Voodoo Plague - 01 (21 page)

Another magazine
change and I stood and glassed the red boat.  They had extinguished the fire
and were slowly motoring away from us, a small electric trolling motor their
only source of propulsion.  I had no idea if the battery powering the motor was
capable of getting them to shore and I frankly didn’t give a shit.  They picked
the fight, now they had to live with the results.

“Jesus Christ,”
Rachel said, still staring at the four dead men in and around the blue boat.

I just looked at
her then turned the glasses back to the houseboat in time to see one of the
curtains twitch open as a pair of binoculars looked back at me.  Raising my
hand in greeting I kept watching until the curtains were pulled aside and a man
waved back.  Handing the glasses to Rachel I told her where to look and after a
moment she waved back to the face in the window.

The man in the
houseboat window turned out to be one of four men who were holed up in the
small craft.  They were the crew from the crashed helicopter which was an Air
Force Pave Hawk, the AF variant of the Army’s Black Hawk.  They weren’t in the
best of shape, the pilot the worst off with a severe concussion, broken leg and
crushed pelvis.  We had slowly motored in after the firefight and the cabin
cruiser now lay at anchor a hundred feet from the shore the houseboat was tied
to.  We had crossed the open water in the speedboat, Rachel driving and me
standing behind her with my rifle at the ready.

On board the
houseboat we were greeted warmly, but with caution.  These were Air Force guys,
and they were in the Georgia National Guard.  They’d been lucky enough to have
never been deployed to the Middle East which answered a lot of my questions
about their poor tactical decisions.  They introduced themselves and Rachel
kneeled down next to the injured pilot, a Captain who looked too young to be
playing pilot, to see what she could do for him.

I stood on the
small deck at the stern, rifle slung but hand still on the grip, and started
talking with the other three.  A very young looking kid wore First Lieutenant’s
bars and was the only officer other than the pilot, the other two both enlisted
and wearing Tech Sergeant’s and Senior Airman Chevrons.  I looked them over as
they settled down, the Sergeant by far the old man of the group.  He looked to
be in his early 30s.

They were
haggard and filthy, their flight suits smeared with mud, blood and other things
I didn’t want to think about, faces unshaved and gaunt.  The Airman had a dirty
bandage wrapped around his head and the Lieutenant had a crude splint on his
left wrist and bruising across his face, the kind of bruising that comes from
getting punched in the nose or hitting your face on a control panel when your
helicopter crashes.  Each of them carried an Air Force issue side arm but they
didn’t have any other weapons.

“I’m John,” I
introduced myself.  “That’s Rachel in there with your Captain.  She’s had medical
training and will do what she can for him.”  I nodded towards the interior of
the boat.

“Thank you,
Sir.  I’m Lieutenant David Anderson, Georgia Air National Guard.  This is Tech Sergeant
Blake and Senior Airman Mayo.  We just want to say thank you for helping us
out.  I thought for sure those guys were going to kill us.”  I acknowledged his
thanks with a nod and looked over at Sergeant Blake when he lit up a cigarette.

“Think I could
bum one of those, Sarge?”  I asked, mouth already watering at the thought of a
smoke.  I’d been without since the morning the world fell apart and probably
should have stayed quit, but all things considered I’d probably die of a
thousand different things before a cigarette killed me.  Blake smiled and
handed me the pack and a battered Zippo. 

Lighting the
cigarette I inhaled deeply, blew the smoke out with a satisfied smile and
handed the pack and lighter back.  The head rush hit a moment later and I took
another long, satisfying drag off the cigarette.  Fuck the Surgeon General.  He
was probably dead anyway.

“Thank you. 
That’s a damn good smoke.”  I said to Blake.  “Now, I have some questions and
I’m sure you do to, but first I want to make something clear.  Nothing
personal, but we’ve not exactly had the best of experiences with survivors, and
it appears you haven’t either.  That said, I don’t want there to be any
misunderstandings between us.  I see each of you with a side arm.  That’s fine,
but those pistols stay holstered until further notice.  Am I clear on that?” 

To drive home my
point I flicked the rifles safety lever off with my thumb.  The click was
clearly audible and three sets of eyes got very large.  I looked at each of
them in turn and didn’t see anything in their eyes that concerned me at the
moment.

“We understand,”
the Lieutenant spoke up.  “We aren’t looking for any trouble, just trying to
survive.”

“Fair enough,” I
said, clicking the lever back into the SAFE position.

Rachel came out
the back door and paused, picking up on the stressful dynamic of the moment,
then walked over to me and took the cigarette out of my hand.  She took a long
drag, closed her eyes and held it for a moment before smiling and exhaling
through her nose.

“God, that’s
good,” She said.  “I’m going to run back and get some supplies.  He’s in bad
shape and there’s not much more I can do with what we have than make him
comfortable.  I’ve got the stuff I found in that house that should help him.” 
Rachel was referring to the heroin she’d found in the house she’d been held
captive in.

“OK.  Take Mayo
here with you,” I answered, gesturing to the young Airman.  “Airman, when you
get to that boat you will go straight to the flying bridge.  There’s a pair of
binoculars up there and you will use them to keep watch.  If you see anything
approaching, another boat, infected, whatever, you sound that horn. 
Understood?”  I held his eyes with mine, waiting for an answer.

“Yes, sir.”  He
replied and got to his feet to climb into the speedboat with Rachel.

“Oh, and Airman,”
I stopped him.  “There’s a nasty tempered dog on that boat.  He’ll let you on
the bridge as long as Rachel here is with you, but… if you try to leave the
bridge without one of us on the boat he’ll likely bite you balls off and have
them for breakfast.”

Mayo’s eyes went
wide and he looked back and forth between his Lieutenant, me and Rachel.  When
no one smiled he got the message.  “Yes, sir.  Got it.”

He scrambled
into the speedboat with Rachel already at the wheel, untied the line holding it
to the houseboat and they were gone.

“He’s a good
kid,” Blake said.  “He won’t mess with anything.”

I grinned and
looked over my shoulder and watched Rachel maneuver the speedboat to the stern
of the cruiser where Mayo grabbed a line out of the water and tied the two
boats together.  Dog stood at the stern rail, tail down and ears up and Mayo
didn’t make another move until Rachel boarded the boat and motioned him to
follow.

“So gentlemen. 
How did you wind up in this little corner of paradise?”  I asked.

Lieutenant David
Anderson hung up the phone, grumbling to himself at the emergency call in. 
Three months out of college he was honoring his commitment to the National
Guard in exchange for four years of tuition having been paid in full.  He
didn’t mind the National Guard, especially since things were winding down in
Iraq and Afghanistan and it was very unlikely that he’d get deployed.  However,
he had just walked in the door of his cramped apartment and had planned to grab
a shower before meeting Melanie for a drink.

Melanie was a
student at Georgia Tech, in her senior year, and was the most beautiful girl
Anderson had ever seen.  Tall with a runner’s body and long blonde hair he was
still amazed that she had ever agreed to go out with him two weeks ago.  This
was now their third date, and he was hoping he was reading the signs right and
she would be coming home with him tonight.  Damn call ups, he fumed, almost
throwing his cell phone against the wall.  Instead, he calmed himself and
called Melanie and canceled their date.  To his surprise she asked him if he
would call her as soon as he was free so they could go have their drink.  He
agreed and, mood lightened, set about gathering what he needed to take to the
Guard base.

Half an hour
later he sat in a briefing room with Captain Gerry Helm, the pilot of the Pave
Hawk to which Anderson was assigned.  Their crew chief, Tech Sergeant Blake and
a young Senior Airman named Mayo sat in the row of chairs behind them.  At the
back of the room were four men wearing a mishmash of civilian and military
issue clothing.  All had thick beards, three with long hair to their shoulders
and the fourth with a shaved head.

Anderson didn’t
need to be told they were Special Forces operators.  No one other than SF
walked around any military installation looking like a dirt bag, or as Captain
Helm put it, ‘Rejects from the Hell’s Angels’.  He had seen SF Operators
before, but never worked with them.  They were almost a mythical creature to
someone like him and a thrill of excitement ran through him at the thought of
adding a SF operation to his military resume.  He snapped out of his reverie
when Captain Helm shot to his feet and yelled, “Attention!”

He was on his
feet, ramrod straight in the blink of any eye as were Blake and Mayo.  From the
back of the room he could hear shuffling about and chairs being repositioned as
the SF guys got to their feet in their own sweet time.  Anderson kept his eyes
straight ahead, focused on the US flag standing at the front of the room, but
in his peripheral vision he could see Colonel Hamm, his air wing commander,
accompanied by an Army Colonel stride into the room and take up position
between the US and Air Force flags.

“As you were,”
Colonel Hamm rumbled in a baritone voice that always made Anderson think of a
gravel crusher.  Hamm was an early middle aged black man who in his prime had
been a star linebacker for Air Force, and he still had the thick chest and arms
from the football days of his youth.  As large and intimidating as he was he
didn’t compare to the Army Colonel standing next to him.  The man was a shade
over six feet tall and obviously spent a great deal of time in the gym.  His
shoulders and back strained the ACU blouse he wore and his biceps threatened to
rip through the sleeves.  He was one of the ugliest human beings that Anderson
had ever seen and not anyone he’d want to have pissed off at him.

After the men
settled into their seats Hamm spoke briefly.  “Gentlemen, this is a classified
top secret briefing for an equally classified operation.  It is not to be
discussed with anyone not present in this room.  Clear?”

The four Air
Force personnel immediately answered with an affirmative, but the back of the
room was silent.  The SF guys didn’t do anything that wasn’t classified at
least top secret and this was old hat to them.  Anderson wasn’t even sure they
were paying attention, but he wasn’t about to turn around to find out.  Hamm
glared at the back of the room for a moment, then introduced the Army Colonel.

“With me is
Colonel Flowers from Army Special Operations.  This mission shall be under his
operational control and he will brief you on what you need to know.”

Hamm stepped
aside but the larger Flowers didn’t feel the need to move from where he already
stood.  Flowers?  Anderson suspected it had been a very long time, if ever,
that anyone had made a crack about the Colonel’s name.  Looking at him standing
with his feet wide apart and hands clasped behind his back Anderson felt a
shiver of uncertainty as the man looked at each of the Air Force personnel in
turn before speaking.

“Thank you,
Colonel Hamm.”  His voice was nearly a falsetto, almost an amusing counter
point to Colonel Hamm.  Almost.

“Gentlemen, we
have received intelligence that the United States is in imminent danger of attack. 
Not overseas, but here in the continental US.  I am not at liberty to discuss
the details of that intelligence with you, and beginning now you are in
blackout status.  No communication with any persons not directly involved in
this mission.  Am I clear?”

A chorus of
“Sir!” sounded from the back of the room, but Captain Helm was the only man in
the front row to acknowledge the order.  Flowers’ head swiveled to Anderson,
then Blake and Mayo.

“Gentlemen?  Did
I mumble?”  His expression never changed but the tone in his voice was
chilling.

“No sir.  I
mean, yes sir, the order is clear,” Anderson stumbled over his words.  Blake
and Mayo also acknowledged the order.

“Good.  Now,
your mission is simple.”  He was clearly addressing the flight crew.  “You are
to depart this installation at 2300 hours with the team in the back of the room
with you.  You will have a full load out of war shot for this mission.  Your
call sign will be Cadillac Two Seven.  Your destination is the CDC, the Center
for Disease Control, in metro Atlanta.  Colonel Hamm tells me your flight time
should be 15 minutes from wheels up to touchdown.  Pilots, the briefing packet
under your chairs contains your flight plan, radio freqs and designations, and
destination landing details.  Once on target you will stand by while my team
retrieves a passenger.

“Once they are
inserted you will remain on station and will defend the aircraft from any and
all personnel who may try to approach.  Your ROE – Rules of Engagement – are as
follows; Absolutely NO personnel, civilian or military, may approach or board
the aircraft.  Deadly force is authorized.  Am I clear?”

This time the
flight crew spoke as one with a firm, “Yes, Sir!”  Years of training was all
that kept them from giving any other answer.  Use of deadly force within the
continental US was unheard of outside the personnel that secured nuclear
weapons or sensitive installations.  Deadly force to prevent someone from
wandering up to an Air Force helicopter was beyond exceptional.

“Upon the return
of the team with your passenger,” Colonel Flowers continued, “you shall
disembark the CDC and make all possible speed to Fort Campbell, Kentucky.  You
will be met approximately half way by an escort flight of Apaches, designated
as Whiskey Flight.

“Also in your
briefing packets is a photo of the passenger you will be picking up.  If my
team is occupied providing rear cover and he arrives at the aircraft unescorted
you shall provide protection for him, bring him aboard and depart immediately. 
The team is expendable, he is not.  You are not to wait for them, or any member
of the team, once your passenger is onboard your aircraft.  Questions?”

Anderson had
about a thousand questions, but kept his mouth shut.  Anything operational
should come from Captain Helm, and most of Anderson’s questions had little to
do directly with the operation. 

Right on cue
Captain Helm spoke up, “Sir, should we expect resistance at the target?”

“Captain, you
should expect resistance.  You need to be prepared for possible panic from the
civilian employees, and cannot hesitate to do what is necessary to complete
your mission.”  Flowers stared at Helm for a moment, then moved his gaze across
the rest of the men in the room, satisfying himself that his message had gotten
across.

When no one else
spoke up he looked over at Colonel Hamm who had an expression on his face like
he’d just sucked on a lemon.  Colonel Hamm stepped forward and dismissed the
assembled men.  Captain Helm shot to his feet, calling the room to attention as
the two officers walked out the door.  A moment later Flowers stuck his head
back in and motioned for the SF team to follow him.  They quickly exited the
room, leaving the four man Air Force flight crew alone.

“What the fuck,
sir?”  Blake asked with a look of incredulity on his face.

“You heard what
I heard, Sergeant.  This is all way off the reservation for me, but our orders
are pretty clear.”  Helm flipped open the briefing packet and thumbed through
until he found the glossy photo of their passenger. 

The man in the
photo was in his mid-fifties with thick, graying hair, bushy eyebrows and a
drinker’s nose.  Anderson thought he kind of looked like his uncle.  Helm
stared at the photo for a few minutes then handed it to Blake. 

“Tech Sergeant,
I want you on the door gun this flight.  Here’s our passenger.  No one other
than him or the SF team boards the aircraft.  You good with that?”

Blake looked
down at the photo in his hand, Mayo peering over his shoulder to get a good
look. 

“Sergeant
Blake?”  Helm prompted after a few moments of silence.

“Yes, sir.  No
problem,” Blake finally looked up and answered.

“Good.  Let’s
get our bird pre-flighted and make sure the ordnance monkeys don’t forget to
give us bullets.”  Helm stood and led the crew from the briefing room.

Just over an
hour later Captain Helm pulled back on the collective and the Pave Hawk jumped
into the dark Georgia sky.  Anderson kept a hand on the controls ready to take
command if needed as Helm spun them around and transitioned to forward flight
on a direct course to the CDC.

In back, Blake
sat in the open door of the helicopter, strapped in and ready on the machine
gun that hung from a complicated sling system, ready to fire at a moment’s
notice.  Mayo, also strapped in, sat to the side ready to provide support to
the gunner as needed.  The four SF Operators sat in canvas web slings that hung
from the walls of the helicopter.  They were heavily armed and despite the
expected short duration of the mission each carried a large amount of spare
ammunition.  They weren’t big talkers, the only communication coming from the
team leader when they boarded the chopper and he asked for a headset so he was
plugged into the internal intercom while they were in flight.  Pave Hawks make
all the racket in the world and the only way to communicate while in flight was
over a headset.

The flight to
the CDC was fast and uneventful, almost enjoyable as the soft warm air of the
evening flowed through the helicopter’s door and the lights of Atlanta spread
out below them.  When they reached the CDC Anderson identified the helicopter
pad for Helm, IR strobes embedded in the rooftop landing pad flashing brightly
in his night vision goggles, then kept watch for other aircraft as they quickly
descended and touched down.

The SF team was
out the door before the rotors could spin down, running towards a metal door
that led into the building.  They moved in a diamond formation, each of the men
with their weapons raised as they scanned their individual areas of
responsibility.

“Cadillac Two
Seven, Alpha Team moving.  See you in a few,” the team leader radioed over
secure comm link to Helm and Anderson.

“Copy, Alpha
Team.  Luck.”  Helm responded, then turned around in his seat.  “Mayo, take
that M4 and some extra magazines and take up watch at our nose.  I don’t want
anyone coming in from our blind side.  Remember you ROE, Senior Airman.”

“Yes, sir.” 
Mayo sounded a little shaky, but did as ordered.  When he was in position he
plugged his headset into an externally mounted jack on the front of the
helicopter so he could stay in communication with the flight crew.

The rotor spun
slowly overhead, the engines at idle while they waited.  Helm would normally
shut down the engines to save fuel, a Pave Hawk is a very thirsty bird, but he
wanted to be ready to lift off the moment the SF team returned with their
passenger.

It didn’t take
long for the first signs of trouble to start.  Mayo came on the intercom with a
report of gunfire from the south.

“Could it be the
SF guys, Mayo?”  Helm asked.

“Negative sir, I
don’t think so.  They were carrying sound suppressed weapons, and besides this
sounds like pistol fire with the occasional shotgun.”  The stress in Mayo’s
voice was evident, but Anderson knew he’d grown up in the gang infested streets
of south Atlanta and would know the difference in sound between a pistol and an
assault rifle.

“Lieutenant,
take a look.  Mayo, stay on your position.”  Helm ordered.

Anderson gave a
thumbs up as he pulled off his headset and released the flight harness that
held him into the seat.  Exiting the cockpit he trotted around the nose of the
Pave Hawk and stopped next to Mayo to ask where he was hearing the shots, but
didn’t need to as he heard them for himself.  Jogging ahead he reached the edge
of the roof and kneeled down at the low parapet to look over.

At first he
thought he was looking at a small riot in the street below.  Three police cars,
roof lights strobing red and blue across the surrounding buildings, were
sitting at haphazard angles in the middle of a large intersection.  Five
uniformed officers faced a large crowd of people who were advancing on them. 
Several bodies lay on the pavement, already being trampled by the advancing
crowd.