Salby (Book 2): Salby Evolution (25 page)

From behind us, a warning shout erupted with a distinct Scottish twang to it.

“RPG!”

Nathan ran headlong at me, taking us both to the ground. I rolled in time to see the rocket-propelled grenade snake from high up on top of the box crane down towards the fleeing vehicle.

In one almighty explosion, which lifted the rear end of the Jeep clean over its front, the 4 x 4 somersaulted onto its roof, the sound of grinding metal on concrete an accompanying symphony of its death. The engine whined on, the rear tyres now a Catherine wheel of fire as they continued to spin. A spaghetti trail of smoke from the airborne incendiary led back to a lone black-clad figure crouched just outside the cabin of the industrial crane a good twenty metres above us.

“Assimilate that!” Nathan quipped, dusting himself off as he picked up his automatic rifle and peered through the scope towards the slim figure positioned high and right. As I watched, the figure stood and presented what appeared to be a perfect salute to the men below. I wasn’t sure what to make of the wry smile which crossed Nathan’s lips then. Instead, I looked towards the toppled Jeep and the man who crawled from it.

Wisps of curled smoke emanated from the singed clothing of Kazimir Aslanov. He coughed heavily and spat repeatedly as he hauled himself upright, the sleeve of his blackened jacket drawn swiftly across his mouth. My men, drawn by the explosion, trained their weapons on the dishevelled doctor. I raised my right hand in a gesture to order them to hold their fire.

Every man has the right to atonement, and I should know.

“You see. You can’t kill me. You men, seize them! Kill them all, I order you!” he croaked.

Another coughing fit shook his frame. Stewall and Yaromir flanked us all as Evie approached between Nathan and me. Cross squeezed her arm gently as she walked forwards, closer to Aslanov.

“There is something you should know,
Dr Aslanov
,” I heard her begin. “What you created
are
children, effectively. The sample you manufactured the strain from is second generation—from Barbie. That’s why these troops need to be directed in everything they do. It is why your plan was doomed to failure before you infected the very first of your kind.” Evie smiled. “Luckily for you, only your blood made the difference.”

The lone black-clad soldier high up on the moveable crane, discarded the launcher and replaced it with a high-powered sniper rifle. My eyes studied her as she levelled the weapon, presumably at Aslanov.

As Evie turned back towards us, content to leave Aslanov to stew in the information she had passed to him, he drew a gun from his side. A single shot whistled over our heads. We ducked instinctively, unsure of the source, or target. Seconds passed as we all looked around, checking each other for signs of injury.

The bullet had struck the doctor square between the eyes. As Aslanov fell backwards, separated from the crown of his skull, Evie folded once more into the arms of her soldier.

“Hell of a shot she pulled, eh Nate?” Stewall announced.

“She?” I queried.

“Janishka Seuchencko. She’s been popping them off for a while now, covering our asses as we advanced. Hell of an eye, that girl.” Stewall acknowledged.

“Remind me to thank her when we get back,” Nathan smiled. “We should find Dr Fitzgerald and get the hell out of here before the Federation decide that working with the resistance isn’t such a good idea.” He chuckled.

“Simon, I am Dr Evelyn Shepherd. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I believe I may be able to help you in the near future.” Evie smiled at me as she came in for a tight hug. I nodded to Cross, uneasy at having his partner in such proximity. I needn’t have fretted. He simply smiled at me with the barest of nods to match my own.

Gora Lyavochorr Mountain, rebel stronghold, present day.

General Volkov facilitated the complete withdrawal of his men. I ordered the complete withdrawal of mine. Together, we stripped Aslanov’s lab of all of his notes, samples, and test results in the creation of this third strain of the Salby viral agent. With this information, Dr Shepherd assured us all that an anti-viral could be made. The coding embedded in the new strain could be read, undone, and then used to create an effective treatment for those infected—in theory.

By the time we waved goodbye to the Port of Murmansk, much of the debris and evidence had been safely packed away. The top brass of the Federation on the ground was not happy at the news that more than a thousand troops remained infected and should not, under any circumstances, be approached.

In the interim period which followed our retreat, I, as the new commander of
the
most unique army in the world, became a delegate for talks between the rebels and the ruling Federation army. As long as they thought that a cure was a distant hope, there was scope for negotiation and terms.

I certainly wasn’t going to tell them that the elite infected force were about as effective as first graders. They didn’t need to know. In the back of the troop carrier with me were the inseparable Sergeant Cross and Dr Shepherd. Opposite sat Petrov, popping painkillers like sweets as we discussed a possible future and Dr Charles Fitzgerald.

“Dr Shepherd,” I mused, “I’m clear about the second generation thing—about how the virus in me was somehow weakened by Aslanov’s interference when he tried to use it. I understand that the first virus affected those with rarer blood types, such as mine, in different ways. What I still can’t figure out is all the handshakes. Do people in the military do that a lot?” I questioned.

Evelyn looked directly at Charles Fitzgerald. He smiled at her, offering a calm “My dear?” in response to her stare.

“Fitz, when you first met Simon, did you shake his hand?”

“I did, yes. We all did.”

The truck bounced over the rutted ground, which made us all jig like those electric beat sensitive flowers you could buy from the local flea market.

“Why did you do that, Charles? Was it a sign of friendship, surrender perhaps?”

I strained on the edge of my seat, eager for the answer.

“Not surrender as such. Simon is the supreme leader. I sensed that the minute I came close enough to him. He is the Alpha of us all. He
stroked
my palm as a sign of acknowledgement of his higher status, giving me permission. Back in my research days, I had a zoologist colleague, he became well known in later life. He took me on a field trip to visit gorillas and apes in the wild. In the males of almost all of the species we studied, those less highly ranked ask permission, or give deference to the accepted Alpha. They do that by holding out their palm for the leader to stroke,” Charles finished.

“Fitz, I could kiss you!” Evie smiled. “That’s it! I wasn’t far away in my assessment to Aslanov, but there was just that piece of the puzzle missing. Simon, the virus in you has utilised two methods of hierarchy, the first is your rare blood type, to which the virus could not gain full control. As a secondary, it has adapted your pheromonal output, the tiny, subliminal scents we all emit every day. This is the thing which draws us to, or takes us from, potential mates initially. It has utilised your
smell
to emit your supreme status among your own kind. It seems that this transferred, locked into each generation or strain of the new virus which began with you, into every new infectee.

In order for confirmation to be given, rather than a salute, the virus tapped into evolutionary events in the animal kingdom, many of which are inherent in our human evolution. It’s genius,” Evie finished.

My jaw would surely have hit the floor if only my joints allowed. As part of my curious nature, I continued with another conundrum which had me foxed.

“So, what about the skills Barbie and I showed which we’d never had before? She learnt to swim in sub-zero water over a distance of fewer than two hundred yards. I calculated the stress and weakest point of the mountain stronghold within minutes of entering it, even reciting the composite material it was made of. Don’t even start me on the ship,” I babbled.

“Ah, I think I have the answer for that too,” Evie began. Her hands began a series of explanatory motions as she spoke. “Going back to our ancestors, the virus has tapped into memories and skills that those in our bloodlines had. It explains a lot about what we’re good at and what we simply cannot master. We all have that to a degree, but your strain has utilised it, Simon. In doing so, it makes soldiers more effective killers, more resourceful too. In Aslanov’s case, he was missing the vital component: A sample directly from you. Without it, he couldn’t tap into the killer in all of us, only suppressed by our consciousness. Instead, he created children who need to be taught violence.

Many scientists believe that we once had telepathic capabilities—all of us, long before languages evolved. They think we have suppressed the ability to hear other’s thoughts over generations, as we as a species have shunned our roots in favour of technology,” Evie finished.

“But I couldn’t shoot a man when it came to the crunch,” I blurted. “How does being infected with this
thing
make me a better killer?”

“No, I don’t believe that.” Nathan interjected. “You couldn’t shoot your kin. That doesn’t mean to say you couldn’t have shot non-infected. You just never needed to.”

He made a good point, and I was impressed by Dr Shepherd’s deduction.

“Do you not feel more aware of others now, Simon? Have you experienced telepathy with those of your kind? Are you able to reason beyond what you see in order to solve a presented problem in the most effective way?” Evie asked.

“Now that I think of it, yes, to all. It is as if the clouds that once fogged my mind have lifted. I can tap into the feelings of Barbie, Cross here, and now Dr Fitzgerald too. Indeed, to each and every one of my men there,” I waved.

The question which burned on my lips was: What happens now? As the truck rumbled towards the mountain stronghold, I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to know the answer just yet.

The vehicle drew to a halt, the ever-present dust blotted out the sunlight for an instant as it drifted lazily by. There to greet us, Viktor Seuchencko smiled as we dropped from the tailgate. General Volkov was the first to approach, like the rest of us, dishevelled, covered in dust, and battle weary. He stood before Viktor in a formal salute.

“Mr Seuchencko, we return victorious thanks to these people,” Volkov announced.

Viktor, uncaring of the expensive suit which adorned him, nodded in response to the salute before taking Volkov’s hand in a hearty shake, their opposite shoulders meeting in the briefest of touches.

“You must be weary. Come, my men have food, drink, and clean clothing for you all. Simon, instruct your men to fall in, if you will. We will find a place to barrack them until we can figure out how best to proceed,” Viktor mused.

I didn’t need to shout out the orders. I simply focused my mind outwards, towards the legions of infected soldiers that now milled before us. Slowly, the men began to form ranks, each soldier spaced sideways, front and rear, to the next. The men stood perfectly still, eyes front, upon me. I recalled the numerous war films I’d seen in my lifetime, picturing what it must be like to wield that much influence over so many men as a commander. In my mind, I pushed out the words:

“Company. Atten—tion!”

The heels of a thousand men cannon-fired my order into the bedrock of the dusty mountain floor. In military fashion, I turned 180 degrees to face General Volkov and Mr Seuchencko. Overcome by a sense of awe at this single act, I stood rigid in unison with my men.

On long, lean legs, Viktor took two strides to stand before me. He shook my hand and smiled at the men lined up behind me. “Bravo, Mr Lloyd. Bravo, indeed. It would seem that I now address my military equal.”

I pushed out another order to the men.

“Company. Stand aaaaat ease!”

Again, a volley of boots to rock echoed around the area.

I sensed the unease of Viktor’s men. The realisation that my own force overshadowed his numbers by at least two to one, had clearly passed around the stronghold.

“Mr Seuchencko,” I began nervously. “From the beginning, you have given your help and resources to us, yet you had no need to. We have been kept safe here, inside the mountain. Your men risked their lives to rescue Doctors Shepherd and Fitzgerald in a conflict which
could
have gone either way. What the future holds for me and my men, I have no idea, though I suspect it’ll be a little while before I’m directing trains again.” I smiled briefly. “To that end, my men and I are at your disposal, and loyal to your cause, sir,” I concluded.

Those among Viktor’s men, who could understand what I had just stated, began to clap. General Volkov joined them, encouraging more to add to the display. He repeated what I’d said in Russian to the men, and by the last word, the whole base had erupted into applause.

The piercing blue-grey eyes of the Russian oligarch transfixed me once more. His understated nod, the subdued yet sincere smile, and his tight grip on my hand cemented our alliance.

Gora Lyavochorr mountain. Rebel stronghold, two months later.

An endless barrage of questions and enquiries from the Russian Federation continued to be directed towards us. Assurances were given and the decision, a strategic move to incite hope by Viktor, to release Political Officer Vadik to the custody of the government quelled the baying masses for a time.

It took several weeks to integrate my men with the forces of the resistance, but slowly, trust was afforded and mutual respect, along with the insatiable desire to learn by my troops earned them direction and technique to hone their fighting skills.

After eight weeks of training, for the men in combat skills, and for myself in the art of command and strategy as a leader of said men, Viktor summoned me to his private office deep within the mountain.

“Simon. Come, my friend. Sit, please.” Viktor smiled.

“You have news of my family?” I asked, excited by the prospect.

“We’re working on that. At the moment, we must focus more on you, specifically. We believe we have developed a serum to restrict the infectious side of the strain you carry. It would allow you to integrate, touch without fear of transmission. My scientists, using Aslanov’s notes, have already manufactured an inhibitor for the manmade strain within your men. It will not cure them, but it will allow them to become one with us. Dr Shepherd, working closely with Dr Fitzgerald has been running trials of the new serum, which seems to be doing well. We have yet to test the version made for you.” Viktor paused.

“I don’t understand, Viktor. Wouldn’t it be better to retain the viral agent, to use it against the Federation in the future?” I queried, confused.

“The art of war, Simon, is not how many people we can kill to win it, it is how much advantage we gain by entering into it that makes the difference. If the casualties of war are too great, what then is the sense of it?” Viktor replied.

I thought about his answer for a moment or two, my brow furrowed at the response.

“I am a businessman, Simon. My army is predominantly for my own protection and that of my assets. The development of an anti-viral has the potential to
prevent
a war before it even begins. A costly, often pointless occurrence at the best of times. That, my friend, is power. Simply because you and your men are infected creates the same deterrent as any nuclear warhead, don’t you see?” Viktor smiled.

The light clicked on in my brain as I formulated the implications in my mind. “All we need to do is make the viral element of myself and my men as safe and contained as possible within us, and the rest of the world need know no more. I could see my family again, without them being at risk, my kids—Charley. You would, of course, have the sole rights to the anti-viral manufacture,” I mused.

“There would be room for concessions for you, the physicians, and the men who aided our assault on the port. In return, I will provide a safe haven for you and your men, a place removed from the authorities and public domain. In that, you have my word as your friend.” Viktor stated. Viktor’s eyes bored into me, the sincerity in his words backed up by his unflinching stare.

I trusted this man, though he operated on a level far exceeding that of my own. I considered the alternative options open to us; very few came to mind. None, in fact. We could go on as we were, my men and I, necessarily exiled in the company of comrades, or we could move to isolate both strains.

“What do you need me to do, Viktor?”

“We should do what we can to ensure that this virus never falls into the hands of those who would use it again. It should be a deterrent, nothing more. You are unique, Simon. Barbara is a direct descendant, but you are the source. We can’t know if the suppression serum will work fully unless we try it on you. The tests conducted on samples of your DNA and of the substance in your veins, indicate that it will work. In a human subject we have no way of testing it unless you agree to it,” he stated.

“Your team has worked with Evelyn and Charles on this, right?” I questioned.

“They have approved the sample serum. If it makes you feel more at ease, I will send for them both now. You’ll see that the version we adapted for the strain Dr Fitzgerald is infected with has no abnormal side effects. We began to formulate a serum shortly after you arrived at the base. We collected DNA without wishing to alarm or intrude. Given the virulence of the first strain, to have it in such proximity to my men caused initial alarm, I have to admit. I apologise if you feel this was in any way underhanded.”

“Not at all. You have to protect yourself and your men. I would expect nothing less from you, Viktor.”

“It is settled then—you will take the serum?”

“Agreed. Have you begun to administer the modified serum to my men yet?” I asked.

“I respect your position as their commander, Simon. I would not instigate such an order without your approval. I assume that I have your agreement now to proceed with that?”

“If possible, I would like to address my men first. They will want to know what is going on and what it is that is being done to them. Is that okay?”

“A true commander. I respect any leader who will put his people before himself. Agreed.” Viktor nodded.

He picked up the receiver of the telephone from its cradle, punched a series of buttons and waited for the response. “Please send in Doctors Shepherd and Fitzgerald. Thank you.” He ended the call and dropped the handset back in its cradle.

Moments later, the physicians entered the office, smiled at both of us and sat. Charles looked fantastic. I looked at him closely, in particular, his eyes. Gone was the mottled effect that the virus had bestowed upon them. His eyes remained dark, yet more of a darker shade of his original colour than black.

“Dr Fitzgerald, you look well. How do you feel?” I pried.

“Actually, my dear fellow, I’ve never felt better. A man of my years has certain limitations, you know. The viral strain seems to have assisted in suppressing my age-related ailments. My joints are flexible again, and my faculties seem to be back to, if not better than, they were. I can even bake and decorate a layer cake, courtesy of a long dead aunt.” Charles smiled.

“Simon,” Evie began. “The follow-up tests on Charles show that the virus is dormant. It is still very much there but doesn’t seem to be active in the sense that it controls the host any longer. I believe that the serum could restore some semblance of normality to your men.”

“And the strain inside me?” I queried.

“That’s a little trickier to send to sleep. We will know more after the serum is administered to you. There could be side effects that we haven’t factored in.”

“Side effects, like what?” My mind yelled at me not to ask.

“In a victim of the first viral outbreak, the strain resisted the anti-viral and utilised it to kill the subject, that’s the worst-case scenario. You have a right to be aware.”

Her straight-to-the-point response pulled no punches and certainly left no room for doubt. I admired that.

“We have the data on Aslanov’s creation, we know what it will do. When it comes to you, we’re essentially best guessing,” she added.

“Okay, in a nutshell then, I can either spend my life in a bubble, never being able to kiss another living soul, no more intimate relationships unless I’m in a full bio-suit—hmmm, that’ll be erotic—and any chance of being around my kids will fly right out the window. Or, I can take a trial serum to inhibit the spread of the viral agent and risk a rather unpleasant death.”

Ever wish you’d been somewhere else at the precise moment you got wrapped up in something?
I mused.

You want your kids, Simon. You’ve come this far, home straight now. It’s time to put being a father and husband to the test. Do it
.

I felt no malice in the voice this time, just truth.

“You have it with you, the serum?” I asked tentatively.

Evie dug deep into her lab coat pocket and produced a small syringe. The pale blue liquid inside didn’t look unpleasant, but then, no possible half-cure would to me. I eyed the solution, locked eyes with Evie, and rolled up my sleeve.

Charles stood, left the office, and returned seconds later with an ECG Monitor machine. My heart rate, pulse, and blood pressure were taken and recorded there and then. The nip of the needle paled by comparison as Dr Shepherd applied pressure to the plunger, the blue liquid jettisoned into my system. Heat flowed up my arm, warming me from the inside outwards as my heart pumped the cocktail around my body. The ECG picked up its monotone beep rate temporarily, and both doctors had their eyes locked on the screen. As the flashing digital pace marker returned to a steady beat, the tension in the air subsided noticeably. I could hear Charles’s thoughts still.

Heat, there will be heat first. Not unpleasant, my boy. You’ll feel a little lightheaded perhaps, disorientated for a moment, as if your brain is re-booting. It’ll work, I’m sure it will. I pray.

His smile was
knowing
, reassuring. He could feel me probing his thoughts as I now felt his presence in mine.

The monitor’s sucker-ended tentacles remained dotted about my torso and arms for the next hour. The beep was almost hypnotic, a steady rhythm which only fluctuated when our talk turned to Charley and the kids. I still had hope.

On that morning after work, what seemed like a lifetime ago, I’d turned a corner. It was the determination to see my children that eventually led me here.

“I need to take a sample from your arm, Simon. It’ll pinch for a moment, then we’re all done. Tomorrow, I’ll know if we’ve managed to suppress the contagious element,” Evie finished.

“Go ahead, another hole in my arm really won’t make much difference.” I smiled.

After the needle had been withdrawn, I noticed that the tiny puncture wound had sealed instantly. My blood remained in the jelly state, and with it, I have to say, a small element of doubt arose.