Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12 (21 page)

Not seeing any danger in the immediate area, I made a quick
circle of the Tahoe.  I was most concerned with the tires.  We’d
driven over numerous bodies as well as debris fields I hadn’t been able to
avoid.  I was worried that a tire might have been damaged but breathed a
sigh of relief when they all appeared to be intact.  A quick look at the
grill to make sure our radiator was ok and I called Dog back into the
SUV.  He leapt in, and moments later I was accelerating on the perfectly
straight, two-lane highway that ran to Rocky Point.

It’s only sixty miles, or so, across flat, open desert, and
we drove in silence.  I was lost in thought, considering the implications
of females having grown smart enough to pick up a rock to smash their way
inside our vehicle.  Up until now, even the smart ones could be
managed.  But if they’d reached the point where they could reason and use
tools…

“There weren’t any males,” Rachel said, her voice startling
me in the quiet.

I thought for a minute, then realized she was right.

“The ones standing on the side of the road watching us were
pregnant.”

“What?”  Rachel and I both said in surprise after
Tiffany spoke.

“They were pregnant.  They didn’t run after us. 
They just stood there, watching.”

I traded glances with Rachel, thinking about the
implications.

“Are you sure?”

Rachel turned in her seat to face Tiffany.

“Yes.  Every single one of them.  And most looked
pretty far along, like they’ve only got maybe three or four months to go.”

We were quiet for another mile, thinking about the new
development. 

“How long since the attacks?”  Rachel asked in a quiet
voice.

“I don’t even know what month it is, for sure,” I said,
shaking my head.  “But I think it’s been about six months or so.  Feels
like years.”

Rachel nodded.

“Remember when we went to the casino to rescue Katie? 
The two infected on the ground that kind of freaked us out?”

She was talking about a male and female infected we had seen
having sex.  The male was either too brain damaged or uncoordinated to do
anything other than lie on his back, but the female on top appeared to have
successfully mated before she killed him.

“You think that’s why we aren’t seeing as many males? 
Or any, for that matter?”  I asked.

“What are you talking about?”  Tiffany asked.

Rachel spent a few minutes filling her in, then looked at me
and answered my question.

“It could explain it, yes.  We’ve been wondering what
the females are eating.  Maybe that’s the answer.  They kill the male
after intercourse, then there’s plenty of meat available to sustain them.”

“Are you serious?”  Tiffany asked.  “You really
think the females are trying to get pregnant?  OK, I’ll buy that they
might eat the males.  I’ve seen them eat just about anything.  But,
sex?”

“We don’t have any idea how the virus has impacted their
brains, other than to induce rage.  Perhaps there are some researchers
that do, but…  Anyway, reproduction is a base level instinct, hardwired
into every animal.  Humans are included in that.  Just because the
females’ higher cognitive functions have been stripped away, it doesn’t mean…”

Rachel trailed off as another thought came to her.

“What?”  I prompted when she didn’t say anything.

“The babies,” she said.  “What will they be like?”

I looked at her and couldn’t manage to suppress a shudder.

“Don’t think I want to find out,” I said in a quiet voice.

“What do we do?”  Rachel asked quietly.

We were standing on the edge of a small bluff that
overlooked the town of Rocky Point, Mexico.  And, it was crawling with
infected.  Even at a distance, it was impossible not to notice them. 
Females, stalking about, seemingly in search of prey.  Many more females
standing in the streets and on the sidewalks, watching their sisters hunt.

“Not sure, yet,” I said.  “The marina is right by
downtown, and we aren’t getting through that. The whole area is lousy with
them.”

“What’s that?”

I turned to see where Tiffany was pointing.  It was a
tall building, north of town, situated on the beach.

“Tourist hotel,” I said, remembering it had been under
construction the last time I’d been here.

“A beach hotel for tourists should have some boats,
shouldn’t it?”  She asked.

I looked at her and smiled.  She was right.  They
most likely would have something, and it would probably be in better shape than
many of the floating rattletraps I’d seen that were part of the fishing fleet.

We climbed back into the Tahoe and, after engaging the
four-wheel drive system, I headed across the desert, carving a path around the
perimeter of town.  The going was slow, but the big SUV handled the
terrain and soft sand without any problems. 

It took us most of fifteen minutes to navigate to within a half
a mile of the hotel.  There was nothing around for at least three miles,
and I was feeling good about Tiffany’s suggestion.  Shutting the engine
off, I took a moment to check my rifle over.

“Why are we stopping here?”  Tiffany asked.

“Noise,” I said without looking up.  “If there’s
infected hanging around, I don’t want to come any closer and alert them to our
presence.  We go on foot from here.  Quiet and dark.”

Not bothering to wait and see if she had anything to say to
that, I stepped out onto the sand.  Dog came out right behind me, and a
moment later the girls emerged from the far side of the Tahoe.

I could smell the sea on a gentle night breeze, and the dull
roar of surf faintly reached my ears.  Dog lifted his nose, growling a
moment later.  The wind was coming directly across the large resort
complex, and he was smelling infected.  Hopefully, they were all in and
around the buildings and not on the beach.

We didn’t need to go into the structure to get a boat. 
If there was one, it would be on the beach.  There was probably also an outbuilding
where the keys were locked up, somewhere on the sand.  I was hoping it was
going to be that easy.

Taking some time to survey the area, I signaled to Rachel
the path we were going to take.  She nodded, and I headed out with Dog at
my side.  Tiffany walked next to Rachel, the pair keeping an eye on our
rear as we moved.

The sand was soft and loose, making walking difficult. 
Frequent clumps of dry grass rustled in the wind, but there wasn’t anything
else moving or making noise.  As we drew closer, the roar of waves
crashing on the beach intensified.  The Sea of Cortez may not be large,
but it has strong tides and surprisingly intense surf.

We gave the resort grounds a wide berth, skirting them on
the north side, well away from the town.  Every hundred yards I’d stop to
scan carefully, then resume our advance after checking to make sure Rachel
hadn’t spotted something of concern. 

Past the hotel, we transitioned onto the beach.  The
only real difference was there were no longer clumps of grass.  Now, it
was only pure sand.  And it was very deep.  With each step, my boots
sank several inches before reaching solid purchase.  I didn’t like
this.  If we had to run, we would be severely hampered.  Hopefully,
the females would have the same problem.

I’d yet to spot any of the infected that Dog had scented
when we got out of the SUV.  But, that didn’t make me doubt him for an
instant.  It just told me that we’d been lucky so far. 

Stopping a few yards short of the water, I took another long
look around.  No infected in sight, and a hundred yards south I spotted a
small building sitting on stilts, close to the surf.  Beyond it, on the
sand well away from the waves, were several shapes that looked like
boats.  Checking on the girls, I signed our new direction and led the way.

The going was slow, partially because of the footing, but
also due to my growing paranoia that infected were going to spot us at any
second.  My head was on a swivel, and I frequently stumbled in the sand as
we moved.  Dog, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem and flowed
easily along the beach. 

With a silent curse, I took us closer to the water to walk
on sand that had been compacted and smoothed by the waves.  It was a
relief to reach it and be able to walk normally, even if our feet were getting
an occasional soaking.

We covered the remaining distance quickly, then slowed as we
approached the elevated building.  On the far side, both a set of stairs
and a long ramp led up from the beach to what I assumed was its entrance. 
Circling through the soft sand to go around, I kept my rifle up and ready as
the other side came into view.

There was a door, and a waist-high window facing a small
balcony that ran its length.  Both were tightly shuttered, the padlocks
that secured them swinging gently in the wind.  I double checked to make
sure there wasn’t an infected hiding beneath the building, then turned my
attention to the boats I’d seen.

They were about 25 feet long with sharp, high bows and
squared off sterns.  These weren’t pleasure craft; they were rescue boats
that could quickly get through pounding surf to reach swimmers in
trouble.  There was only one problem.  None of them had a motor.

Cursing silently in my head, I turned a slow circle, looking
for a likely storage place for the motors.  Other than the main hotel
buildings, there were only two structures.  One was the building on stilts
right behind me.  The other was much larger with a tattered awning and a
dozen tables scattered around.  It sat at the upper edge of the beach and
had to be a bar so guests had easy access to their next margarita.

Dismissing the bar, even though a frosty cold beverage would
have gone down really good at the moment, I signed for Rachel and Tiffany to
stay put and keep watch.  With Dog following, I climbed the stairs on the
front of the stilt building. 

I’d wondered about the reason for the ramp.  Mexico
didn’t place a high priority on providing accommodations for people with disabilities. 
A ramp like this in the US wouldn’t even draw attention, but here, now that I
thought about it, it was out of place.  Especially on a soft sand beach
that could never be traversed in a wheelchair. 

Boat motors are heavy, even the small ones.  When the
lifeguards shut down for the night, they probably brought them inside so they
didn’t walk away in the wee hours of the morning.  And, I was willing to
bet they had some sort of specialized hand truck, with fat tires for the sand,
that they would use to wheel them up the ramp and into the security of a locked
building.

I checked over the shuttered openings in the wall and was
again reminded that I was in Mexico.  The hotel took security
seriously.  If they didn’t, they’d be buying new motors every couple of
weeks.  To prevent that, they’d invested in rolling steel shutters that
locked into metal frames.  The padlocks that were on each end of the hasps
were the real deal.  Easily as large as my fist with shackles as thick as
my thumb.  No way was I breaking in with what I had.  Taking a look
around from my elevated position, I returned to the beach and moved close to
Tiffany.

“Think you could put together another bit of
Thermite?”  I asked.

She took a long look around before answering.

“I can if I have the materials.  But I’m not seeing any
iron.  Everything is either aluminum or stainless steel because of the
salt water.”

I looked around like she had, noticing that anything that
wasn’t made of wood was either shiny metal or painted aluminum.  It made
sense.  If it can be helped, you don’t put something that will rust in
close proximity to the ocean.

Dog, standing close by my side, suddenly rumbled out a loud
growl.  He was facing the hotel, and when I looked, I could make out a
female figure standing at the top of a flight of stairs that ran up from the
sand.  Her long hair blew in the wind, streaming behind her as she watched
us.

Despite standing nearly a hundred yards away, I could make
out the swollen belly of pregnancy.  We all stood frozen for a couple of
heartbeats, perhaps hoping she couldn’t see us in the dark.  Then she
tilted her head back and screamed into the night.

The North Carolina hovered in the water, the top of her sail
600 feet beneath the surface of the South Pacific Ocean.  Still in deeper
water, the boat was loitering in the shipping lanes that approached Sydney
Harbour.  Captain Talbot was in the control room, but Adrienne had the conn
or was in command of the submarine. 

He was prepared to take immediate control if he felt she was
making an error that would place the boat in more danger than they were already
in.  But, he didn’t expect to have to interfere.  His XO was every
bit as capable as he had ever been when it came to conning a nuclear submarine,
and she had earned his trust.  But still, he had the ultimate
responsibility for the multi-billion-dollar machine and all the lives on board.

They had been overflown twice in the past hour by Russian
aircraft on patrol.  Neither had deviated from their pattern, having
failed to detect the American submarine that was hiding beneath the
thermocline.  This was where the surface water, warmed by the sun and of
varying salinity, mixed with the cold, more stable water of the depths. 

The deeper water remained a nearly constant temperature year
round, the energy of the sun unable to penetrate far enough to affect it. 
Where the two strata met, they created a band, or layer, in the ocean that was
neither as warm as the surface nor as cold as the deeps.  This phenomenon
was well known to submariners since it effectively reflected sound waves, and it
was used to their full advantage to hide from aircraft and surface ships that
might be searching for them.

And this is exactly why Adrienne had parked the North
Carolina where she had.  At the moment, they were making like a big hole
in the water.  The boat was rigged for silent running, all non-essential
machinery shut down and secured.  Personnel that were not actively
involved in the operation of the sub were in their bunks.  The only way
the Russians, or Australians, would detect them is if they had one of their own
submarines in the area, beneath the layer.

Even then, unless someone made a mistake that would create a
noise in the water, they wouldn’t be found by anything other than an active
sonar ping.  As both the skipper and XO knew, there wasn’t a submarine
captain in the world stupid enough to be driving around and advertising his
position by going active with his sonar.  It would only be used once a
target had been identified and was being attacked.

“Conn, sonar,” came a muted voice over a sound powered
speaker.

“Conn, aye,” Adrienne answered.

“Surface contact.  Closing.  Bearing two-oh-oh,
range 20,000 meters.”

“Speed?”  Adrienne asked.

“Best guess at this range is 18 knots, ma’am.”

“Is this our girl?”

“Still too faint for the computer to confirm, but it
definitely sounds right.  It’s a big, heavy sucker, and it’s on the right
course.”

“Understood,” she said.  “Let me know as soon as you
can confirm.”

“Sonar, aye.”

Adrienne checked a digital chronometer mounted to a
bulkhead, catching her skipper’s eye as she did.

“The timing is right,” she said to him in a quiet voice.

He nodded without saying anything.  Adrienne reached
out and plucked a sound powered phone off its cradle, speaking into it briefly. 

“Good luck, Commander,” she said, returning the handset to
its base.

“SEALs are ready to go on my order, sir,” she said to Talbot
without looking at him.

“Very well, XO.”

A moment later the sonar operator advised her that the
computer had positively identified the surface contact as the
Marie Maersk
,
a very large container ship the Russians had seized from its home port in
Denmark.  It was designated as contact Alpha.  At 1,300 feet in
length with a beam of nearly 200 feet, it dwarfed the North Carolina.  And
was going to provide them with the perfect cover to sail right up to the mouth
of Sydney Harbour, undetected.

The wait for the massive ship to approach felt interminable
to Adrienne.  Everything was ready to go, she just needed the cover it
would provide before she could move her boat again.  Finally, it came
within a predetermined range.  With the sonar operator providing running
updates on its position, speed and heading, she ordered the North Carolina to
begin ascending.

The Marie Maersk normally had a draft of 40 feet, but she
was heavily laden with supplies and the comforts of home for Russia’s elite who
had taken up residence in Australia.  With the added weight, the bottom of
her keel was fifty feet below the surface.

Carefully, Adrienne brought the submarine up in the water
and slowly added in propulsion until it was pacing the much larger ship. 
The North Carolina approached Sydney Harbour, directly beneath the keel of the
massive container ship.  As they progressed, she ordered the boat to stop
rising when there was only 30 feet of water separating the top of her sail from
the bottom of the
Marie Maersk
.

It seemed as if the very atmosphere within the submarine was
vibrating from the powerful, bass pulses of the massive propellers. 
Frequently, the officers and crew cast involuntary glances upwards, as if they
could see the hundreds of thousands of tons of steel that floated just over
their heads.  Despite their unease, the tactic worked.

The North Carolina was invisible, completely masked by the
sounds of the giant ship’s propellers, engines and keel slicing through the
ocean.  As they drew closer to the coast, another sailor began calling out
the depth of the water beneath their keel.  Adrienne ordered another
adjustment, cutting the range between the two craft to 20 feet.  This
close together, any error could result in a collision and catastrophic damage
to the submarine.  The vastly heavier ship probably wouldn’t even notice.

“Conn, sonar!  New surface contact, bearing
one-oh-five, 3,000 meters, on an intercept course.  High-speed screws,
making 30 knots.  Marked as contact Bravo.  Contact Alpha is reducing
speed.”

Adrienne acknowledged the report, and as the container ship
slowed, she matched its speed.  Updates were flowing in regularly now as
the submarine continued to slow to stay in its sonar shadow.  Bravo
approached rapidly, carving a semi-circle until its signature merged with the
Marie Maersk.

Checking a readout, she confirmed that they had slowed to
five knots for the ship to take a harbor pilot aboard.  The pilot knew the
channels and currents in Sydney Harbour like the back of his hand and would
take command of the 165,000-ton vessel.  He was responsible for safely
entering the narrow waters and getting it to the dock.

“Notify the SEALs they’re GO for lockout!”  Adrienne
said.

The order was repeated back to her, then she heard the
sailor passing it along over a sound powered phone.  Within five minutes,
she received confirmation that the team had successfully exited the submarine
and deployed their RIBs. 

She’d done her job, now it was up to them.  The
Marie
Maersk
would sail right into the harbor with two boats loaded down with
SEALs following so close they could reach out and touch the stern hull. 
It wouldn’t be a smooth ride due to the turbulence in the water from the giant
propellers, but they would be all but invisible in the dark.

Adrienne took half a second to mutter a prayer for the
fighting men, then turned her attention back to conning the North
Carolina.  It was time to move to slightly deeper water while they waited
for the men to return with President Barinov.