skyward to spread over a greater distance. As the gas evaporated, the viral particles would fall back to earth, creating a port-wide blanket of infection. The commander took extra care as he passed through the rows of tents, driving slowly and with reasoned purpose.

Before too long, a mist of toxic gas had engulfed the entire dock. Soldiers caught outside were the first to fall victim. Rostok watched as first one, then another, fell to the floor in a fit of coughs, racked by spasms. The chain reaction had begun. Those the gas failed to assimilate, the infected would finish, driven by the desire to eat. Aslanov left his lab armed with two pump-action spray containers filled with viral liquid. Anyone he encountered became infected, doubled up, coughing at his feet.

An initial frenzy of infected, versus those who had the good sense to adopt protective masks and suits, broke out. Stray rounds pinged from the steel containers or put holes clean through the tents. Aslanov continued his path towards the administrative and command areas, out to the communications centre, back around towards the communal catering area, until his supplies were depleted.

He smiled as he watched the assimilation take place. His accelerated form meant those in direct contact became brothers of the new breed within minutes of exposure. They were not marauding creatures; they were calm, clinically efficient soldiers. They attacked in teams, overcoming and disarming the last remnants of the Federation troops. Very little blood was spilled, even less wasted. Inevitably, there were some fatalities, the more determined non-infected had to be eradicated.

Dimitri and Commander Rostok returned to Aslanov’s side to watch the new army being born. As each soldier succumbed to the effects, they joined rank after rank, waiting patiently for instruction.

“The children are born!” Aslanov shrieked.

“I can feel them. All of them,” Rostok added.

“Yes, comrade, yes. Feel them. Listen to the music of their souls. Soon, we will advance upon the Federation and topple those in power. We will seize back Mother Russia from the weak-minded and oppressive government. My army will grow exponentially until we control land and sea forces. When we have control over the ballistic missile silos and the nuclear ships and submarines, we will strike against the world. Today, here, a new breed is born. Welcome to the revolution, gentlemen.” Aslanov cackled like a man possessed.

The doctor shook the extended hand of every newly-infected soldier as he, Commander Rostok, and Dimitri, walked triumphantly among the ranks of armed men. It was a momentous occasion indeed, the birth of a new, ordered world in which humans no longer held claim to the top of the food chain.

Mere metres away, a considerably smaller force prepared to make a move of their own.

*****

Inside the makeshift laboratory cell, the commotion on the outside of the airtight door became all too apparent. Shrieks and sporadic gunfire could be heard, pinging and clanking as the bullets ricocheted off the walls.

“Bio-suits, now!” Evie yelled.

Gladstone donned his suit in double-quick time, the built-in oxygen supply making him go a little lightheaded with the first few breaths. He rushed with a second suit towards where Portman lay, literally wrapping him into it and turning him over, regardless of his injury, until he could fasten the suit tight. Portman moaned at the intrusion and his eyes flickered open.

Charles and Evie quickly donned full protective suits. Each lab contained hermetically sealed suits in case of any unwarranted contamination leak, given the substances they dealt with. The two doctors approached the bed, Evie keen to see Portman’s pupils before she would allow Charles to examine him properly.

“He’s clear. We need to get the hell out of here, right now!” Evie shouted through her visor.

“Ma’am, we need to move the bed to the hatch, from there, I’ll go up and out. I’ll need both arms to pull Phil through. You two must follow immediately. Take only what we can use to defend ourselves with and for God’s sake, stay out of sight. If what is happening out there is what I think it is, the last thing we need is the attention of the infected. We can use the chaos to aid our cover,” Gladstone warned.

“Let’s move, Gladstone. Lead the way, we’ll help push Portman up and through to you,” Charles urged.

They worked as a team, the hatch barely large enough to accommodate the cumbersome suits. From the top of the container, Gladstone scanned in all directions, his stare met with the same disturbing images. A sparse few of the uninfected troops attempted a show of resistance, but before too long, their weapons fell silent. Gladstone could see the open area beyond the radio communications truck he had used earlier. In it, ranks of troops stood still, as if waiting for something. As seconds passed, more troops joined their comrades in the perfectly formed lines.

“Go! Push now,” Gladstone urged.

With some effort, he hoisted the dead weight of his colleague up through the hatch and laid him gently on the roof of the lab. Sure that Portman was now conscious, he patted his shoulder before turning to assist Evie to rise through the restricted opening. She passed up a plastic box full of improvised weapons first, and then took a position close to Portman. She crouched low to the roof, but close enough to his facemask to be able to whisper to him. While Gladstone pulled Charles up through the hatch, Evie focused upon bringing Portman further back to consciousness.

All around them, the chaos and disorder appeared to dissipate quickly. Evie observed the characteristics of the recently infected, in awe at the differences she had witnessed from the first strain victims. These were alert, in tune with each other, and clearly able to work in groups or as one complete force. She shuddered inside her suit.

“Everyone okay, how’s Portman doing?” Charles queried.

“We’re all good, he’s with us, coming around slowly,” Evie nodded.

Gladstone approached low, bringing them in close to minimise the need for raised voices. “We need to move from here. When they discover we’re gone, they’ll search the roof first. It’s the obvious route out. I suggest we go to the radio relay truck. We may be able to plough our way out if we get an opportunity. Listen in, here’s the plan.” He paused to be sure both doctors had his attention.

“First off, I’ll go over the side and wait low. You two need to lower Portman as quietly as possible down to me. When we get on the ground, we need to move fast. I’ll take Portman as soon as he hits the ground, you two follow. Once we’re inside the comms truck, we should have a brief window to plan our next move. If you encounter any resistance, don’t tackle it alone, run if you can,” Gladstone advised. “Any questions?”

“We’re clear. Let’s move while we still have some distraction on the ground,” Evie urged.

Portman was able to pull himself along, albeit with a lot of effort. Gladstone slipped over the side, skilfully landing without a sound and instantly going to ground before conducting a visual search for anyone in the vicinity. He signalled a thumbs-up, all clear, which prompted the two doctors to lower Portman down the side of the container.

“Ahhhh, ahhhh!” Portman moaned.

“Portman, try to remain quiet. I know it hurts, buddy. We’ll get you to safety again soon. Shhhhh!” Gladstone ordered.

With Portman propped up against him, Gladstone waved for Evie to follow. As soon as he saw her legs swing out over the container, he began to move with his colleague.

Evie touched down, bent low as Charles hung precariously from the side of the container. As he dropped the few feet to the floor, he fell sideways and came down hard. A lone guard rounded the corner and stared at the physician as he lay on his side. Evie stood between the guard and Charles, her hand outstretched in a sign of surrender. The guard approached with his automatic rifle aimed squarely in front of him. He pinned Evie in his stare, examining her, almost visibly trying to detect her scent.

Evie moved towards him, slowly, her eyes locked on his. She could clearly see the black, mottled effect therein. As she drew close enough for the weapon to press into her stomach, she placed her hand upon the barrel of the gun, flicked it sideways, and brought her free hand up, in which was a plastic syringe.

She forced the tip of the needle into the neck of the startled guard and pushed down hard on the plunger. It took less than twenty seconds for the contents of the syringe to cause the soldier to pass out. In under a minute, he would suffer a massive cardiac arrest, which would prove fatal whether he was infected or not. As the knees of the guard buckled, his expression one of complete surprise, Evie unhooked the automatic weapon from his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Charles. He’s dead. Can you stand?” Evie asked, concerned.

“Yes, yes—what did you put in that syringe?”

“Nothing. Just air. Come on, let’s get to the radio truck, this way!” Evie urged.

With Charles leaning heavily upon her, they found their way to the relay truck nestled away from the main passages. Gladstone helped Charles to make the climb up to the rear of the vehicle, he noted the wince from the physician at the effort. “You need to get that ankle strapped, Doctor.”

“Thank you. I’ll tend to it. How is our patient?” He replied, looking towards Portman.

“I can hear you, doctor. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, sir,” Portman mumbled.

“You need rest, both of you. We may have to bug out fast in the coming hours.” Gladstone checked the magazine in the weapon retrieved from the dead guard before operating the mechanism quietly to push a round into the chamber.

“Now, we rest up. We’ll wait for the air to clear before we move, unless we’re discovered. The breeze will blow away the residual gas, I hope. The original virus became inert after three hours in sunlight. The problem is that this isn’t the original viral strain. Aslanov has engineered this, so who knows what he’s added or taken away. It’s also night time—no sun,” Evie added.

“Good points. We’re out of sight here, it’s unlikely they will look for us for the next few hours. Aslanov has other things to deal with right now—like a couple of thousand zombies,” Gladstone said.

Only a few hundred yards from their position, rebel forces continued to gather around the perimeter of the port covertly securing key points.

Chudo, Murmansk Oblast, present day.

When I finally found Sergeant Cross, word had already reached him of Vadik’s arrival to the camp. Throughout the stronghold, a shift in the odds could be felt among the men. As I approached him, he was already on his way to the command tent.

“Have you heard the news?” I asked.

“Yes. Good news. If we can get him to tell us what he knows, it could prove to be invaluable intel. Did you see him arrive?” Nathan countered.

“Yes, from a distance, but I heard it all. They found files and folders with him too, maybe they could contain information useful to us.”

“If he has anything to tell, it’ll not be long before he’s crying like a baby, I guarantee it. Go find Staff Sergeant Stewall for me, see if you can find Yaromir too, I’m sure he’d like a word with our guest.” He smiled.

It was a smart move. To bring the hardened Russian logger face to face with the man who once held a gun to his head, held a certain sense of karma about it. It might just put the fear of God into the political officer enough to make him cooperate. It wasn’t too hard to locate a man of such size, even in amongst so many of his fellow men.

“Yaromir?” I approached nervously.

“Da! Simon … he, he, he,” he chuckled. “Is good to see you, my friend. You look ready for fight.”

“Good to see you too. I wasn’t sure if you would be here. Do you remember Political Officer Vadik, the guy you met in your cabin a few days ago?” I pried.

“Him. Yes, I remember him. Score to be settled,” he boomed.

“He’s here, Yaromir. He’s in the camp. Sergeant Cross sent me to come fetch you. Follow me.”

Yaromir dropped the bag he held and followed close beside me.

“We’ll bring Staff Sergeant Stewall too, have you seen him?” I asked the big man.

“Da, cookhouse.” He smiled.

Nathan was right. If there was food about, chances were, that was where you would find Stewall. For his height, a good two inches shorter than me, that stocky Scot sure could put it away.

Sure enough, there he stood with a sandwich in one hand, his rifle slung over his shoulder, chatting away between mouthfuls.

“Staff Sergeant Stewall. You’ve not heard the news?” I called.

“If you have news, Simon let’s hear it,” he quipped.

“Vadik is here.”

Stewall binned the remains of his sandwich and joined the two of us as I led the way back to the command tent. When we arrived, Vadik sat before General Volkov and Janishka Seuchencko as Nathan looked on from the side.

“Ah, good. Come in, you three, come in.” Volkov smiled. “Vadik, you remember Yaromir, do you not?”

The once reddened face of the political officer drained of all colour at the sight of Yaromir as the logger towered above him.

“Vy skazhete nam vse, ili ya razorvu tebya na melkiye kusochki tovarishca,” Yaromir said.

The Russian logger had bent almost double to place his face directly in front of the political officer as he spoke softly to him. Vadik visibly squirmed in his seat, beads of sweat erupting from his rounded face.

“Ahh, he, he, he, he.” Volkov chuckled. “You must excuse my comrade, Officer Vadik. He is a working man and good at what he does. He is a man of his word, too. Honourable. If he says he will break you into little pieces, rest assured, he will—unless you tell us everything you know. Now!” Volkov ordered.

I had never borne witness to an interrogation before, except on the late-night cop shows I sometimes watched while waiting for the coal train to come or go. That seemed like a world away now. I felt glad I wasn’t in that chair right now. I didn’t envy Vadik.

In a heartbeat, Vadik looked around the room at the stares bearing down upon him. In his mind, I could imagine the cogs turning as he tried to reason with his own confusion. To come out of this alive would be his top priority, followed closely by the retention of his rank and status. On the other hand, once The Federation got wind of his initial scheme to begin a revolution, he’d find himself in a gulag at minus thirty for the rest of his life anyway.

“Okay. I will tell you what I know. My papers, where are my papers,” Vadik mumbled, defeated.

Yaromir patted the shoulder of the Russian high-ranking official as he stood straight, the smile across his face just enough to let Vadik know that it wasn’t over between them.

Yaromir sent an uneasy shiver up
my
spine, let alone Vadik’s. From there on in, it was difficult to shut Vadik up. It literally poured out of him. At no point did anyone need to persuade him to reveal anything. The commander gave his questions, and the political officer answered. Janishka asked questions, and the man responded swiftly and in detail. When Staff Sergeant Stewall asked about fortifications to the base, numbers, and capability of the troops, Vadik told him everything he knew, backed up by the signed orders from Moscow.

When the main questions were answered, Nathan stepped forward with a respectful nod towards General Volkov. “May I, Sir?” He queried.

“Sergeant Cross, please ask him what you want to know,” Volkov replied.

“You’re holding colleagues—comrades of ours. They are alive and well, I trust?” Nathan began.

I sensed the shift in his mood. A dark cloud swirled behind the façade of a reasoned, veteran soldier. Nathan’s fists clenched tightly at his sides as if he were physically fighting the urge to tear this man’s head off right there. The rage inside him at this moment threatened to consume him, and I edged closer to his side.

“They are alive, yes. One man is injured. I believe his name is Portman. The others are being held in the lab. It was not my idea to detain them, to imprison them. You must understand, Aslanov has lost his mind and has himself become infected. He is not himself, will not see reason, and has become power crazy. I did what I could to protect your people—at least until he threatened to kill me,” Vadik pleaded.

Nathan visibly relaxed. For all of his tough exterior, I had come to see far deeper than that in him. Beneath lay someone with compassion, genuine empathy at the situation that his enemy found himself in. As Vadik poured out his soul, possibly to save his own skin, I got a sense that he had entered into his alliance with Dr Aslanov blinkered to reality. It certainly hadn’t gone the way he planned it to.

Janishka stepped forward again. “You have been very cooperative, Vadik. Now, you will contact your superiors at the ministry and inform them of the situation. You will ask them to send troops to back up
our
forces when we re-take the port. We plan to rescue the prisoners from Aslanov and his men and prevent any further infection. If this virus leaves the port, there will be world chaos, destabilisation, and anarchy within hours. Do you understand?”

“I understand what must be done,” he acknowledged.

Despite her outward appearance of one demure, educated, and feminine, Janishka Seuchencko held that same air of presence as her father. He had clearly schooled her well in the art of negotiation, or non-negotiation, as I saw it. At that point, I wasn’t sure whether Vadik feared bite-sized chunks of himself, or the possibility of going head to head with Viktor’s daughter more.

Specific instructions were passed to the political officer to relay to those in command in Moscow. Any troops sent in to Murmansk were to be wearing armbands, similar to those of the resistance. No attempt was to be made against the resistance forces, or this would be seen as an act of war.

The reinforcements were only to engage Aslanov’s men from a distance and were to be in full Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical Warfare kit, with respirators. No heavy artillery or rocket fire would be permitted. To do so could blast any stored viral agent high into the sky, which would spread it over hundreds of miles. The Federation military were to be informed of the presence of British military personnel and were to assist in their safe recovery as required, Janishka ordered.

It took several hours of negotiations, after Vadik was escorted to the communications tent, for officials in Moscow to agree to mutual terms. General Volkov kept us up to speed with developments periodically as we all prepared to storm the Port of Murmansk. The Federation, it seemed, was in doubt about the capture of their political officer, at least until his classified papers were copied and relayed to those in power. From that point on, relations improved dramatically between the two parties, Volkov confirmed.

Word soon spread throughout our encampment of the uneasy alliance with Federation forces. The orders had come from Viktor Seuchencko, well before Vadik had been persuaded to make the call. It was a bold move by the leader of the resistance, risky, and yet, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a deeper motive behind it.

In light of the new information, NBC kit for the resistance fighters was hastily issued. Yet another layer I had to try to squeeze into. These suits were a little like a onesie, the only difference being a multi-layered carbon makeup. Velcro straps at the wrists, thighs, waist, and ankles helped pull the padded suit in a little, yet a sensation of having put on several pounds in weight still lingered. The suits had a drawstring hood, designed to fit around the lip of a gas mask—
respirator
. Cross would thump me if he heard me call it the former. While they wouldn’t provide total protection, they were better than nothing. Over-sleeve gloves cinched tight to form a seal at the cuffs. The one downside was that in a Russian summer, it got a little sticky inside.

It wasn’t long before the dampness of my skin soaked into my T-shirt, and a need for liquid refreshment beckoned. Nathan assisted me as I familiarised myself with the new kit, making me get in and out of it several times. He instructed me on how to fold it, how best to fit the respirator and gloves, and hot to make adjustments needed to allow me to fire with any degree of accuracy while wearing the respirator.

In the camp, I opted to remove the suit and keep it rolled at the ready, but I needed to know how to get in and out of it. I damn near took my ear off with the elastic straps on the respirator, and it was still burning now.

“In normal conditions, I say normal loosely, each soldier would also carry an injector pen of atropine. It’s a standard issue antidote to the more popular chemical nerve agents. In this case, you may as well throw the pen at the virus, it’ll still laugh while it takes you.” Nathan stated.

“You said there was a cure for what I have.”

“No, Simon. You and Barbie are unique as far as we know. You seem to have a very high resistance to the original virus. Any change made to that strain would require a new, specific antidote. Much like the common cold, we can’t cure that because it mutates so many times in each person. All we can do is treat the symptoms, which in your case, seem to be much less than those of the first infected,” Nathan explained.

“Aren’t Aslanov’s men infected with the same thing then?”

“I don’t know, until we come barrel to barrel with one of them. I’d just be guessing. Evie—” he swallowed hard— “Dr Shepherd would know more than I do. She designed it after all.”

“We will find her, Nathan. I’ve no doubt. When do we move for the port?” I asked, sensing the hurt inside him.

“Sunup. That’s about three hours away. Final prep and planning are being done now, you should do the same. Special forces will engage first, and with luck, reinforcements from Moscow will have our backs, but don’t take any chances. Remember, to them, we’re as much rebels as these men here,” he advised.

“You two good to go?” The familiar twang of Staff Sergeant Stewall interjected.

“Tiffy. We’re good. Ready when you are, mate,” Nathan confirmed.

“We’ll move in packets towards the port, a hundred-metre spread between vehicles. Nathan, our lannies will break right, you two go to the higher ground with the long-range rifle. Simon, you’ll offer covering fire if needed. I’ll be at your nine. The armoured car will take out the gates, followed by an all-out assault to secure the perimeter. Special ops will disable comms, as well as any heavy weapons they locate. We’re up against a formidable force here, keep your shit together,” Stewall stated.

He offered his hand to me and I took it, my respect for this short Scotsman far outweighing a simple handshake. He pulled Nathan towards him for a short, buddy embrace. “Here we go again. Just like old times, mate. I’ll see you on the other side.” He smiled to Nathan.

I had never seen bonds so strong between heterosexual men. It certainly wasn’t something you saw every day in the world I came from. Most people didn’t care much for those outside of their relatives, not like this. These guys would die for each other, based on nothing more than being brothers-in-arms and trust. I found myself choking back a lump in my throat.

What I wouldn’t give to hold Charley right now, to tell her all the things I should have told her through the years. I’d trade everything I owned to have my kids in my arms, to tell them what a fool Daddy has been. If I could turn back the clock just a few years, I’d pay more attention, not be so blinkered to the everyday struggle of just making ends meet. It’s only money, did we really need it to be happy?

“Hey, Simon.” Nathan poked me, “Mind on the job, okay? Sentiment’ll get you killed,” he warned, as he grabbed my shoulder and squeezed it.