The Shift: Book II of the Wildfire Saga (64 page)

As soon as he powered up, Cooper noticed that the HUD registered a strong signal from HQ.
 
All of their communications were back.
 
He cycled through the different commander screens and could see the GPS systems and all local friendly forces identified on his map.
 
He sighed in relief.
 
He’d gone so long without it, that he’d forgotten what it was like to have so much at the tip of his nose.
 

"All right boys, looks like our satellite uplinks are back.
 
We got good comms with HQ—data links are up and running.
 
I don’t know what the hell those eggheads back in Colorado did, but we’re back at full throttle.”

“
Hooyah!
” said Jax's voice over the radio.
 
“
Now I can catch the 49er’s game…
”

“Fuck that,”
said Clutch.
 
“Seahawks all the way, baby.”

“You can take that Twelfth Man and shove him up your ass.”

“Knock it off!”
barked Juice.
 
“
Let’s get the fuck out of here.
 
Besides, they both suck.
”

Cooper had all the SEALs stacked up along the back fence in Charlie's yard by the time the argument had quieted down.
 
Charlie opened the back gate and led everyone through into the neighbor’s yard.
 
They were now on the east side of the block.
 
If the NKors continued their progress down the street checking every house, they would have to loop around before they reached the house behind Charlie’s.
 
By then, Cooper hoped to have his team on the other side of the neighborhood.

As Cooper passed through the fence and shut the gate, he scanned his HUD for signs that drones might be operating overhead.
 
As far as NORAD was concerned, the only enemy aircraft within a hundred miles were concentrated near San Diego itself.
 
He marked the location of the last known position of the helicopter and switched the screen off.

Charlie stood next to him, staring back through the slats of the privacy fence at his empty house.

Cooper nudged him with an elbow.
 
"It's time, man. We have to leave."

Charlie put a hand on the fence.
 
"
I know, it's just…
"

Cooper watched his friend.
 
"I swear to you, we’ll find her.
 
We’re going to find CJ.
 
When we make it back to Colorado, I won’t rest until we get them to safety."

Charlie's HAHO helmet turned.
 
"
Thanks, Coop.
 
I mean that.
"

Cooper nodded.
 
"I know, now let's get going before you start crying all over my gear.”

C
HAPTER
32

Denver, Colorado.

Emergency National Reserve Operations Center.

The Cave.

B
RENDA
YAWNED
AND
TRIED
to rub the sleep from her eyes.
 
It had been another long night worrying about Derek and Cooper.
 
She stepped into Huntley’s exam room and glanced at the paper in her hand, the latest update on her brother: his antibody count was climbing exponentially.
 
He was entering the most dangerous phase of the sickness.
 
Derek’s chances were slim to none unless a serum could be developed soon.

She nodded to Chuck Digen, her lead assistant.
 
He lifted his coffee in an informal salute as he shuffled past in a lab coat and scrubs.

Brenda looked back at Derek’s chart—specifically his titer results for the past six hours.
 
The sharp increase in antibodies was the classic sign of a healthy adult’s reaction to the virus.
 
The body had recognized the threat and mobilized the immune system to mass produce T-cells to attack the virus.
 
Those T-cells would attach to and hopefully destroy the virus cells.
 
She frowned.
 
That was the problem—when the T-cells died, they piled up in huge numbers in the lungs, where the flu typically materialized.
 

The viscous sludge of attackers and defenders would thicken as more and more cellular bodies piled on, creating a veritable ocean of bodies.
 
Most normal, healthy, adult immune systems would then flood the lungs with T-cells to wipe out the weakened invader.
 
The inner lining of the lungs deteriorated and resulted in intense burning when a patient tried to breathe: Scorched Lung.
 
Death at that point was inevitable and usually occurred in less than 24 hours.

She blinked away the tears in her eyes.
 
Derek would die if nothing changed.
 
His fatality report would read: ‘Cause of Death: ARDS’.
 
Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome.
 

Brenda rubbed a hand down her face.
 
They still had time to come up with a solution.
 
She glanced at her watch as she entered Huntley’s exam room.
 
She nodded in greeting to Chad and 13—the girl never seemed to leave his side.
 
Brenda wondered if they were sleeping together as she organized a fresh collection tray, but shut the door to that line of inquiry—it was none of her business.
 

“Hey Doc, did you hear me?
 
I said, you don’t look so good this morning,” said Huntley from his seat on the exam table.
 
“You okay?”

Brenda looked up from the workstation and forced a smile.
 
“Yeah—yes…”
 
The smile fell and she sighed.
 
“My brother—”
 
She waved a hand in front of her face.
 
“He’s infected.”

“I’m sorry,” muttered 13.
 
She looked genuinely sad as she held Huntley’s hand.
 

“So,” Brenda said, busying herself with empty vials, “this should be quick, just a small supplemental sample—”

“I’m so sorry,” 13 said, her voice unsteady.

Brenda closed her eyes.
 
I don’t have time to deal with this right now…
 
She clenched her jaw and stared at the metal cabinet above the collection machine.
 
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about—”

“What are you doing?” interrupted Huntley.
 
“Ow!”

Brenda whirled around and saw 13 standing next to his body as he collapsed onto the table.
 
“What is that?
 
What are you—get away from him!”

13 pulled the needle from Huntley’s throat and dropped the syringe.
 
She slipped her hand behind her back and brought out a sleek pistol which she aimed straight at Brenda’s chest.
 
“I’m sorry,” 13 said again.
 
Her eyes moved toward the door and she nodded.
 
“It’s done—not sure how long he’ll be out.
 
I had to adjust the dose.
 
They’ve been taking a lot of blood.”

Brenda caught a reflection on the cabinet next to her and glanced up at the lab window.
 
Digen stood there scowling.
 
Two men she’d never seen before stood behind him.
 
One held an M-4 carbine.

“Chuck?”
 
He didn’t respond.
 
Brenda frowned.
 
What the hell are you doing here?
 
The three men moved purposefully toward the door.

13 glanced down at Huntley and checked his pulse.
 
While she was distracted, Brenda quickly slapped the emergency containment button on the wall behind her.
 
It locked down the room to prevent any pathogens from escaping.
 
Once engaged, the exam door’s magnetic locks could only be powered down from the inside or through a tedious rewiring process on the outside.
 
She’d bought herself at least an hour.

“Damn it!” Digen roared when he couldn’t open the door.
 
He slapped the window.
 
“She locked it from the inside!”

“What the hell is going on here,” Brenda said as she turned to look back at 13.

“Shut up,” Digen said.
 
“I’m so sick of your moping around.
 
You need to face facts—your brother’s gonna die, your boyfriend’s already dead, and you’re next.”

Brenda ignored him and stared at 13.
 
The young woman flicked the nose of her pistol.
 
Brenda put her hands up and tried to inch toward the workstation.
 
A tray of scalpels lay just to her left—

13’s eyes followed Brenda’s gaze.
 
“Don’t try it.
 
I like you—I really do,” said 13.
 
Her soft accent suddenly infuriated Brenda.
 
“I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore.”
 
Her pistol wavered slightly.
 

“Yeah, I can see that,” Brenda muttered.

“Just open the door,” said Digen’s tinny voice over the intercom.
 
He tapped the window with his fingernails.
 
“This will be over quick, I promise.”

Brenda placed her back against the workstation counter and lowered her hands to her sides in defeat—she’d trapped herself.
 
She glared at 13
.
 
You little bitch.

Brenda placed her palms on the edge of the countertop.
 
Her left hand now rested inches from the scalpels.
 
With her right hand, she discretely tried to find the silent alarm button under the counter.

“Don’t bother,” said the man with the rifle.
 
She couldn’t place his accent, but it wasn’t American.
 
“We’ve disabled the alarm.
 
No one can rescue you.”
 
He motioned with his chin toward the pistol 13 held in her hand.
 
It was a sleek weapon, easily concealed.
 

Brenda frowned.

“Come on, open the door,” Digen said over the intercom.
 
“If she doesn’t open the door in ten seconds, shoot her.”

“No!” Brenda said at 13.
 
“You need my code to open it—”

“Shoot her in the knee,” barked Digen.
 
“Shoot her in the foot, blow her hands off, I don’t care—just get her to open this door!”

The girl glanced down at Huntley’s unconscious form, tears spilling over her cheeks.
 
“I told you I was bad…” she wiped a tear away with her free hand and sniffed.
 

“Jesus Christ,” groaned Digen from the other side of the door.
 
“Shoot her already!”

Brenda seized her opportunity.
 
As 13’s free hand moved up toward her face, it blocked her vision for a split-second and the pistol moved off-target.
 
Brenda lunged forward with a scalpel.

She ignored Digen’s squawk of alarm and swatted 13’s pistol aside with her right arm.
 
The pistol fired, sounding more like a bomb than a gunshot in the tiny, sealed room.
 
Brenda grunted as she slammed into 13 and whipped her left hand around.
 
She slashed with the scalpel through a tangle of blonde hair but 13 was faster.

Before she could understand how, Brenda felt herself falling as 13 vanished from her line of sight.
 
The sound of the scalpel’s metal handle hitting the floor startled her—a heartbeat before she landed on her back.
 
The blonde stood over her like a street fighter, her hands clenched at the ready, her eyes filled with rage.
 

13 blinked and the look vanished from her face.
 
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Brenda couldn’t reply—bitch had knocked the wind from her lungs.

“Open the goddamned door!” roared Digen.
 
He pounded on the two-inch thick glass.
 
The hollow, muffled sound was distant and immaterial to Brenda.
 
“Shoot her!”

Brenda rolled to her feet and launched herself at 13 before she reached the hatch control panel.
 
It almost worked.
 
Digen saw what she was doing and screamed a warning just in time for 13 to spin and catch Brenda in the chest with a roundhouse kick.

Brenda crashed into Huntley’s exam table and felt a shooting pain lance up her back that overshadowed the pain she felt in her breasts.
 
She struggled to remain on her feet.
 

“I…” 13 said, her hand hesitating over the access panel.