What he also didn’t convey to Jack was that in all reality, in a few hours, everyone’s work was finished in Peru.
CHAPTER THREE
May 7
th
Berlin Brandenburg International Airport
It was cloudy and damp, not very bright for morning and that gave it an eerie feel. Greg impressed himself. Despite the fact that he couldn’t focus, was scared out of his head, he landed the plane gently and probably the best landing he had ever made.
He knew it would be his last.
They didn’t roll into the gate, ready to have the passengers disembark. Somewhere just after he touched down, Greg brought the plane to a stop on runway 19 and shut it down.
“What are you doing?” Marion asked. “What?”
“I can’t, not with a clear conscience, bring this plane near the airport. Not with what is happening in the back.”
“But we don’t know what is happening.”
“We know enough.”
And Greg did. The load moans, the constant attempts to get into the cockpit were there. There were no more screams for help, no crying. Only sounds of the damned came from the plane, and that told Greg pretty much him and Marion were the only ones who hadn’t turned into those things.
They weren’t on that section of runway more than a few minutes when the tower radioed to see what was wrong.
“We have a situation on the plane,” Greg told them. “It started when we had to find Hans Riesman. He started it all. Things . . . things are out of control. People are dead. Lots. They’ve taken over the plane.”
Tower asked them if they were secure in the cockpit and told them to stay calm.
Stay calm.
Within a few minutes airport security was on the runway. Then following them, were police -- at least eight squad cars.
Greg felt a little better. He and Marion would get out of the cockpit eventually. But one thing Greg didn’t realize. Perhaps he should have been more specific when conveying what was happening on this plane.
<><><><>
“We believe it is a terrorist situation,” Thomas Bauer, head of the Brandenburg Police division told John Koch when his SEK teams arrived thirty minutes later. The SEK were an elite squad, the German equivalent of a SWAT team.
“And it goes way beyond what we have here,” Thomas continued.
“What is the situation?”
Thomas exhaled heavily before beginning his explanation. “The flight took off without incident. Approximately three hours ago we received a call from Health Authorities and US military that a virologist Dr. Hans Riesman had fled a Peru infection site and was on the plane. He left the site without notice and, while they didn’t believe he was infected, they wanted him located.”
“Infection?”
“Some object contaminated a local village.”
“Bio warfare.”
Thomas held up a finger with a slight smile. “Makes sense when you hear the whole story. Riesman was located, Seems from what we gathered from the co pilot, he was violent with another passenger and he and others began taking control of the plane, attacking people. Looks like some are dead. Looks as if possibly the passengers revolted.”
“The co-pilot not the captain?”
Thomas shook his head. ‘Captain was killed in the violence.”
“So basically, you have a bio weapon in Peru, looks like maybe this virologist had something to do with it, fled and took over this plane. Why?” John asked.
“Maybe he had plans to spread this virus further than Peru.” Thomas shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Whatever his plan was it stops here.” John nodded in a pointing motion to his preparing team. “My men are getting ready to gas and storm the plane. From both emergency exits and the cargo.”
Thomas looked at the teams taking placement. “We have the co pilot and the attendant in the cockpit.”
“They’ll be fine.”
Thomas nodded. “Let’s get this done with.”
<><><><>
Billy Meyers was nearly kicked from the church youth group over his obsession with horror films. The pastor believed Satan was digging his claws into Billy via evil movies. Billy like the youth group so he lied about his infatuation being done, never divulging the fact that he rented a good zombie flick every chance he could.
He was a typical teenager in so many ways.
He was also grateful for the abundance of knowledge he gained form horror films.
Returning from a mission trip to Peru, getting a connecting flight from Berlin to New York, Billy never expected what transpired on that plane.
“Haven’t any of these people ever heard of George Romero?’ was Billy’s first thought when all hell broke loose. The second thought was to get to safety and get out. To Billy, that was the Cargo hold.
He led the small group from the main belly of the plane.
It started with eight, and only five remained for the last leg.
Lisa was a hold up. Not that there was anything wrong with praying, but Billy felt she could do that when she was running. He kept his cool, logical, was remarkably keen for a seventeen year old. The final straw with her came when one of the zombies grasped her hair as they made it to the last secure door of Cargo.
With all of his weight, he charged as fast as he could, bodily slamming the cargo door closed and amputating the undead arm.
It still clutched to Lisa’s hair.
“Enough!” Billy blasted. “Calm down.”
The undead were relentless. They banged against the door. It wasn’t going to hold, Billy knew that.
Lisa cried hysterically.
Before leading the small group to find the cargo door, Billy calmly removed the hand still clutched to Lisa’s hair.
“Let’s go,” he ordered brushing by Lisa and leading the way, hopefully to the door. At the very least Billy was thinking about making a barricade wall with luggage.
He had moved about five feet ahead when he noticed Lisa was still in the back. “Lisa!” he called, then with irritation ran to her. “Come on.” He reached for her, but she pulled away.
Her eyes rose from her hand to Billy. “I’m bit.”
<><><><>
Using high powered, precision grenade propelling weapons, the SEK team simultaneously shot six windows of the airplane that sat on the run way. Doing as they were designed, the windows did not break, they popped inward with the force, and canisters sailed into the aircraft releasing an opiate fentanyl based gas throughout the cabin.
It was a bold move, but one the SEK team was confident of.
Smoke seeped from the broken windows. Giving it a few seconds, John waved his arm and called on the radio to his team and other squads that were there.
It was time to storm the plane.
At top speed they raced across the runaway.
It was a well rehearsed ballet.
How could it go wrong?
<><><><>
Billy heard the commotion and knew something was going on above them. That noise along with the undead trying the hardest to get through the one door made things tense enough, but when everyone started yelling Billy was ready to scream.
As if he held all the answers, they panicked, asking how they were going to get off the plane when they were so far off the ground.
Billy thought maybe the emergency chute would deploy; it didn’t matter, they’d cross that bridge when they opened that door.
It was daylight, and Billy was pretty certain whoever flew the plane radioed for help, so someone had to be out there. That had to be the people who fired the shots.
“Help is out there. I believe it.” Billy told them. “Now let’s just open this door.”
Two things occurred within five seconds of him saying that.
The first, just as Billy and another man reached to unlock the cargo door, it opened and four soldiers, armed stood there on a mobile stair case.
The second . . . the undead broke through.
Billy let out a shriek of shock. Lisa screamed. Summing up the best advice he could in one word, Billy grasped the arms of a soldier, looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “Run!”
Then Billy, forgetting everything else, followed his own advice.
He took off.
<><><><>
Thomas exhaled loudly in relief, relaxing just a tad when he saw the squads storm the plane and the passengers running free.
At first there were five, then following some gun shots and commotion, a lot of passengers flew from the cargo area. Thomas thought, how smart they were for hiding down there, but so many and then he chuckled a little how in their enthusiasm they were falling down the stairs.
That cheerful moment lasted briefly.
He heard the crackle of John’s radio just before the panicked cries of his men onboard. More shots rang out and then there were more screams.
“Get out, pull out.” John ordered.
It all happened so fast. Pull out? Thomas went from looking at John to raising his eyes to the plane; more passengers emerged from the aircraft, leaping from the open door to the ground. In what should have been a fall that broke their legs, they stood again and raced Thomas’ way.
Mouth moving in question, yet not speaking, Thomas saw the first group of five running his way at top speed. They didn’t stop. A young man in the lead took a second to make quick eye contact with Thomas, cry out the words, ‘Get out’ and he kept fleeing.
Thomas made the mistake of watching the young man, trying to make heads or tails out of the situation. A close shot fired by his ear caused him to turn around, when he did, the wall of passengers ascended on the wall of police.
It was a riot out of control. His men fired on the frantic passengers. But they kept coming, pouncing on the police officials. Something wasn’t right, they didn’t look right. Before he could decipher what was wrong with them, one jumped on him knocking him to the ground.
Struggling, Thomas pushed the man up from him as best as he could. He caught one glimpse of the pale and bloodied face, took one whiff of the nasty odor that came from him and then Thomas lost his struggle. The man overpowered and lunged with an open mouth for his neck.
Then man succeeded in literally ripping apart Thomas’ neck.
Thomas was dead . . . for the moment.
CHAPTER FOUR
Centers for Disease Control – Atlanta
Deep below the surface it was hard to tell day from night. No windows, just a clock on the wall or the time perched in the corner of a computer screen.
Captain Steven Long knew it was morning. He hadn’t been to sleep in over 24 four hours and if it hadn’t been for the smell of bacon, he wouldn’t have known it was morning.
They were given a section of the underground lab, even though they worked on the virus on the floors above. Where he and Saul set up shop was more to study the victims in a hospital setting.
Steven thought he’d probably end up living down there until the episode was over.
He didn’t figure himself to be the one to find the cure, although he had isolated the bacterium, and impressively, at least to himself, was discovering a lot about how the bacterium ran its course. More than likely, Dr. Powers would be the one to beat it. He was brilliant and was working with his team, nonstop several floors above. As a young medical student in virology, Steven had heard a lot about Powers and his work.
Steve waited to hear from him, in fact, before he checked in with Saul, he called Dr. Powers. Dr. Powers wasn’t willing to give out information, but he did reluctantly. Steven reasoned he’d probably be the same if he was in Dr. Powers’ position. Powers didn’t know him at all and was pretty much forced to work with the Army doctor.
Armed with what information he had along with a warm bagel, he raised his hand to knock on Saul’s door. The sounds of commotion, screaming flowed from Saul’s underground office. Muffled sounds as if Saul were listening to a recording.
Steven knocked.
The sound stopped.
“Come in,” Saul called out.
Steven entered. “I brought you some information and something to eat.”
“Ah, thank you Captain Long. I appreciate that.” Saul turned his chair from the television. “My wife would appreciate knowing someone was feeding me.”
“Does she know you are back in the states?”
Saul nodded. “I called and let her know. I was a bit vague.”
“Understandable.”
“Ever been married to a Jewish woman?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Being vague doesn’t wash. I give her about another half hour of tolerance and then she’ll be calling nonstop.”
“What are you going to tell her?” Steven asked.
Saul shrugged. “Don’t know, Captain.”
“Please, call me Steve.”
“Steve.” After a pause, Saul exhaled. “What news do you have?”
“Well no deaths . . . yet. One is close, very close; vitals are so slow they are nearly undetectable.”
“What about the other soldier.”
“Not far behind,” Steve replied. “We’ve managed to slow the progress of the bacterium in the blood stream with sedatives. But that’s prolonging its reaction time. Right now, we have a the second soldier prepped in a CT scan and hooked up to EEG for when he passes and well, regenerates.”
Saul cringed a little. “Why not the one closer to death?”
“He was thrashing quite a bit. We’re probably going to probe the brain here shortly, with your permission, to halt regeneration.”
“You may do so if he’s already violent.”
“Thank you.”
“What about the boy?” Saul asked.
“Calm and quiet. Like our second soldier.”
“Could there be two strains of the?”
“I doubt it. It’s how the bacterium affects the brain. The calm and quiet is abnormal. We have five more due to arrive. Three are showing signs in the blood stream, according to our initial blood tests and sequential ones run on the plane.”
“The other two.”
“One is a Sergeant who has a wound of unknown origins during an attack. No bacterium yet in the blood, he’s coming here as a precaution and if he’s clear, posted here because of something he did.” Steve shuffled through his notes. “Seems a Specialist Carlson was bitten and this sergeant amputated the arm immediately in the field. This is the one Dr. Powers upstairs is waiting on.”