Authors: Michael Bray
"Look, this meeting isn’t about passing the blame. It’s about devising a solution" Genaro stuttered.
"No, he's right." Robbins cut in. "Seems to me like you and your people made a mess and now expect someone else to come in and clean it up."
Genaro took a deep breath and had a sip of water. Marcus noticed his hands were shaking as he screwed the cap on the bottle. "Look," he said, taking a deep breath. "I’m fully aware of my role in this. And not making excuses, I was also following orders. True, I was caught up in the possibilities and the excitement of the work we were doing, but please try and see it from my point of view We were breaking new ground. Pioneering new technologies. If anything, I’m guilty of losing focus. Did we speed through human trials? Yes, we did. Should we have devoted more time and money to thorough testing of the virus? Again, yes. In our defence, we were under pressure to deliver a product from the very highest rungs of the government ladder. Whoever is responsible, passing the blame won’t help us to deal with this situation."
"And what exactly is the situation?" Marcus asked. "Can you tell us what we're dealing with here?"
"Well, you are looking at a force of nature, unlike anything we have ever had to deal with before. They are regular men, so can hide in plain sight. Upon close inspection, yellow pigmentation can be seen under the top layer of the epidermis of the arms and neck as a result of the genetic modification, however, this would only be visible up close. These men were chosen for their intelligence primarily, which will have been boosted a hundred fold by the bonding of the virus. They don’t age, nor do they need to sleep. They are impervious to cold and pain and rarely need to eat. They also have an incredible ability to self-heal from almost any injury within a matter of hours. Sometimes minutes. They are essentially better versions of us with none of our weaknesses."
"We already know all that. The important question is, can they be killed?" Robbins asked.
"Oh, they are still human. The problem is the regenerative powers which make death by common methods so difficult. The only sure way is to destroy the brain. The other problem, which follows on from Commander Robbins's situation in Florida, is that the Apex team members had started to show increased levels of aggression, with the slightest incident sparking them to react with violence. We have received a growing number of reports of these ‘Ragers’ acting in groups and attacking civilians. Pack hunting, if you will. Some groups are stealing large quantities of cash and supplies. We suspect they are planning something, some kind or retaliatory event, although why we don’t know."
"Could I ask you a question?" Marcus asked.
"Go ahead."
"All judgement and blame aside, how much do you actually know about this virus? What I mean is could whatever is happening, the pack behaviour, the group aggressions, be at all linked to the virus itself?"
"Possibly. In fact, it's likely." Genaro said, folding his hands in front of him.
"But you don’t know?"
"No. The real expert on this is Richard Draven. He has studied the monkeys themselves for years, certainly far longer than we had the time to. If anyone can help us to understand them and their behaviours, it's him.”
"Okay," Marcus said, finally seeing where he could help and take a little control. "Leave that to us. We'll find him and have him brought in to see if he can help. Do we have any intel at all on where these Apex teams could be hiding out?"
"No. I'm afraid to say we don’t know anything at all."
"We need to get teams on the ground. We need to look at anywhere large enough and secluded enough where groups of these soldiers might hide out. Josh, can your people cover the homeland locations? I assume we have reports on last known locations and the like?"
"Yeah no problem,"
"Okay, good. Susan, you have international contacts. Liaise with them and gather what intel you can. We need to find out where these people are and how they are communicating. I want emails and phone calls monitored. Treat this as high priority. We also need to make contact with local governments in affected areas and make sure they are on high alert. We can’t have this getting out into the media, so be sparing with the information. If you encounter any resistance, come straight to me."
Josh and Susan nodded agreement.
"What about the alert level?" Mike asked, wringing his hands.
"Leave it where it is for now. With luck, we can contain this without causing panic. Our top priority is finding Richard Draven and bringing him in." He turned to Genaro. "These lootings you mentioned. Do we have any recent intel as far as sightings of these Apex soldiers may be when they were last spotted?"
"We had a sighting two days ago in London, although it's unconfirmed."
"It’s good enough. I’ll need to speak to the British prime minister, see if we can mobilise a team over there to search the area."
"I can probably get that done for you," Genaro said. "The Prime Minister and I went to Cambridge together. We're old friends. I can have a word in his ear and get the SAS involved. They are the best of the best."
"Fine, let’s make a move on this now. We need to deal with this before it gets out of hand."
CHAPTER FIVE
RAF SPADERDAM
CUMBRIA,
UNITED KINGDOM.
THE RECREATIONAL ROOM was warm, a blessed relief from the near-zero temperatures outside. Stanhope burst through the door, his cheeks spotted pink from the cold.
"Fuckin ell' Stanny, shut the bloody door," barked Parker, his south London accent heavy with annoyance as he glanced up from the chessboard.
"Gimme a chance ya tosser," Stanhope responded as he kicked the door closed behind him. He crossed to the kitchen, switching on the kettle and dropping a tea bag into a cup with hands he could barely feel anymore.
"Cold?" Briggs said with a grin.
Stanhope gave Brigs the middle finger with his free hand. "Fuckin' freezin' out there mate," he said as he stirred his tea and sat beside Trig, who was busying himself with leering over the naked girl on page three of The Sun newspaper.
Without looking up from the silicon enhanced flesh on the page, Trig responded. "Tell me about it, dunno who we pissed off to get shipped all the way out here to the middle of nowhere. It was minus five earlier. Minus fucking five."
Stanhope pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes taking one himself, and offering the pack to Trig, who took one, popping it in his mouth. "Cheers mate."
Trig, known more formally as Jason Trigon, had just turned twenty and was the rookie of the group. His blue eyes stared out from beneath a permanently furrowed brow as he lit his cigarette, inhaling deeply. "Any action out there, Stanny?"
Stanhope shook his head, sipping his coffee. "Nah mate, not a thing. Patrol is a waste of fuckin' time if you ask me. What time are you due out there?"
Trig put his paper down on his lap, taking another deep draught of his cigarette. "I'm up next mate, three till five in the fucking mornin’. Ungodly to be outside in this sort of cold."
Stanhope nodded, lowering his voice. "I’ve half a mind to come back out with ya mate, these wankers in here are starting to drive me mad, especially Parker."
Both glanced towards Parker, obliviously playing chess in the corner, his scrub of facial hair making him look dirty.
"Look at him," Stanhope grunted. "Calls himself a soldier, the scruffy bastard."
Trig snorted a laugh as the two friends shared a grin. "Must be bad mate if you'd rather walk the perimeter with me in this cold than stay here."
Stanhope grinned and shouted across the room. "Oi, Parker, you ever heard of a razor ya scruffy cunt?"
"Get fucked Stanhope ya wanker." Parker fired back.
Stanhope flicked Parker the middle finger, then nudged Trig in the arm with his elbow, continuing in a voice loud enough for Parker to hear. "That's the thing Trig, these cockney cunts think they own the place, fuckin southern twats. We’re up north now."
Stanhope could see Parker growing more and more frustrated. The rest of the soldiers were watching, anticipating a confrontation that had been brewing for weeks.
Parker swivelled on his chair. "You got something to say to me, Stanhope?"
Stanhope stood, raising his own voice. "What if I do? What you gonna do about it?"
Parker swept the chess board off the table, striding across the room and going nose to nose with Stanhope as everyone jumped in to hold the two apart.
"You know your problem don't ya Stanhope?" Parker hissed with a smile as the rest of the group struggled to hold them apart. "You're still pissed off I knobbed that bird of yours."
They lunged for each other, individual insults lost in the noise as the two men tried to get to each other.
"What the hell's going on in here?"
The men as one stopped and snapped to attention where they stood, Stanhope and Parker breathing heavily as Staff Sergeant Mills entered the room. His salt and pepper hair was as always impeccably parted at the side, his grey eyes soaking in every detail of the room.
He strode towards Stanhope and Parker, glaring at Trig who stood in the middle, just about holding the two apart. He glared at each in turn, his face twisted into a scowl.
"New orders have come in,” he barked. “Team of five needed. You three seem to be full of energy, so count yourselves in. Brigs and Johnson, you too."
"Yes Sir," Johnson and Briggs said in unison as Mills turned back to Stanhope and co.
"Since it seems you three have so much energy to spend, you can all go out and patrol until morning. First thing tomorrow I want you in my office for a briefing on the mission."
Stanhope opened his mouth, then closed it, remembering the stories of Mills which were well documented. By all accounts, he was a man not to be crossed.
Mills looked from one to the other, pausing at Parker.
"Parker, you are aware this is the British army, yes?"
"Yes, Sir" barked Parker, quick as a flash.
"And being a part of the British army implies you are representing your queen and country?"
"Yes Sir," said Parker, again robot like.
"Then why do you look like some kind of homeless vagrant?”
“I don’t know sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Get rid of it. Have a little respect for your position and pride in your appearance."
"Yes Sir," said Parker.
Mills glared at him for a moment more. "Go on then, do it now!"
Parker saluted, then left, heading out into the cold towards the barracks to shave.
"As for you two," Mills said, pivoting towards them. "Gear up and get out there."
In unison, they saluted. "Yes, Sir."
Mills stood for a moment, glaring at the two men. "Dismissed" he barked, pivoting on his heel and leaving the rec room.
"He's a fuckin wanker, that Mills" grumbled Stanhope, falling back into his seat. "Double fuckin duty. Parker's to blame, his fault for winding me up."
"Fuck it mate," said Trig, trying to diffuse the situation. "Let's just get out there and get it over with eh?"
"Suppose so," grumbled Stanhope. "What do you reckon these new orders are?"
"Dunno, can't be any worse than freezing our bollocks off in this shithole, though."
"True."
"Come on then," Trig said, grabbing his boots. "Sooner we start, sooner we can get finished."
II
It was sensory deprivation at its most extreme. A black void of absolute silence. With nothing to stimulate the senses, a person could go crazy. Joshua had been buried alive for almost two weeks now. Much like an animal in hibernation, he had slowed his vital functions down almost to a stop. He floated in an infinite inky limbo, straddling the line between sleep and consciousness, life and death, and for all he knew, heaven and hell. Time had stopped having any meaning the second he closed the lid of the coffin and the steady sound of dirt landing on the wood inches from his face became too quiet to hear as his grave was filled. Seconds felt like days, minutes like weeks, and hours like months. It was a virtual lifetime to contemplate not only the life he had lived to date but to think about the life he would lead when he was reborn.
The first half of his life had been uneventful. He was sure in time, people would compare him to Hitler or others who they deemed as vile beings who had committed awful deeds. If those people looked into his past expecting to find a troubled upbringing which would perhaps explain his actions, they would be sorely disappointed. There would be no eureka moments, no glaring entries in his history which psychologists could write papers on as to how violence was a product of upbringing. They would find he grew up as an only child of a father who was a preacher and a mother who worked as a clerk. They would dig for dirt, searching for evidence of abuse, and would find only examples of the love they showered onto him. His parents had brought him up well, taught him the value of manners, of respecting his elders. He was raised to believe in the good grace of God and the idea that by leading a good life he would one day be accepted into heaven. Somehow, Joshua thought his normal upbringing would probably be more disturbing to those who would look into his past than if they found what they had expected to. They would look in search of the next Jeffrey Dahmer or Ted Bundy, and would find instead an all-American boy who excelled at school and was the apple of his parent’s eye. They might skip on past his early years, hoping to find a trigger point later in life. They would see how he joined the army at eighteen, not because he had to, but because he wanted to serve his country and to protect it.