ARES Virus: Arctic Storm (13 page)

That will be the real obstacle. And then, what do we do if we manage to get outside of the encirclement? Oh well, time enough to deal with that shit if we manage to get to that bridge.

As he lands on the other side of a fence and with nothing but trees ahead, Brown feels some of the weight that he’s been carrying on his shoulders leave. He’s made it outside of the city—something he didn’t think was possible when they first started. They could have stayed in the bunker and been able to survive for some time, but that itch in his mind told him that would be a bad idea.

There may still be infected within the wooded area, but the experience that he’s gleaned so far indicates a migration toward more populated areas.

That, in itself, is a good sign. We may very well have made it through the outer wave of infection
.

Not moving from his kneeling position, Brown scans the area. Having been in direct sunlight for most of the day, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the shade. While not growing thickly, the trees still limit his vision. Overhead, patches of blue appear through branches hosting autumn-colored leaves. Rays of sunlight angle through breaks in the canopy. It’s a drastic change of scenery from the neighborhoods through which they had been traveling. The only movements are the jerky ones of squirrels as they skitter up trunks and along branches, one high overhead chirping out its displeasure at their intrusion. Satisfied that they are relatively safe at the moment, Brown turns his attention back to those with him.

“Those helicopters overhead have thermal and infrared imaging systems. That means we can’t be in the open if one comes close,” Brown briefs. “That also means we need to move quickly, but quietly, to the creek bed.”

“Wouldn’t we want them to find us?” Hayward asks. “I mean, isn’t that our goal? To be rescued?”

“Yes and no. How would they differentiate between us and the infected? They can’t, so they may just decide that we’re infected straying into the countryside and take us out. I’ve seen several choppers outside of the city make strafing runs, so they aren’t discriminating at the moment. Our goal was to get out of the city. Now, it’s not to get atomized,” Brown answers.

“Oh…okay. I like that plan. Yeah, let’s do that,” Hayward replies.

Using directions provided by Emily, they work their way through the woods. Every faint echo of beating rotor blades draws their eyes skyward. The sound seems to bounce around within the trees, so their eyes scan every direction when that faint, distinct noise appears. Suffering several minor heart attacks, they manage to reach the creek.

Nestled between steep, man-height embankments, the stream is wide but shallow and babbles gently over smooth stones. Undercuts near the curves of the creek, along with several larger logs and stumps on the embankments and in the stream itself, belie the appearance that the brook is always peaceful. Roots from trees near the edge stretch out over parts of the water, sometimes arching down to form enclosures. Brown can see why Emily and her friend came here—it’s a child’s perfect playground.

The distant thud of rotors beating the air into submission reaches his ears. As with the other times, Brown finds it difficult to place the location. He looks from one direction to another, hoping to fix the sound. Before, the noise of the helicopters reached the limit of their hearing and faded away. This time, the noise grows louder and then holds constant.

“Down and under that overhang, NOW!” Brown sharply whispers.

He watches Clarke and Emily jump over the embankment without hesitation. Glancing at Hayward, he sees him reluctantly look down at the steep incline. Brown knows he doesn’t have any time to play the “you can do this” game, so he assists Hayward’s decision-making process with an introduction of a hand to his back.

Without waiting to witness the results of his handiwork, Brown steps over the ledge and slides down the embankment, controlling his slide as best as he can. Hayward’s yelp of surprise and subsequent less-than-controlled tumble is almost lost behind the sound of the hovering helicopter in the near distance.

Brown comes to a stop on a narrow strip of sand pebbled with smoothed rocks, one foot going into the water. Hayward’s entrance is more dramatic, his stop at the bottom ending with a splash and him sitting in the babbling stream.

“What was that for? I was going to go,” Hayward comments, standing.

“Not fast enough. Now move before you get more assistance,” Brown replies.

Brown quickly glances skyward, but the overhanging branches block most of the view. Looking from one patch of blue to the other, he sees nothing of the helicopter.

If I can’t see them, they can’t get a visual on us and any IR signature will be difficult
, he thinks as the beating rotor blades begin to draw closer.

Turning back to the creek, he sees that Clarke and Emily are splashing through ankle-deep water, angling for an overhang at a corner across the creek. Hayward, apparently deciding that he’s had enough assistance for the day, splashes past. Brown follows, with the helicopter sounding like it’s flying up his ass.

The overhang is comprised mostly of tree roots and hard-packed soil. Brown slides into the protection it affords, wondering how the tall tree is still upright. The sunlight shining through the trees darkens as the helicopter slowly makes its way low overhead, following the stream’s path.

As it nears, each of them pushes harder against the bank. Brown feels that if he were to push any further, he’d become one with the hard-packed soil. The helicopter comes to a stop, hovering directly overhead. The tops of the trees sway violently from the downwash, swishing back and forth. Leaves, stripped prematurely from their limbs, dance with jerky movements above the water, swirling in among the four hiding under the roots. The once calm, placid stream is thrown into confusion. The rotors beating the air permeate every sense; each slap of the blade is felt both inside and out, the smell of burned jet fuel carried with the dancing leaves. The debris flying in and around them forces them to tightly close their eyes.

Fuck, they saw us
, Brown thinks, wondering if they’ll be taken for infected and mowed down.

He feels that they should get out of their cover and signal before that happens, but he can’t move. His brain commands his legs to move, but they don’t respond. Thoughts race through, each one holding for a split second before another takes its place. With so many senses being assaulted, it’s difficult for him to hold onto any single one.

Okay, this is ridiculous. Calm. The. Fuck. Down. If they were going to shoot us, they wouldn’t fly overhead. They’d stand off to do that. So, this is either happenstance or a rescue
.

The internal debate about whether to step out and signal or hold in place rages. Having made it safely out of the city, he wants nothing more than to find the security that a rescue would hold. However, deep down, he feels that he’d be stepping into another buzz saw. Part of him doesn’t want to believe that they’d be shot on sight, but this is such a large-scale event that law enforcement and the military might be focusing only on containment at this point. That would mean that nothing gets out.

We’re better off staying out of sight until we know more
.

Hearing a change in the pitch of the rotors, Brown opens one eye, squinting through the swirling mass. The branches downstream begin to sway as the helicopter leaves its hover to move away. The churning debris begins to subside, leaving a carpet of leaves covering the surface of the creek, slowly making their way downstream. The stream returns to its normal flow as if nothing had disrupted its path to begin with.

Brown’s heart jumps as a second helicopter, previously unheard, races overhead on a path parallel to the first one.

They’re leap-frogging. One searching and the second to deliver fire if necessary: a hunter-killer team.

Although the fact that they’re operating like that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a shoot-on-sight order, Brown is thankful that his legs were unresponsive.

Time enough for that if we decide it’s the right thing to do.

“Why did we hide from them? Aren’t we trying to find help?” Emily asks, drawing Brown from his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, we are, but it’s better if we stay out of sight for now,” Brown answers.

“Why? We’re way from the bad people now, and they might know where my parents are. Or at least be able to help find them,” Emily counters.

“That may be true, but right now they’re having to deal with the infected, and in the heat of the moment, they might mistake us for some of them,” Brown responds.

He watches Emily squint her eyes, trying to understand the impact of what he’s attempting to convey. Her eyes suddenly widen.

“Oh,” is all she returns.

With only the faint sound of rotors in the distance, Clarke rises and brushes away the leaves and dirt.

“Hang on there, Miss In-a-Hurry. We’re going to wait here until I’m absolutely sure our company has truly left,” Brown states.

“I hope my mom’s okay,” Emily comments out of the blue.

“I’m sure she’s okay,” Clarke replies.

“I don’t know. I hit her pretty hard.”

“Huh?” Hayward says, brushing debris off him, leaving mud smears on his soaked sweats.

Brown turns to Emily, whose eyes have taken on a faraway look.

“I was helping mom fix something to eat when people outside started screaming. We went to the window to see what was happening. There were lots of people running in the street. Some were trying to drive away, but were pulled from their cars. I think I saw people being attacked, but I wasn’t sure because mom shooed me away from the window. I heard her shriek and saw her turn from the window. She grabbed me and pulled me into the kitchen. People started beating on the front door and broke in. Mom shoved me into the pantry and closed the door, telling me to stay put. But I…I cracked the door open.”

“You don’t have to tell it,” Clarke says.

“It’s…it’s okay. I saw people that were my mom’s friends attack her. She fell to the ground and I think I saw them biting her. Then, they just stopped and ran back outside. Mom was just lying on the floor and I think I saw blood. Even though she told me to stay in the pantry, I ran out to see if she was okay. I knelt down beside her and she opened her eyes. I knew that she was hurt, but happy that she was okay. She growled and started clawing at me. I begged her to stop. She got up and started coming after me. I begged and begged for her to stop. She wouldn’t. I don’t know what happened, but I grabbed the pan we were cooking the spaghetti in and swung it. I didn’t mean to hit her. I was scared and just wanted to keep her away. The pan hit her in the head and she fell down. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran to my room and locked it. I just wanted her to stop.”

Clarke sits back down and wraps an arm around Emily, pulling her close once she begins sobbing. Hayward looks on with his jaw dropped. Brown watches, thinking the young girl has more fortitude than he gave her credit for.

She stayed quiet and hidden while watching her mom being attacked. I don’t know if I could have done that
.

“Is she…is she okay?” Emily says between sobs. “I begged her to stop.”

“There, there now,” Clarke says while stroking Emily’s hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I didn’t mean to hit her. I really didn’t. Is she…is she one of them?”

Clarke looks to Brown over the top of Emily’s head. It’s obvious to Brown that Emily’s mom is one of the infected, but doesn’t know how to answer. How do you tell a young, frightened girl that she’s not likely to ever see her mother again? Couple that with the fact that the girl’s last memory of her mom is hitting her in the head with a pan. It’s a situation that warrants dealing with later, and by people better trained. He just gives Clarke a subtle shake of his head.

“I know you didn’t mean to. And I promised you that we’d search for your parents when we’re safe and all of this is over,” Clarke responds, turning her attention back to Emily.

The sobs subside and Emily looks to Clarke before turning her attention to Brown.

“Do you think she’s one of them now? Do you think she’s dead?” she asks.

Fucking great
, Brown thinks, wanting to jump up and run away.

“There is the chance that she could be one of them, but I don’t think she’s dead. What I do know is that, regardless, she would have wanted for you to do whatever it took to be safe. And you did. So, just know that she’d be happy that you’re alive,” Brown answers as honestly as he can.

“I think she might be what you said, infected. They’ll cure her, though, right?”

The urge to flee strengthens, to the point that Brown’s legs start twitching.

“They’ll do everything they can for her,” Brown states.

Brown notes Clarke staring at him with a dumbfounded expression, to which Brown replies with a shrug of his shoulders.

In the near and far distance, high-pitched sirens begin chirping.

“Well, that’s our signal. We’ve run out of time. Let’s go,” Brown states.

USAMRIID, Maryland

September 3

Colonel Koenig eases himself into his plush chair, his body groaning just like the leather, the sound indicative of being stretched. He rubs his eyes, the redness around them betraying his stress and lack of real rest. His body has yet to let go of the tension that came with the phone call the evening prior. Since that moment, the pace has been nonstop, making the last twenty-four hours seem like a month. On the other hand, time seems to be running away and there’s not enough of it.

He glances outside without really taking note of the nice day, only that the shadows have lengthened substantially since the last time he looked out. Much to his despair, the sun continues its relentless march across the blue sky, completely oblivious to what is transpiring below it. Koenig reflects momentarily on his life, trying to come up with something he did that would warrant the pile of shit currently on his plate.

He’s found himself in his worst nightmare: having to deal with a spilled weaponized agent. Not only is it one they created, but it was released on American soil. If it happened anywhere else, it would be much easier to cover up, and someone else would have had to deal with the cleanup. Now they are looking at drastic measures to contain it—not only to prevent its spread and to keep the actual origin and agent under wraps, but also to handle the public relations side of things.

Once the decision to initiate the Phoenix protocol was made, things became hectic in a hurry. The coordination alone was enough to bring on the pulsating wedge of pain he feels in his head, though they’ve managed to get further along in the process than he would have believed. They aren’t fully there, but all of the pieces should be in place soon. He just hopes that they were in time.

If the agent spreads beyond our current containment, we’re well and truly fucked
.

Major Skier takes a seat in one of the comfortable chairs on the other side of the desk, drawing Koenig’s attention back inside. He briefly glances at the empty coffee cup sitting to the side of his keyboard. The seven cups he’s had so far have done nothing to take the edge off his incredible tiredness. He punches the intercom button and asks his assistant for a fresh pot to be brought in, wanting instead to reach for the bottle of eighteen-year-old scotch in his drawer.

Koenig and Skier sit in silence, waiting for the coffee to be brought in. There’s really nothing more to say. Each of them relishes this moment of tranquility, the first for both of them in many hours. Underlying the quiet is the knowledge that it will change drastically in the next few minutes, and they’ll once again be handling ten phone calls at once. But, for now, they have this. The coffee is brought in and the assistant leaves.

“About that time?” Skier asks.

“Yeah, I suppose so. Let’s see what we’re in store for,” Koenig replies, fully aware of what that might entail.

Now for the big decision
, he thinks, reaching for the button to turn on his monitor.

After a moment, the large monitor flares to life. Koenig selects the secure video line for today’s meeting. The program initializes and the screen populates with the familiar faces of the joint chiefs, along with that of General Hague. One block on the screen just shows an empty chair.

“Colonel Koenig,” Hague greets him.

“Ma’am, Sirs,” Koenig returns.

“Colonel,” each of the chiefs says.

“We’re waiting for the SecDef. He just called and should be along shortly,” Hague states.

There’s nothing to say to this other than to nod his understanding. The conversation is kept to short whispered conversations between the joint chiefs as they pore over reports. Koenig knows when the secretary of defense enters off screen, because all of the figures on the monitor rise to attention.

“Sit down, please,” a voice says.
                                       

A rustling ensues as everyone takes their seat once again, the empty chair now filled.

“Sorry for being late,” the SecDef comments, pulling folders from his briefcase and arranging them. “I know that time is an issue, so let’s get right to it. We’ll start off with a quick brief of what happened and where we are, so that we’re all on the same page.”

“General Hague, if you would,” one of the joint chiefs nods for her to take over the briefing.

“Sir, I’d like to defer to Colonel Koenig if that’s okay. He’s our frontrunner for the operation and will have the most up-to-date information,” Hague responds.

All eyes turn to Koenig.

“Ahem,” Koenig starts, wishing for his bottle again. “The ARES virus was created for sterilization of enemy forces in any area of concern and is the agent planned for use with Arctic Storm. The congressional mandate forced us to ship all of our agents out to independent parties for testing…”

“Let’s not begin pointing fingers as yet, and keep this to what needs to be done. There will be time enough for that later on,” the SecDef interrupts.

“Yes, sir. I didn’t mean to point a finger, just giving a bullet point briefing of what happened,” Koenig replies.

“Very well, carry on,” the SecDef states.

“The agent was delivered to the wrong facility and subsequently released in a populated area. It did as intended and quickly spread throughout the city.”

“What is the degree of spread at this point?” the SecDef asks.

“We have continual overflights by helicopters. With the exception of a few survivors, there appears to be complete saturation.”

“How many survivors are we talking about?”

“A hundred, maybe fewer, maybe a little more. And that number grows smaller by the hour,” Koenig answers.

“A hundred! In a city of that size, that’s all? It’s only been what, a little over twenty-four hours?”

“It’s an effective agent, sir.”

“What are the chances of rescue attempts being made? Can we get any out?”

Koenig had been waiting for this very question, one he hoped wouldn’t be asked. They have the capability to pull people out of dangerous situations; after all, they rescue pilots from behind enemy lines. But, the question isn’t whether they have the capability, but whether they should. Koenig’s biggest fear at this point is the agent reaching the edge of the cordon and then getting outside of the perimeter. This is already an incredible mess. If it jumps, then the scope of attempting containment and secrecy will be immeasurable. The chances of ARES spreading goes up by leaps and bounds if they go in. The very premise for using the agent was that it would be one hundred percent containable.

“Sir, if I may jump in here,” one of the joint chiefs chimes in. “I don’t think we should go in for rescue efforts at this time. I believe we need to allocate the scant resources we currently have to monitor and ensure that the agent is contained within the city limits.”

“This is ugly,” the SecDef comments, rubbing his face. “So, we do nothing?”

“I’m afraid that’s the only option we’re left with,” the chief answers.

“General, am I to assume by your comment to contain ARES, that we aren’t allowing anything out of the city as per the Phoenix protocol? I know that it has been authorized, but I want to verify that we initiated it,” the SecDef asks.

“Yes, sir. On both accounts,” the chief replies.

“And that includes anyone and everything?”

The chief just nods his affirmative.

“This could blow up in our faces,” the SecDef states.

“It could. We just need to be careful how we swing this.”

“Okay, enough of that for now. Let’s go into where we are at the moment,” the SecDef says.

“Colonel Koenig,” General Hague prompts.

“Well, at the moment, we have a wide cordon established along the major routes. It’s far enough outside the city limits to prevent the noise and movement of the forces in place from attracting the attention of those infected with the agent. This is to prevent outward migration of the infected. Helicopters are conducting overflights to track the infestation, and we have hunter teams covering any gaps in our perimeter. The state police have also set up roadblocks farther out. They are in the process of diverting traffic and preventing anyone from getting inside,” Koenig briefs.

“And the press?”

“We have established zones for them next to the police roadblocks. They’re out of any visual range, regardless of the zoom they may have on their cameras,” Koenig responds.

“What about helicopters or aircraft they may bring in?”

“All of the cell towers in the area have been shut down and we have coordinated with the FAA to implement a restricted no-fly zone. We haven’t given them any information as yet. We only stated that it is a no-questions-asked national security concern. The no-fly zone will be enforced by our helicopter hunter teams. We also have a flight of F-16s on hot standby. They have the potential to be overhead in four minutes,” Koenig says.

“I wasn’t aware that we had any fighters stationed that close.”

“We brought them in and parked them on alert at a nearby runway.”

“Very well, let’s keep it that way. No one in, no one out,” the SecDef states. “Is there a chance that this could jump outside of our containment? What is the extent of the spread?”

“There’s always a chance, sir. But, we’re doing everything we can to prevent that from happening. Thus, some of the drastic measures that we’ve put into place. The virus is persistent, but not overly so. All indications point to it having been contained within the city limits.”

“So what else do we have?”

“There are more forces inbound to help establish a tighter perimeter. The CDC is ready to issue a travel warning upon our authorization. It’s above my pay grade, but I think that should be issued in conjunction with our first umbrella coverage press releases,” Koenig says.

The SecDef sighs audibly. “All right. Let’s talk press. We can cover this in more detail offline, but let’s get the gist of it down.”

“We have several press releases ready, depending on the spin we want to put on it. The initial ones only mention reports of a highly contagious outbreak that we’re in the middle of investigating. We’ll mention that initial reports suggest some form of rabies-like outbreak, the actual viral agent and source as yet unknown. Travel has been restricted into and out of the suspected contaminated area. Authorities and medical personnel are en route. We have little information right now, but that the virus spreads quickly, that a quarantine is being initialized around the city, and that we’re conducting rescue operations as we speak. We’ll have to coordinate that press release with a White House briefing and one from the CDC,” one of the chiefs comments.

“Okay. That will be handled by others, but the source of information comes from this group. We cannot afford any leaks with this one. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” is stated by everyone.

“One other point. If we’re going to say that we’re conducting rescue missions, wouldn’t that mean that we have survivors? The press corps is going to ask about seeing them. They’ll expect it. There will be enough stories and theories floating around on this one. We don’t need to give them fuel,” the SecDef adds.

“Colonel Koenig?” General Hague asks.

“We have most of a quarantine area set up. We have our, um, special personnel being brought in to act as medical personnel and victims. Hopefully, we’ll be able to hold any press off for some time due to the nature of the outbreak. Many will ‘succumb’ to the illness, leaving very few to interview later,” Koenig replies.

“I hate this shady shit, but it’s what we have to do,” the SecDef comments. “So, we’re caught up with where we are and how to handle the initial press releases. It’s time for the brass tacks of the meeting. Where do we go from here?”

“Sir, the Phoenix protocol was introduced with a phased approach, so that we could reach a point of containment and pull back if necessary. We can hold with phase one and containment. That increases the risk of it spreading to and outside of the perimeter. Or, we can proceed with phase two, which is the annihilation of everything within the contamination zone. We haven’t crossed the phase two line yet, but we’re standing on it,” a chief briefs.

“What happens if we stay with phase one?”

All eyes turn to Koenig.

“Sir, if we stay at our current position, then those infected will all go into a comatose state within hours of not finding a victim. And there they will remain, unless they’re disturbed, until they die of thirst,” Koenig states.

“And how long will that be?”

“On average, about three days. However, instances have been recorded of people living up to ten days without water. And without the infected burning calories, we may be looking at the upper ranges of that estimate.”

“A week or more?! We’d have to keep personnel on station for that long? Can we hold containment for that long?” the SecDef asks.

He’s met with blank looks and shrugs.

“That’s just not acceptable. We run the risk of it spreading, not to mention the increased potential for press leaks to emerge. But, do we dare walk through the door of phase two? The public will know that we burned a city to the ground, we can’t avoid that. And the outcry will be wild if it’s not handled very carefully. I know the answer, but I need to hear it again. How truly bad is this stuff?”