“I guess this was the right call,” Dylan's soft voice said behind her.
She nodded, “I hope so. As long as no one else is here.”
“This part of Florida got medicine long before we did. So there should be a lot more of the uninfected here.”
Kala turned and slowly glared at him.
“Oh,” he said, and looked down.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m worried about. Okay, see if you can get that overhead door closed by hand, then stay here with Sophie.”
“Where are you going?” he asked, with a strange amount of concern and/or fear in his voice.
Kala reached into the station wagon and pulled out the Kalashnikov. “I’m going to walk through the building. We have to see if it's empty.”
Dylan didn't look sure about this, but Kala staved off any objection. “You can't leave Sophie alone. Get the door closed and stand guard at the car.”
“Fine, okay,” Dylan said, his face dark in the shadow of the headlights.
“Wait, did you and Sophie get the antiparasitic medicines?”
Dylan shook his head. “No. When my parents went out to try to get them for us, they never came back. You?”
Kala nodded. “Yes, they gave them to me in the hospital while I was there.”
“Well, so at least you don’t have to worry about the infection getting you.”
“Hardly, what they were giving people was basically a souped-up flea and tick treatment they usually give to big dogs. It doesn’t stay in our systems for more than a month or so. They need to come up with a real treatment, a vaccine.”
Dylan’s brow furrowed.
“I’m going, keep your eyes open.”
He nodded.
“And be ready for anything. I’m serious. Unless it's me - shoot first.”
He was not comforted by this statement, but Kala turned away and strode through the driver's entrance to the building. The garage took up two thirds of the building, the rest was probably offices and utilities. She first opened the two storage room doors, leaving them open as she pointed the beam of her flashlight into them. Typical storage room stuff. She heard the garage door closing on its track behind her. Good, he had gotten it down. One door left, the employee entrance into the offices beyond.
Kala took a deep breath and pushed into the office area, holding the Kalashnikov against her shoulder with one hand while pointing the flashlight with the other. She swept through an empty hallway quickly, the light panning over cinder block walls that had been painted a glossy light gray. She followed the hallway and as the door shut behind her, she was blanketed by a silence that overcame all her senses. Her heartbeat rose rapidly and her breathing became loud and hot in her chest. The beam of light stuttered against the doorway at the end of the hall. It was a thick steel door with a tiny window light, opaque. There was no way for her to see beyond the door.
This isn't smart,
she thought,
this isn't good.
Still, they had to rest, and she needed to sleep. This place had fuel, and maybe other supplies they might need. She had to investigate. The door approached in the white beam of the flashlight and she leaned her head against it. She felt for the vibrations of life, the sounds of humans, or the warmth of a fire or furnace. She felt nothing. It was deadly silent, it was frightening. Everything was frightening. It wasn't time to let her fears overcome her. She had to be brave.
With two deep breaths in her lungs, Kala pushed the door open. It creaked against its heavy hinges and swung briskly into the dark room beyond. Before she could stop it, the door smacked all the way open with a loud clang.
Crap
. The flashlight panned across the empty room, it was a lounge. The beam settled on a pile of supplies on the table when a roar erupted in the quiet space, and a hulking man in a janitor's coveralls burst out of a dark corner, charging for her.
It's been said that a charging man can incapacitate a person before they could ever draw a gun in defense, at least that's what the martial arts proponents said. But they weren't facing an automatic rifle being fired off the shoulder by a girl who knows her guns. The noise was deafening in the closed room. The gun barked and chattered at the same time and the big custodian’s chest exploded as he charged. He stumbled to his knees, and in the white beam of the light, Kala saw that his eyes were leaking blood, and they had black circles beneath them.
How long he had been here she did not know, but it must have been hell. His lungs finished pumping, and with a look of agonized defeat, he slumped forward, his hands clawing at the ground to either side of him. Kala took a step forward and held the rifle just a few feet over his mostly bald head. Then the gun barked once more, and a scarlet rose bloomed out of his cranium. His hands stilled, released at last.
Kala let out a deep breath, and felt her knees knock, just a little.
At least I didn’t piss myself,
she thought. The body's natural response to a life threatening situation was an intense bolt of adrenaline to anything that might help sustain life. Unfortunately, the bladder wasn't on that list, so even the toughest of the tough could lose bladder control in a situation like this. Kala let out a breath and continued. There was a bag on the table that looked medical in nature, supplies they would no doubt need. Still, she had to clear the rest of the building.
She continued on through the lounge, keeping her weapon and her flashlight on a swivel, mapping every corner of the building. The last door she came to was a locked mechanical room. Kala contemplated for a minute before pulling the trigger. She had a finite amount of ammunition, and the more noise she made, the more likely she was to draw in more unwanted company. Nevertheless, she couldn't leave any stone unturned. The round pierced through the lock with surprising ease, and Kala stood at the ready while the door slid slowly open, revealing…nothing. A furnace, a water heater, and a few mops and brooms. She let out a sigh of relief and retraced her steps. The front entry to the building was a glass door, but further in was a steel one, which she dead bolted from the inside. Now the garage was the only entrance. Only one place to guard, just as she was hoping.
Kala heard Dylan calling for her. There was worry in his voice. He had obviously heard the shots. Still, he had to stay quiet. Kala made it back to the garage and found Dylan with a relieved look on his face, leaning against the station wagon. Sophie was moving around in the car behind him.
“It’s okay,” Kala called to him quietly as she walked up. “There was one of them in there, but I took care of it.” Dylan visibly relaxed. “You can let her out of there,” she said, motioning to Sophie.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” Sophie cried as she climbed out of the car.
“Okay, hon, I’ll take you.” Sophie took her hand and Kala walked with her to the bathroom. She was glad she'd dragged the body of the man she'd shot into a little closet. “Check out the bus, Dylan. Make sure there aren't any surprises in there.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, and walked off toward the bus. Kala led Sophie into the little utility bathroom.
“Is there food here?” Sophie asked.
“I’m not sure, Sophie. We still have some snacks left though. In the morning we’ll go find more food.”
“It feels like morning already.”
“Well that's because you slept the whole way up here, silly.”
Sophie was just pulling up her pants when they heard the shot. It was a shotgun, Dylan's weapon.
Crap
, Kala thought, her mind immediately on alert despite her fatigue. “Stay here!” she yelled to Sophie and bolted out of the room. Sophie wasn't having any of that.
“Don’t leave me,” she squealed, real terror in her eyes. Kala hesitated, then came back to the bathroom. She knelt down and took Sophie's head in her hands. She reminded her so much of Lukie, her perfect, round cheeks, her baby face.
“Sophie, I have to make sure your brother is safe, okay? I need you to stay in the bathroom and I will come back with Dylan in just a minute, but I have to be super speedy and quiet. Do you understand?”
“Like a ninja?”
“Just like a ninja, Sophie. Please be brave and stay in here.”
Kala could see Sophie was on the verge of a meltdown, but she held it together like a trooper, nodding her head and biting back tears.
“Good girl,” Kala said. She left the bathroom door open with Sophie and an LED lantern inside. Then she bolted for the garage. What the hell happened? There had not been another shot, and Dylan didn't come say he was okay. She was about to pull open the garage door then thought better of it. Though her first instinct was to rush toward the problem, her brain kicked in and stopped her.
Think around the problem, Kala.
She was sure that Dylan was in trouble, and that meant she needed to assess the situation and make a plan before rushing in like a linebacker. Linebackers were tough, but they didn't last long.
The furnace room.
Exactly. She raced back through the building until she came to the small mechanical room. At the top of the wall was a grimy, pull-open basement style window. It was small, but pointed directly into the garage bay. Kala flipped over a large mop bucket, and climbed up to the window, her weapon slung over her shoulder.
A quick examination showed her the operation of the window and that it was in good working order. It was dusty and old, but since it had not been exposed to the elements, it had not yet rusted. With her breath held, Kala pulled open the window. There was an initial grunt of metal, then the window opened toward her silently. The garage was illuminated by Dylan’s lantern near the bus. And there was Dylan. “Oh, shit.”
After three hours, the jet finally set down ten miles south of the Sawyer International airport at an obscure airstrip in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Jason let out a long breath when the wheels finally stopped moving.
“It's all clear out there,” the pilot said, opening a small steel door with a hatch like a tank and coming to greet them. Despite the relative comfort of the small Learjet, the travel had been rocky. The turbulence below in the nation's populace seemed to be reflected by the convergence of hot and cold air in the atmosphere, making for a very bumpy ride. The men looked up as their pilot made his entrance and Jason was shocked to see that he was a young man, early twenties, in full military battle fatigues. He had a big black pistol in a holster on his belt, and a snub-nosed machine gun was hung around his neck.
“Holy shit,” Nolan spoke up behind him. “I didn’t know we had the commando on board with us.”
The man chucked. “I actually love that movie. Arnold was my hero when I was a boy.”
Jason believed it. The man's age did not accurately reflect his incredible physique, which must have taken years to cultivate.
“You three are important men now, we need to take care of you.”
“What branch of the military are you with?”
“The branch that kicks a lot of ass but doesn't get a lot of press.”
“Jesus.”
“Black ops?”
“If that's how you want to think of it. Look, doctors, we have a forty-five minute ride to the base. It will be bumpy; it will be uncomfortable.”
“Like your flying?” Nolan asked in a joking manner.
The man lifted an eyebrow at him, as if to say, don't test me, then continued. “This airstrip is remote and unmanned. There will be a Jeep waiting for us. We will proceed straight to the base without any delays or stops.” He paused, letting it sink in. “There are people here, and some of them are infected, but not many. The mosquito population is modest as it's too cold to sustain them well. Most of the infected here came from people who were traveling and returned home with the parasite before it had fully blossomed in them.”
“Why are you telling us this now?”
“Because we will not stop, even if someone gets in the way, and I don't want to hear any complaining from you two. This is a desperate, frightening time for people; they are violent and afraid.”
“Why just the two of us?” Jason asked.
The man grinned. “Because I know Dr. Schwartz doesn’t have a problem with collateral damage.”
They both looked over at the aged doctor behind them in the plane. He turned and fixed the young military man in his stony gaze. Schwartz looked like he was a hundred years old, but there was something very dangerous about him.
“Right then, let’s load up, men.” Clint dropped the door and led them off the plane and into the brisk fall air of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It smelled like earth and leaves. It smelled clean, fresh. Fifty yards away, a four-door Jeep Wrangler was parked under a camouflage net.
“That’s our ride, gentlemen.” Clint jogged forward and stripped the net from the vehicle. Good god this is surreal, Jason thought to himself. Like something out of a Dan Brown book. He fancied himself as the entomologist version of Robert Langdon. Jason was surprised when the ancient Dr. Schwartz passed him on his way to the Jeep. Jason figured the guy should be using a walker to get around, yet his gait was long and smooth, gliding over the pavement.
Looks can be deceiving I guess,
he thought.
The airstrip was completely locked in by the dense Gwinn forest, a heavy pine and deciduous mix. The undergrowth was stunted from a lack of light. Most of it looked like brambles, thorny and foreboding. Jason couldn't see a path out, there was no road anywhere. How were they going to traverse this landscape?
“Belt up, boys, and I’m not kidding.” As soon as the Jeep’s doors were closed, Clint peeled away from the vehicle’s resting spot, and shot straight toward the dense woods.
Oh shit
, Jason thought, tensing, sitting up and gripping the seat beneath him. Next to him, Nolan wore a look of terror, his eyes bulging out.
What is this madman doing?
Just as it seemed a collision with a large oak was inevitable, Clint sliced the Jeep to the left, and they entered a secret road into the woods.
Holy crap,
Jason thought, looking behind him. The path entered the woods at a forty-five degree angle to the airstrip, making it completely invisible until they were right on it.
Clint gunned the big eight-cylinder engine, and the Jeep tore ass through the trees. The path left only inches on either side of the vehicle. It had obviously been cut specifically for this type of transport. The ride was certainly rough, and after fifteen minutes, Jason's back was aching from the constant jarring. Brush flew past at thirty miles per hour, then when the path straightened, it was fifty, and the great trunks of ancient spruces flew by only inches from their doors. Jason closed his eyes, trying to will his own survival.
“How much farther?” he heard Nolan ask beside him.
“Twenty minutes, Dr. Peterman.”
“Oh great.”
“How are you doing back there Dr. Carpenter? Keeping it together?”
“I’m going to my happy place.”
Clint laughed at him, a good, solid sound.
“I’m right there with you, Jason,” Nolan said.
“Dr. Peterman, I thought you were an adventurer.”
There was no response from Nolan, but Jason imagined him flipping their muscled military companion the bird.
Twenty more minutes, just grin and freaking bear it.
“Do you have a weak stomach, doctor?” The voice was thick and deep and dripping with an accent, Dutch, or maybe German.
Jason’s eyes flew open, and he glanced over at Nolan, who was staring at the back of Dr. Schwartz's head. There was no doubt it was the old doctor who had spoken, even though he did not turn to face them. Nolan raised his eyebrows at him and cocked his head.
“No doctor, I don't have a particularly weak stomach, except on roller coasters.”
“That is good,” the doctor’s voice rolled out again and then stopped.
“Thanks for the encouragement,” Jason said with a mix of flippancy and sarcasm.
Clint chuckled again. “Play nice, boys, we’re here.”
The Jeep skidded to a halt in a dirt driveway outside a squat brick building.
“Does not look like much, Clint.”
“That's what my wife says! Ha!” Another big laugh from their driver.
“Let's go, gentlemen,” he chuckled into the back seat.
Schwartz was already out of the Jeep and moving, as if he knew where he was going.
“Follow the leader,” Noland muttered behind his back. Schwartz didn't hear him, but Clint did. He grabbed Nolan's arm as he was passing by, and for the first time, Jason and Nolan saw him without his big smile. “Be careful what you say to Doctor Schwartz, okay?”
Nolan nodded, the confusion was evident on his face though. Clint turned away and led them to a steel service door, by which Schwartz was already waiting. Nolan and Jason shared another uneasy glance. In truth, Nolan's nervousness unnerved Jason more than anything. Then they stepped into the old-looking building, and the world transformed in front of them.
The brick building was a facade of functionality. This lab did not want nor did it need attention. And buried in the deep woods of the Michigan Upper Peninsula, it did not need to be pretty. Inside, however, was a world of technology and communications. The floors were a smooth, finished concrete that had been stained white and coated with a clear mixture to make them easy to clean. The walls were a utilitarian cinderblock, also painted white. Jason suspected their purpose was also as a strategic insulator; it would be difficult, if not impossible, for signals emanating in this building to be intercepted outside.
It's probably been woven with a fine steel mesh as well, offering further protection from electronic attackers
, he thought. What appeared to be a single story building from the outside dipped down into the earth to create more levels. The entire space was packed with tables and cubicles. An enormous array of computer servers spanned the length of the building, and there were concave satellite links positioned at soft spots along the ceiling, no wired connections here, they were beaming directly into space.
“Wow,” Nolan said next to him, mirroring his feelings about the place. “Space command, huh?”
Dr. Schwartz disappeared somewhere in the building, leaving Jason and Nolan with Clint.
“This is our remote resource center and communications hub. The men and women here are largely off the radar. They work on obscure theories, new ideas for secure communications techniques, wild science, things you would normally think of seeing in a science fiction film. We have a lot of processing power here, and our people use that power to solve problems. And, sometimes create them for those that we are not so friendly with.”
“Black ops nerds,” Nolan said, nodding. “My kind of people.”
“With the addition of you and Dr. Peterman, we have the absolute top minds in every field involved in this crisis, right here in this room.”
“I guess you’d better be sure nothing happens to this building, eh?” Noland said. Jason looked over to Clint, who smirked at the plaid shirted scientist.
“We are well protected here. Those cinderblock walls around us,” he pointed left and right, “are three feet thick. Running through them is a dual layer of steel mesh. It wraps this entire building into one seamless cocoon, impenetrable by outside electrical or internet interference. Not even radio waves pass through, unless they are specifically directed by our satellites. The roof is camouflaged and made out of a ten foot thick high density carbon composite. Nothing but a bunker buster could penetrate it. The woods around us stretch for miles in every direction and are laced with long-range motion and sound sensors.”
“And then there’s you, of course,” Jason said, nodding at Clint.
“Yes, and there’s more than just me here. Now, if you feel quite secure, I’d like to get you working.”
Clint brought them to a long table with three large monitors on one side. The rest of the space was neatly decorated with manila folders.
“In these files you will find every piece of information we have about the infection, from its origins, to its systems, to the treatments we are using.” He flipped open a folder then closed it again. “Monitor one,” he said, motioning to the screen farthest to the right, “is our direct satellite feeds. You can look at just about any place on the planet.”
“Like Google Earth?” Jason asked.
“If Google Earth were real time and you could zoom in on a person while they were walking on the street, then, yes.”
“We have mapped the insect die-off to the best of our abilities, that information is here,” he pointed at the center monitor and touched its surface, which displayed a very detailed topographical satellite map of the United States. “This is a worldwide crisis, but our efforts must begin at home. We have a guy who’s calling every apiary in North America, getting daily updates on their bees.”
“We have many mathematicians and analysts at our disposal. They have created projections of crop losses in the coming months, and also the likely path of the food shortages that will follow.”
“Great, thank you Clint.”
“A pleasure, sirs. Our chief biologist is over there,” he said, motioning to a far cubicle where a burly man with little hair was hunched over a wide electronic tablet. “You’ll probably want to get with him sooner rather than later. This is the think tank, gentlemen; this is the place where the answers will come from.” He said the last with a grave tone, outlining the weight that was being placed on their shoulders. Then he walked away, off to do whatever commandos do in the chilly North.
“Well, crap man. Doesn’t really get much heavier than this, does it?” Nolan asked.
“Nope,” Jason answered. He flipped on the monitor in the middle once more, zooming in and reading the statistics that were superimposed over the map corresponding to each apiary. He wasn’t surprised by the numbers, but still disheartened. “One hundred percent losses from Florida up to South Carolina, then over as far as central Texas. California is hovering in the mid-nineties. The northern half of the country is in the high eighties, but they don’t produce as many bees, either.”
“Too cold to have them year round.”
“Yes. And this is just commercial beekeepers. We have no idea what’s happening with all the native bees.”
“I hate assuming things,” Nolan said, in his typical smooth, Aussie English.
He had a way of speaking that said he knew better, and that everyone should know he knew better. But perhaps he did. The guy was an international star; he’d attended more conferences and raised more awareness for global ecological issues than anyone on the planet. He was passionate, and Jason thought that maybe it was that passion that was often mistaken for arrogance.
“But since I’m usually right about things...”
Or, maybe he was just a smug bastard.
“There’s not a good way to survey native bees. Even if someone were to go out into a field and count the bees per square foot, they move around so much that any counts would be pretty inaccurate. I’m going to say that the native bee die-off is in the neighborhood of ninety percent. And that does not leave enough to do the job.”