Deadly Strain (Biological Response Team) (21 page)

Grenade launchers.

Sharp put his mouth to Grace’s ear. “Could the spores be put into a grenade and launched without risk to the person doing the launching?”

“I doubt it, but I don’t think that would stop him. Them. Whoever.”

He squeezed her shoulder to show his agreement. The asshole behind this insanity didn’t give a shit about anyone. Not even himself.

That made him unpredictable. Deadly.

His gut reaction was to grab Grace and get her the hell out of there, but he couldn’t do that and not damage the trust he’d built with her.

Trust he needed more than he needed to wrap her in plastic Bubble Wrap and hide her away from the world.

“We’re looking for weapons and bad guys,” he said almost soundlessly in her ear. “You look for anything that could be used as a spore deployment device.”

She nodded.

“Stay right behind me. Put your hand on my back. Remember?” When they’d had to hide to evade capture, she hadn’t hesitated to stay in contact, close enough for him to hear her breathing escalate.

She nodded again, and kissed him.

It was nothing more than a quick touch of her lips to his. Over in a second, but that second told him she was good with what they were doing. Good with what they had to do.

It was just his luck she’d toss him on his emotional backside while on a kill-or-be-killed mission.

He picked up his scattered wits and flashed two hand signals at the team, then led them farther into the cave.

Chapter Twenty-Six

They encountered no resistance in the next twenty feet. No sign or sound of people, though there continued to be gas lanterns hanging every so often from hooks in the ceiling of the cave. They came to a fork. One was lit with more lanterns, but there must be a bend or turn in the cave because they couldn’t see more than thirty feet. The other was dark.

Sharp didn’t want anyone coming up their asses, so he sent Smoke on reconnaissance while the rest of them continued down the easy path.

They hit the bend, and Clark, who’d taken point, eased around it with the skill of a ghost. Three seconds passed before he returned and gave the all-clear signal.

Sharp went around the corner, Grace right behind, but the gas lights ran out and they switched to night-vision goggles.

This part of the cave appeared unoccupied, as there were only cast-off bits and pieces of wood, metal and wire strewn about.

Those guys with the grenade launchers came from somewhere.

Up ahead, Clark signaled for everyone to stop. Contact. Someone was moving around, but Sharp couldn’t make anything out. Maybe the cave turned another corner.

After a few more seconds, Clark signaled the all clear and they moved forward, but he set the pace even slower than before.

Light teased the edges of his vision, and Sharp realized the cave opened out into a huge room, hundreds of feet in diameter, with more gas lights in use. The room appeared empty until you looked across the space and saw crates stacked, some being used as tabletops, others with their lids off and their contents on display.

As they crept toward what looked more and more like a work area, Sharp figured out what one of the oddly shaped items in plain view on one of the crates was.

A microscope.

Sharp hesitated for a moment. A microscope, but no light source. Wouldn’t a generator be needed?

Gas lanterns were in use and no sign of a generator.

He turned to Grace. “Does this setup seem weird to you?”

“As opposed to working in a lab free of dust and contaminants, with good ventilation and a sterile work area?” She grunted and apologized. “Sorry. Yes, it’s weird and wrong and I’d like to kick the ass of the idiot who decided he could play weekend microbiologist and create the next deadly plague on earth.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant.

“Would you work in here? Would it even be possible to do the work required to weaponize anthrax in here?” There were conditions and situations where certain pieces of equipment just didn’t function well. Underwater, high winds, long distances.

“Yes. You don’t need clean. In fact, an environment where random factors might be introduced to the bacteria might even help the process. Anthrax isn’t any more difficult to work with than any other bacteria, it’s just more deadly than most.”

“No generator,” he said.

“If I wasn’t actively working on something, I’d shut it off to save fuel.”

“He could be out scouting his next target, or firing on his next target. We don’t know his timeline.”

Clark searched the other side of the crates for unfriendlies and gave the all clear.

Sharp nodded to Grace, and she darted around him to investigate the equipment. He nodded at Clark, who moved forward, following the rock wall of the cave. There was too much air movement for there to be only one entrance and exit.

Hernandez, Runnel and March took up watch positions, facing the way they’d come in, their rifles tucked into their shoulders, ready to fire.

Sharp surveyed the room at the same time as keeping watch on Grace. Her movements were quick and excited, like a predator on the trail of prey. Something snapped, a rubber-bandy sound. She’d put on gloves.

The microscope was given a quick investigation, but she moved on in seconds. The lid of one crate came off and she peered inside. The lid was placed back. Another was opened.

Silence.

Sharp glanced at her. She stared into the box with a horrified expression on her face.

“Grace?”

“It’s full of grenades,” she whispered.

It took him all of two seconds to reach her. The grenades looked completely normal...for individual devices with the power to tear a person’s legs off. If the whole crate detonated, every person within thirty feet would be ripped to shreds.

He reached in with one hand to pick one up for inspection, but Grace stopped him with a softly worded, “No. I’m wearing the gloves.” She pointed at the surfaces in clear view. “There’s a fine layer of dust.”

He withdrew his hand and she plucked one of the grenades out and showed it to him, turning it this way and that so he could see all sides of it.

“It looks undisturbed.” He nodded at her to put it back.

“Can you tell if he’s in the middle of something or what he’s doing with all this stuff?”

“No. Aside from the microscope, there’s nothing else here to indicate he’s actively using this site as a lab.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

Men moving munitions. Crates of more munitions and a microscope left where it could draw attention.

“Fuck me,” he said as he flashed the get the hell out of Dodge signal. He grabbed Grace by the arm and pulled her into a fast trot toward the way they had come in.

An explosion threw them all on their asses in the dirt.

Sharp’s head rang like a church bell on Sunday. He staggered to his feet and bumped into Grace, who’d gotten as far as her knees.

Where were Clark, Runnel and March?

A rock hit his shoulder. From above. Once glance told him the ceiling of the cave was in the process of collapsing.

A muffled yell, and a yank on his arm, brought his attention around to Grace, on her feet now, as she dragged him toward his men, two of whom lay still on the dirt. Where had Runnel gone?

Sharp stumbled after her and grabbed up Clark, who’d taken point. He was out cold, but it looked like he was still breathing. Sharp got him up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and walked quickly through the cave as it rained rocks toward the far wall, where he’d felt fresh air flowing.

He was about to put Clark down and go back for March, but when he turned, there was Grace not five feet behind him, dragging March by the heels. He could walk a little farther.

He followed the slight flow of air several more feet and found a narrow opening in the wall.

Thick smoke wafted past him, surrounding his head and making him cough. Smoke?

Adrenaline hit his system like a freight train and he ducked into the opening and walked several feet until the narrow crevice widened into something two men could in walk side by side. He put Clark down and went back for Grace and March.

He found them just as she was dragging the fallen soldier into the slim opening. Sharp didn’t say anything, but as soon as he touched her shoulder on his way past her, she let go of March’s feet and headed away from the main cave chamber.

Smoke now filled the air three feet up from the ground and up. A fireman’s carry wasn’t going to work. Sharp grabbed March’s feet and dragged him much faster than Grace had been doing. If he lived he was going to have a hell of a headache.

Sharp had to stop a couple of times to cough, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Finally, he made it back to Clark and Grace, who was doing a quick triage of the unconscious soldier.

Runnel, he had to find Runnel.

A rumble of rock from the main cave roared through the air like a tsunami wave. Followed by a rapid succession of explosions, one after the other. Smoke, dust and crushing darkness blinded him.

* * *

Silence.

Sharp lay still. His breathing...odd. What was sitting on his chest?

He tried to lift his right hand to brush the offending object away, but found he couldn’t move it. At all.

He sucked in a breath to try again, but all he got was a lungful of dirt and a coughing fit that didn’t subside. He struggled to find real oxygen, to sit up and sweep the dirt off his face, but he couldn’t do either and his struggles increased. Choking. He couldn’t move and he was choking to death.

A wet cloth touched his face and someone yelled in his ear, “Sharp, try to relax.” The cloth came back for a second run on his face and he finally took a breath that wasn’t filled with dirt.

“We’re digging you out,” the voice said. Grace. It was Grace’s voice. “But it might take a while.”

“What?” he croaked out through his irritated throat.

“The cave collapsed,” she said. “Some of this part of it too. It nearly buried you alive.”

“March, Clark?” he asked hoarsely. “Runnel?”

“March is alive. Unconscious, but alive. Clark...didn’t survive the falling rock. I think we lost Runnel in the initial blast.”

Fuck
. Two more of his men, his friends,
gone
. Anger surged through his bloodstream, giving him a jolt of energy and strength, but he still couldn’t move. The weight on his chest and extremities got heavier and heavier until he found breathing nearly impossible.

Focus, man.
Focus
.

“What about Smoke? Any sign?” he asked.

“Here,” said the man himself, appearing on the other side of him. “Took me some time to find my way to you.”

“Is there—” Sharp stopped to suck in a couple of breaths “—a way out?”

“Yes.” Smoke didn’t continue for a couple of seconds. “But not close. Not easy.”

“Any escape...is good. Call for...extraction?”

“No signal,” Smoke said.

“Stop talking,” Grace ordered, reaching across his body to remove a hefty piece of rock. “Conserve your strength while we get you out.”

“Were the explosions...accidental?” Sharp asked. She was probably going to get mad at him for not following his instructions, but he needed information.

“Don’t think so,” Smoke said. “Found wire and grenades.”

“I don’t like grenades,” Grace muttered.

Grief made him nauseous. “Don’t like them much either,” Sharp whispered.

Grace and Smoke worked silently to remove the rocks and debris from trapping his body. Someone had turned on an LED flashlight, but he still couldn’t see much in the dim light. Dust hung in the air like a fog.

When had he lost his night-vision goggles? Probably in the rockfall.

He stared at Grace as she worked and noted she was covered in the fine dust, though a few places on her head, face and neck glistened as she moved around. Blood? Nothing that slowed her down, given her steady movements. If she had died...nope, not going there. He sneezed, which started another coughing fit. This damn dust was going to be the death of him.

Dust.

Spores?

“Doc,” he said softly. “Could we be breathing in spores?”

She paused in her rock removal, more of a stutter, a hesitation, before continuing on. “I doubt it.”

She didn’t sound convinced. “Explain that to me.”

“There wasn’t any evidence this place was ever used as a lab, not even a crude one. I think the microscope was window dressing. If he had spores to kill us, he’d have booby-trapped his stuff with it. He wouldn’t leave it lying around for just anyone to get sick.” She paused for a half second longer this time. “He blew us up instead.”

Sharp tested the words. “This was a trap.” It sounded right, and every one of them had fallen for it, from the general on down.

“I think so.”

“Agreed,” Smoke rumbled. He rolled a larger rock, the size of a carry-on suitcase, off of Sharp’s right leg and suddenly he could move it. The claustrophobia gripping him let go a little and he flexed, trying to wake up his circulation.

Grace and Smoke worked a little faster.

A moan echoed close by and Grace disappeared. “March?” she asked.

He couldn’t see her or March, but he could hear the stress in her voice. “How bad is he?”

“Broken arm and concussion. I’m not sure he’ll be able to walk on his own.”

Smoke moved another large rock from over his torso, and Sharp found he could breathe easier.

“We’ll figure something out.”

She snorted in obvious disbelief.

“That’s what puts the
special
in Special Forces,” he told her.

There was no reply for a couple of seconds, then Grace said very clearly, “Fuck. Off.”

If she could get angry, she really was okay. “How far away is this exit of yours, Smoke?”

“Not sure. Maybe a quarter mile?”

“Any evidence of more traps?”

“No.”

“We weren’t meant to survive,” Grace said softly. “I’m not sure how we did.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Smoke rolled more rocks off Sharp while Grace checked March’s arms, legs and torso for any other injuries. He had a couple of bumps on his head. One had bled quite a bit, and while he wasn’t really as responsive as she’d like, he was coming around.

“Doc?” he said, his voice as wobbly and frail as that of an old, old man.

“Hi there, big guy, how are you feeling?”

“Headache,” he said, confused. “Hurt, everywhere.”

“That’s ’cause you got hit by rocks, everywhere.”

“Rocks?”

“What country are we in, March?”

“Um, the United States.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Did I get drunk and drive?” He sounded worried. “I wouldn’t do that.” He tried to get up.

“No, no. Lie down, you didn’t drink and drive. We’re in a cave and there was a cave-in.” He was also twenty-six years old, not eighteen. She’d have to watch him close to make sure he didn’t develop a bruise on the inside of his skull to match the ones on the outside of it. It didn’t take much brain swelling to kill a person.

“Oh.” He lapsed into silence. “Where are we?”

“Afghanistan. Do you remember Sharp and Smoke?”

“Yeah, they’re on my team.”

“Hey, buddy,” Sharp said. “Smoke and I are over here.”

March tried to get up, but Grace put her hand on his chest and held him down. Normally she wouldn’t have had the strength or leverage to do it, but right now, as disoriented as he was, she didn’t have to work too hard.

“Sharp is partially buried under rock, and Smoke is digging him out. You just rest until Sharp is free.”

“Okay, Doc. I feel kind of sick anyway.”

“Sick, like vomiting?”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes and almost immediately dropped into unconsciousness.

“Sharp,” she said, letting all of her concern for March filter into her voice. “I think we need to get March out of here and back to the base as fast as possible.”

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s displaying the signs of a severe concussion. Swelling of the brain. If it gets really bad, it could be enough to kill him.”

“Can you do anything for him now?”

“No. He’s going to need a CT scan and probably surgery.”

“You’re almost out,” Smoke said.

“Be ready to haul ass,” Sharp ordered, sounding like he was gritting his teeth.

“Sharp, are you injured?”

“I don’t know, but my left arm and leg have fallen asleep. It feels like someone is digging a million needles into me.”

“That’s normal after having your circulation cut off for a while. I’d be more worried if you felt nothing.”

He snorted. “No worries here, then.”

As she checked March’s pulse again, Smoke got the last big rock off of Sharp and he pulled himself out from under the rest.

He sat for a second or two, then climbed slowly to his feet, with Smoke lending a hand under Sharp’s arm.

“Broken bones?” she asked him.

He bounced a little on his feet and twisted his wrists around. “Don’t think so. Everything seems to be working properly. More or less.” He bent over and dug through the rock around where he’d been lying.

“What are you looking for?”

“My rifle.” He searched for a moment more, before he yanked it out from the debris. He checked it over. “Doesn’t look too bad.” He turned to Smoke. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Lead the way.”

Smoke picked up his weapon and nudged March with one foot. “Wake up.”

March blinked at him blankly for a moment, then put one hand to his head. “Jesus Christ, who ran me over?”

“A terrorist.” Smoke bent down and helped March to his feet.

He swayed. “Can I kill him?” March asked.

“I wish I could let you,” Sharp said, limping over to look into March’s face. “But General Stone wants to interrogate him.”

“How about I shoot him, just a little?”

“How do you shoot someone a little?” Grace asked, not bothering to hide her irritation with the cavalier attitude these men seemed to have toward killing someone.

“In the foot or arm or somewhere not immediately fatal,” March explained. His voice was slurring like he was drunk, and when Sharp grabbed him north of his elbow and began towing him along behind Smoke who had already started out, he looked even more unstable.

“Lovely.” Grace didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm as she picked up her pack, dusted off her uniform and followed the men. “That sounds so much less bad than just shooting
and
killing someone.”

“Why are you mad at me?” March wanted to know, a confused expression on his face as he glanced back at her.

“Oh, it’s not just you.” She looked pointedly at the back of Sharp’s head. “I’m mad at a bunch of people.”

“But—”

“March,” Sharp leaned over to say in his friend’s ear. “She’s a woman and a superior officer. Don’t argue.”

“Oh. Right.” He put a hand to his head again. “Shit, my head feels like it’s about to explode.”

Sharp glanced back at her and she gave him a grim look. “We should hurry.”

“Yeah.” Sharp stepped up the pace and no one said anything for several minutes. It wasn’t until Smoke, up ahead, stopped and gave the stop hand signal too.

Sharp left March with her, while he moved ahead to consult with their point man.

“I don’t feel so good, Doc,” March whispered. There was a glistening sheen of sweat on his face. “Was I drinking last night?”

“No, sorry. Can’t blame this on alcohol. It was the rocks.”

“Goddamn rocks should have stayed where they were.”

“I wish the same thing. I really do.”

Sharp came toward them. He leaned in close so they could both hear his barely there voice. “The exit is guarded by at least two men. There may be more.”

“Can you get a signal? Call for help?”

“Smoke is talking to the base now. An extraction team could leave at any time, but there’s nowhere to set down. The terrain is too rough. We’re going to have to travel at least a quarter mile before we get to an area where the bird can land.”

Grace looked pointedly at March. “That’s a long time to be out in the open, and we need to get back to the base. Now would be good.”

Sharp glanced at his buddy and his lips tightened. “Understood.” He met her gaze. “You two stay here and guard our backs.”

March was in no condition to guard anything, but she nodded. She had a Beretta, she could do the guarding.

Sharp stared at her for a moment then muttered, “Fuck it.” He slid a hand behind her head and kissed her. It was quick, hard and thorough. As if he were trying to put a lifetime of need and desire into it. The kiss left no question in her mind that he didn’t like this situation any more than she did.

He let her go with the same smooth speed he’d used to kiss her and was gone before she could say or do anything.

“That had better not be a good-bye kiss,” she said to herself under her breath.

She helped March to sit down next to a large boulder. He leaned against it and closed his eyes. “I’m not going to be of much use, Sharp,” he said, his words slurring a bit. “Everything is blurry.”

“He’s gone,” Grace said in a soft tone. “You and me, we’re going to do this together.”

“You’re a pretty good liar, Doc.” March smiled, but it was so sad. “I might be half out of my head, but I’m dying. Those rocks killed me, right?”

“We just have to get you to the base and drill a little hole in your head. Then you’ll be fine.”

He opened his eyes and stared at her. The smile on his face turned genuine. “That’s a pretty fucked-up thing to say.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he sagged, his eyes closing. She put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “March?” She did it again, then checked his carotid pulse. It was fast and weaker than she would have liked.

Goddamn it, she wasn’t going to lose another friend, another
brother
, to these insane people. She didn’t know what she could do exactly to expedite the situation, but she was going to do something.

The familiar weight of her Beretta brought with it a strange sort of calm. A surreal peace the eye of a hurricane brings, though you can see the frenzied conflict all around you, and you know it has the power to kill you.

She checked the magazine. Full. Slid the safety off and walked with soft knees toward daylight.

A metallic
pop
, followed by a hailstorm of more, had her crouching down and searching for the source. No one was in sight. No echo. Not in the cave. Outside.

The gunfire continued on and off with small bursts every few seconds. Sharp and Smoke might be moving around, trying to pinpoint where the enemy was. Or the enemy might be trying to pinpoint where they were. Either way, this search-and-destroy was taking up too much time.

She eased over to the narrow mouth of the cave. This entrance wasn’t wide, only enough space for a single person to squeeze through sideways. She peered out cautiously, taking her time, letting her gaze check every nook and cranny of the surrounding rocky terrain. No one. Not even her own guys.

She eased out and crouched down to listen.

More gunfire bounced around and she froze in place as it echoed through her brain. Images of the firefight from the IED flashed past and superimposed themselves over her sight.

She wasn’t crouched near the mouth of the cave, but behind the open door of an armored vehicle, the bodies of her nurses beside her on the ground. Her patient yelled for help, but she was immobile, terrified by what she knew was coming.

The boy soldier.

Killing him had injured her in ways she never expected. A constant acid drip of guilt and self-loathing burning a hole in her soul. She was living it again, powerless to stop it, unless she acted first. Her mind recalled the first moment she saw Joseph Cranston, but instead of his young unlined face, she saw his father’s weathered skin and ornery expression.

“You’re going to find the fucker who’s fucking with us and kill him,” he yelled at her, and the mental shout shot adrenaline into her system.

“Yes, sir.”

A pebble bounced off the rocks above her and off her shoulder. She glanced up and didn’t see anything at first. After a moment, she realized that an outcropping about twenty feet above her was too straight. It was a gun muzzle and the shooter was firing every few seconds or so, in bursts echoing weirdly, making them sound like they came from somewhere else.

She knew Sharp’s weapon. She knew Smoke’s too. They looked nothing like the long straight barrel above her.

She had to be sure. She couldn’t kill a man without making certain he was the enemy.

Could she get up there without alerting whoever was firing that weapon?

Grace took a few moments and plotted out the likeliest route up and found there were a couple of options. Neither was easy or safe, but she didn’t have a choice. If she left the shooter up there and he was an extremist, he was just going to shoot her in the back anyway.

Climbing the rocks was harder than she expected. Her boots were fine, it was her hands that needed protection. She picked up several cuts before she arrived at the top of the outcropping. No time to bandage them.

Out came her Beretta again and she advanced on the man lying prone about fifteen feet away. He was focused on shooting at a target below him.

He wore the traditional clothing of an Afghan male, and the skin of his hands was the color of caramelized sugar.

She needed to see his face. Be certain he wasn’t a friend, but foe. “Hey.”

The man turned, looked at her, rolled to his side, lifted his weapon and...

She fired. One to the head. One to the heart. Her feet carried her to him and she checked his carotid pulse. Nothing. She’d killed. Again.

Below her in the valley beneath the outcropping, more gunfire echoed.

The extremist had binoculars. She grabbed them and found Sharp. She couldn’t see Smoke, but that was no surprise. Sharp was probably drawing fire, so Smoke could circle around and attack from the rear.

Sharp was drawing more fire than he knew. There was a group of three men attempting to come at his position from the rear.

The Afghan man’s rifle looked even older than she first thought, but it was firing, so why not use it.

She grabbed the weapon, lay down, checked for ammo and sighted down the scope. It hardly made a difference, but then again, this wasn’t a precision instrument like the weapons Special Forces soldiers use. All she really wanted to do was cause some consternation for the men hunting her man.

If she killed one, well, that would be a bonus.

Right?

This old rifle probably didn’t shoot so straight, so she aimed high, fired and watched through the scope to see the result.

One of the Afghans dropped. The men with him stared at the body and began gesturing. They turned as one to look at her position.

That’s right, assholes. New shooter. New rules.

She had two bullets left. No use saving them. She fired again.

This time her target didn’t drop, but he did stumble and do an awkward crab-crawl until he was behind some shelter. Wounded him maybe.

His friend disappeared too, and Grace gave serious thought to leaving her perch for a less-obvious position. Anyone in the vicinity would be able to see her if they had some half-decent binoculars. Not the like the piece of crap pair the dead man next to her had.

She sighted down the binoculars to see where she could help and watched some rapid movement off to the north. A ferocious volley of gunfire began, then ended after about five seconds.

She saw Smoke’s head pop up, then immediately drop from sight, but he was moving toward Sharp. She scanned the area for any more unfriendlies, but saw nothing.

She eased back from the edge of the outcropping, keeping her new old rifle with her. She fished some more ammunition off the dead man’s belt then headed back down the way she came.

Her hands got cut up a little more.

Grace slid back into the cave and checked on March. He was still unconscious and in the same position as before. His pulse was a little faster and a little weaker, his breathing shallow.

She grit her teeth. He wasn’t going to make it to the base.