Out Of The Fire Page 13

  “I don’t have time, captain. Show it to Major Chappell. She can brief me later.” He turned and marched toward the station.

  “But, colonel!” Andrews shouted unnecessarily. “We’ve figured out how to attract the infected.”

  Vickers paused and rolled his eyes. “Of course you have, captain. Wave live meat in front of their eyes and they’ll come running,” he said blandly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “No, sir,” Andrews stated. “Ultrasound.”

  Vickers paused and turned back. “What was that?”

  “Ultrasound.” Andrews was smiling now. “You see, their brains are swollen and they’re in great pain. I think that’s partly why they’re so aggressive. But when they’re exposed to ultrasound, they become almost…,” he shrugged, “…docile.”

  “Say again?” Vickers turned toward Andrews. “Are you saying you’ve found a cure?”

  “No, sir,” Andrews corrected, shaking his head. “But it attracts them like…well, like a pied piper. It eases their pain and they come running.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Vickers repeated. “Ultrasound makes them feel good and they’ll run to it?”

  “At the right frequency, yes, sir.” Andrews was smiling now.

  Vickers nodded. “Show me.”

  Andrews waved him toward the white tent. “If you’ll follow me, sir, we have a demonstration all set up for you.”

  “This won’t take long, will it?”

  “No, sir, it won’t.”

  “Tell me, captain,” Vickers asked, “if this works as good as you say, why aren’t they all running this way to feel better?”

  Andrews pulled open the tent flap to allow the colonel to peer inside at the device that Andrews was pulling out. It looked like a space gun from a B-movie. “Mainly, colonel, because we haven’t had it on for very long, but also, because the volume is low, so the effects are pretty much localized.”

  “But if we increased the volume, we could attract them all?”

  Andrews paused and considered the question. “Hypothetically, yes.”

  “No hypotheticals. I need to know.”

  “We could pull them all in to a centralized area, yes,” Andrews said. He turned and smiled at the colonel. “Are they too scattered for your boys to hunt down?”

  Vickers simply stared at the younger officer. “You might could say that.”

  Vickers had a different idea. Plant the device in the ground away from the base, turn it on high, let the infected be attracted to it like bugs to a light, then drop a MOAB on them and toast them all at once. But he didn’t want to say anything to the young captain about it, lest he get cold feet. For whatever reason, this little creep liked working with bugs, like the one that infected all these people.

  Andrews carried the portable device to the trailer and pulled open the door. Vickers followed him inside and watched as the creatures chained inside increased their screaming and snapping activities. The two civilians chained to the walls in the adjoining cells had gone past caring anymore and stared silently at each other, their faces stained with previously shed tears. The woman looked as if she might have even soiled herself at one point. The police officer sat in a pool of blood, no doubt from trying to escape the plastic cuffs that bound him.

  “So show me.” Vickers thought he could see his breath in the trailer and his agitation was evident.

  Andrews nodded and flipped a switch. The machine he held hummed slightly and the creatures began howling even louder at first. Vickers thought, If this is making them feel better, then they certainly aren’t showing it. Andrews made a few adjustments to the knobs on the sides, and suddenly their screams stopped. All three of the chained creatures, seemed to sigh in unison and stare off into nothingness. If Vickers didn’t know any better, he’d swear they’d all three been given a dose of some type of sedative.

  “If I adjust this either way, it almost seems to amplify their pain. But right here, at this setting, it soothes them.” He seemed almost giddy.

  “How did you find this out?”

  “By accident, actually,” Andrews stated. “None of the anti-viral medications that we currently know of have any effect on this virus. I was trying radio waves, light, anything to break up the molecular structure. It was a logical progression to go to sound waves to try to destroy the molecular bonds that hold it together.”

  “Whatever,” Vickers interrupted. “How did you find this?” He pointed to the ray gun.

  “Oh. Well, I was using ultrasound when I noticed their screams were becoming more…” he chuckled at himself, remembering the increase in pain that the creatures felt, “pronounced?” Vickers waved him on. “Yes, well, it was then I realized that the device was having an effect on them. So I thought that maybe it could be used a ‘less lethal’ weapon on them. You know, to maybe capture some more live subjects for us to study. And, anyway, when I hit this one frequency, they started acting like…well…like this.”

  “Like they’re stoned.”

  “For the lack of a better word.” Andrews shrugged.

  “Music soothes the savage beast.”

  Andrews turned a quizzical face to the colonel. “Oh…no, colonel,” he stammered. “I-I wouldn’t call it music. More like a vibration. A hum, maybe, but more like a simple frequency tone generator that—”

  “Doctor!” Vickers interrupted. “I really don’t care.” The look he gave Andrews indicated his full intent. “But you think this will attract them? Or do you think they’ll just stop where they are and lay down, start craving brownies or want to paint peace signs and wear tie-dyed clothing.”

  “Huh?” Andrews didn’t catch the reference. “I’m almost positive they’ll follow the sound. It’s like a drug. They’ll want more.”

  “We need to test this. As quickly as possible.”

  Andrews smiled. “Yes, sir.” Andrews suddenly paused and stared at him. “Um…how?”

  “How do you think? In the field, you idiot,” Vickers barked. “I need to have them all gathered into one place. Preferably one place in a clearing. High ground. Easy to spot.”

  “Oh.” Andrews was beginning to realize Vickers intent. “Very well, sir. I’ll see to it.”

  “No. You won’t,” Vickers sneered. “I’ll see to it. Prepare the ultrasound device for testing, captain. Set it to the proper frequency and maximum volume. Or…loudest setting. Just do whatever you have to do so that it can be heard the easiest by these things.”

  “Yes, sir.” Andrews suddenly felt dejected. It was his discovery, and now some grunt would be field testing it. He sighed as he turned and stepped from the trailer. “I’ll have it ready momentarily, sir.”

  Vickers followed him from the trailer, noting that as soon as it was turned off, the creatures began to stir from their calmed mood, gnashing their teeth and screaming once more. Vickers eyed the two civilians and shook his head. He didn’t envy what would soon become of them.

  “Are you certain?” Dr. Andersson asked as he stared at his computer. Vivian LaRue’s image stared back at him via video conference, and the look on her face confirmed how serious she was. Neils slumped in his chair. “And this is the same virus we discovered in the Neanderthal?”

  “Joseph swears it is an exact match.” Vivian settled in closer to the camera. “He claims there has been no genetic drift from the samples we published.” Her accent lilted as she gestured wildly with her hands. “This is unheard of, Neils!”

  “I agree,” he replied, stroking at his chin. “With the amount of time alone, the virus should have mutated hundreds, if not thousands of times.”

  Vivian shook her head. “I’ve yet to tell you the worst part,” she nearly whispered. “They’re planning to infect people with it. Healthy people!”

  Neils collapsed into his chair, his face momentarily slipping out of view from the camera. “No! They don’t know what they’re doing. This disease may well have caused Neanderthals to become extinct…if they allow modern man to be expose
d…”

  “They’ve already been exposed,” Vivian explained. “They plan to test on more of them.” She glanced over her shoulder then checked her watch. “Joseph’s expecting me to meet him there shortly.”

  “You mustn’t!” Neils exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You’ll be stepping into Ground Zero.”

  “You think I don’t know this?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought I cared for this man and now…” she trailed off.

  Neils gave a slight gasp, unaware of the situation. “I had no idea, Vivian,” he replied softly. “What will you do?”

  “He is expecting me. What can I do?”

  “You mustn’t go,” Neils answered. “It is far too dangerous.”

  “He will know that something is wrong if I do not,” she whispered. “I offered to contact you and he became upset.”

  “I would think he would!” Neils practically yelled. “Look at what they are doing!” He sat back in his chair and considered her options. “You should run away. Go back to the E.U.”

  “I cannot. My work…”

  “You could work anywhere. You could work here with me.” His voice had a tone of pleading in it that she recognized, but refused to acknowledge.

  “What if I could stop them, Neils? What if I could go there and perhaps toss the monkey wrench into their plans?”

  He shook his head vehemently. “It is too dangerous.” He stood and began pacing, not caring that he was walking out of the frame of the camera. “This is the military, no? They cannot be reasoned with.” He stepped back into the frame and leaned toward the screen. “You can’t do it.”

  “Neils, I really don’t think I have a choice.” She sighed and shook her head, her hair falling down and covering her face. “But I might be able to derail their efforts.”

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at her image. “How? You know what it’s like working with a military group. Remember when we tried to work with the Legion?”

  She nodded and smiled sadly. “This isn’t the Legion, Neils. This is the United States military. They have rules,” she said, hoping she was right.

  “Obviously not if they plan to infect healthy people!”

  Vivian hung her head in defeat. She knew he was right. “And if I can somehow taint their samples? Or maybe switch the virus with saline? Or simply let the people that they intend to infect somehow know what is coming so that they can avoid the vector…I don’t know!” She shook her fists at the screen in frustration. “But I feel responsible for this. I have to do something!”

  Neils sighed and slumped back in his chair. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers and nodded. “Very well,” he said softly. “Do what you must.” He leaned closer to the screen and met her gaze, “But promise me you will be careful. And if there is any way possible for you to transmit their intentions to me, do so! I’ll hold on to it in case you are successful,” he promised. “But if you are not…I’ll expose them to the world.”

  Chapter 8

  Bob Jennings continued down the road, checking each car that he came across. On more than one occasion, he came across an open car, but no keys. Bob knew better than to try to hotwire the damned thing. That crap only worked on television. And even if he could get it to start, the steering column was still locked, so he couldn’t steer it. He needed something with the keys in it!

  As he sat in the front seat of a Volkswagen, he searched the meager contents for anything he might find useful. There was nothing he could use for a weapon, no food, and only a partial bottle of water with a lipstick stain wrapped around the top. Bob ignored the lipstick as he tilted the bottle back and sucked down the piss-warm liquid, nearly gagging on the nicotine aftertaste. Tossing the bottle aside, he realized, whoever Ms. Lipstick was, she must have been a smoker.

  He dug through the glove box, the center console, and the cup holder looking for keys, and was ready to scream when he came up empty. He sat in the driver’s seat and sighed. For shits and giggles he pulled down the visor and a set of keys slid out and fell to the floorboard. Bob sat and stared at the silver and black keys as if they were foreign objects. Nobody puts their keys up there except on television. Chuckling to himself he groaned as he leaned forward and pulled the key ring from the floorboard.

  He sat back in the seat and considered his options. He was assuming the car would start, but he was so tired. He could feel his eyelids trying to fall and he wanted so terribly much to just curl up and take a nap, but he knew his exhaustion was due to blood loss and his overnight tromp through the woods looking for Lucky.

  Bob pushed himself from the seat and slipped around to the rear of the car. He popped the trunk and rummaged around, looking for anything: more water, food, an energy bar, gum, anything he might could use to keep his energy up, stay awake, or possibly use as a weapon. He pulled his head away from the trunk in disgust. This was obviously a lady’s car. A very messy lady’s car. Old dry cleaning that was now covered in road grit, a bag of trash, old magazines, and a flat spare. Not much that might be of use.

  Bob shut the trunk and stared out at the line of autos in front of him. He could use the little Jetta in front of him or he could ransack some of the others. The odds of finding a usable weapon were slim. Maybe a tire iron, a stray golf club, or a ball bat left by someone’s kid…if he was lucky. With a sigh, Bob wedged back into the small Volkswagen and slid the key into the ignition. With a twist of the key, the small engine purred to life and he pulled the door shut. He slipped the car into reverse and backed into the car behind him. He chuckled to himself as he considered leaving a note for the owner of the Audi, but, instead, he put the selector into DRIVE and pulled out of the long line of cars.

  As Bob began the slow trip toward where the ranger station was located, he began noticing things. The smashed cars that were parked along the road. The dents and scrapes, the paint transfers…they all matched. Whoever it was was either hurt, blind, or a really bad driver.

  Bob slowed down and rolled down the window of the Jetta. He shook his head slightly as he stared at the scrape alongside of a white car. Could Buck and Skeeter have done this when they left? He was stopped beside the white car, considering the possibilities when a scream broke him from his reverie. His eyes glanced about, but nothing caught his attention. Bob took off again, slowly increasing speed in the little Volkswagen, eyes darting about looking for the source of the scream, when something solid hit the side of the car, rocking it.

  Bob nearly yelped as a shadow crossed his rearview and his head snapped around just as something large and dark came up the passenger side of the car. He instinctively floored the little car and watched as a bloody hand smeared the side window and down the side, a barely human voice screeching after him as he accelerated away.

  Bob’s eyes continued to dart from side to side, his heart rate through the roof, his adrenaline peaked. He could hear his own breathing coming in short pants over the roar of the little engine as he gunned it down the rocky and twisting road. He happened to catch a view of a really nice chopper parked alongside the road and wished, for just a moment, that his shoulder wasn’t shot and he had a key to the bike. The idea of having a two-wheeled ride seemed somehow better; even though it offered zero protection from the zombies. Just the idea of quick acceleration and being able to maneuver easier gave him a sense of freedom that the little Jetta lacked.

  As Bob took the twist in the road, he immediately locked up the brakes and nearly slid into a pickup that was practically laying on its side in the middle of the road. Somehow, it had gotten jammed between the two lines of parked autos and apparently rolled.

  Bob could feel the bile rise in his throat as he realized he had at least one zombie behind him in the road, a stuck pickup in front of him blocking his path, and two rows of cars blocking his way on either side. He knew he was in no condition to outrun the hyped-up zombie. He looked to the rearview mirror and gritted his teeth. Tossing the gear selector intoREVERSE, he pressed down on the accelerator and began backing up as quick
ly as he dared. If he could only find a spot wide enough to turn around or get outside of the line of cars…he might stand a chance.

  Bob navigated the little Jetta as best he could, the dust from his drive down the road still hanging lazily in the mountain air obscuring his view. As the dust began to clear, Bob sped up a bit more, doing his best to keep the rear bumper of the Jetta from smashing into either side of the rows of cars. He had just cleared a small rise when the pursuing zombie came into view and Bob instinctively let off the gas. The small car slowed and Bob desperately looked for anywhere he might be able to turn the car around or cut off the road. With nothing viable in sight, he pressed the accelerator back down hard and fought the steering wheel as the front wheel drive car shimmied backward up the hill toward the screaming man.

  Bob didn’t try to miss him when he charged the car, and the sickening thud of the impact, in addition to the resulting broken rear glass, only obscured his view more as the infected screamer bounced up and rolled over the vehicle to collapse on the roadway in front of him. Bob slammed on the brakes when he couldn’t see out of the rear window anymore and clutched at the steering wheel, his breathing coming in short, panting breaths.

  He tried to see out of the side mirror on the driver’s door, but it was simply too small and restricting to navigate the car backward up the winding road. He sat for a moment longer in the car, contemplating his options. Slowly, he reached for the door handle and opened the door just a little. He craned his neck as much as he could and saw the legs of the man he’d just hit lying on the ground in front of him. The only sound he could hear at the moment was the purr of the German-made engine as it ran directly in front of him.

  Tentatively, he stepped from the car and struggled to stand. He kept the majority of his body still in the car and leaned forward. The zombie’s head lay in a pool of blood, one arm twisted at an irregular angle, one leg had a bone sticking out of it. Bob shuddered at the thought he had done that simply by backing into him. Of course, the fact that the man was running toward him full-tilt, may have played a small part.