Outbreak: The Hunger (10 page)

“I just wish we knew something more about these goddamn animals.  I don’t wanna scare anyone any more, but we have seen one tiger and one monkey so far.  I’m gonna assume that there are more animals out there like them.”  That seems to make everyone stop and think.  “I know some of you saw that clearing with all those apparently dead animals in it.  I saw it too, and I saw a tiger in that clearing.  I can’t be a hundred percent sure it’s the same tiger, but come on. What are the chances of there being two tigers?”

“It was the same tiger,” says a previously unheard voice. It’s the girl that used to have the floppy hat. She’s still sitting at the base of the tree, but now seems more alert and in full survival mode.  “I saw the animals in the clearing too. I think I may know what’s happening here.”

That definitely gets everyone’s attention.  We all step closer, ready to hear some kind of explanation for what is happening.

“I think I speak for us all,” I say.  “We’re all ears.”

The girl with the missing floppy hat begins to tell her story.

Chapter Five

1

Somewhere around Killeen, Texas

The van has been traveling for hours.  It’s stopped only once to get gas, and even then, no one but the driver had gotten out.  He’d stared at the ground the entire time he filled the car, and had purposely made no eye contact with anyone else at the gas station.  Yet he’d been completely aware of everything going on around him.  When he finished, he’d returned to the van and drove away.

To anyone else, he is just an uptight soldier on his way back to base.  To the other four people in the van and Colonel Butsko, this is the most important mission of their life, and possibly, the rest of the world’s. 

“We’re about an hour-and-a-half away, Sir,” the driver says into the intercom.  The ‘Sir,’ Colonel Butsko, is at the base, anxiously waiting for the cargo to arrive.  Anything that could possibly hinder this mission--a flat tire, a busted fan belt, an overheated engine--could put the entire world at risk.

“Roger that,” Col. Butsko responds.  “Keep me posted on your progress every fifteen to twenty minutes.  Over.”

“Will do, Sir.
” 
Then, to the back of the van, Wilder says, “We’re almost there.  How’s the cargo?”

“Cargo is subdued and contained, Sir.”  This brings a silent sigh of relief to Wilder.  No one in the van is wearing anything to divulge his or her rank, or even what branch of the military they belong too.  That is on purpose.  If a tire blows out or the engine overheats, they don’t need any gawking bystanders asking a bunch of questions.

Wilder isn’t sure about the exact contents of the cargo, but knows that it is extremely important to get back to the base.  Check that; he knows what the cargo is, he just doesn’t know the entire story of why it is so important.  Having the highest rank in the van, Wilder was at least privy to some intel.  He knows the cargo has the potential to be extremely deadly and can threaten the safety not just of America, but the entire world. 

Wilder has seen a lot of combat and has been in a lot of life-threatening situations, most of which have never made it onto the evening news, but knows driving this van is the most important mission of his life.

“Sir,” says an excited voice from the back of the van. “The cargo is moving around.”

Fuck
, Wilder thinks.
Just another forty-five minutes and we’ll be there.
  He was prepared for such a turn of events.  From the outside, the vehicle looks like a regular blue panel van, but inside it was stocked with the latest biomedical equipment.  The equipment has one sole purpose, and that is to keep the cargo subdued and alive until they reach their destination.

“Sir, his eyes are opening,” the soldier in the back says calmly.  Neither he nor any of the others in the back are worried.  They are battlefield-tested soldiers, handpicked for this mission.  With all their experience, they thought they were being shipped off to another undisclosed destination to take care of some problem that threatened the safety of America.  They also figured the mission would never make the news.  That part is true. Not even a whisper of this will make the news.  Col. Butsko has made sure of that.

“His eyes are open, Sir, but it doesn’t look as though he’s aware of anything yet,” Laning reports.

“Just let him be, Laning,” Wilder responds.  “We’re gonna be there soon.  We don’t want him to wake up.  We just need to get him to base and turn him over to Butsko.  After that, our part of the mission is done.  Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Laning.  Then, after a couple of minutes, asks, “Permission to speak off the record, Sir?”  Laning and Wilder had gone through basic training together and both entered Ranger school.   They excelled well past the others in their class, but Wilder went to Officer Candidate School, while Laning proved himself on the battlefield.  They met up again in the Middle East and found out they worked better together as a team.  From then on, they were inseparable.  The higher ups figured it would be pretty foolish to get ninety percent from each soldier working alone when they could get two-hundred percent when they worked together.  Since then, they’d gone on the same missions and received the same time off.

Wilder looks into the rearview mirror and catches Laning’s eye.  Laning then turns to the others in the van and, at once, they all switch off their coms.

“What is it, Laning?” Wilder asks, already knowing the question.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Laning brashly asks.  One of the reasons they work so well together is because they complement each other’s talents.  Wilder is the logical, rational thinker with a warrior’s heart, while Laning is the more passionate ‘let God sort ‘em out’ type.  “I mean seriously, Dan--there’s enough firepower and practical combat experience in this van to take over a small country, and we’re just here to transport some guy to a Texas military base?  It doesn’t make sense.”

Wilder looks around at the men.  He knows he can talk freely.  This is his squad, and they’ve been together for five years in and out of so many hot spots that he’d lost count.  “You’re goddamn right it doesn’t make sense, but I can tell you that this is possibly the most dangerous mission we have ever been on.”  That comment makes everyone stare.

“You’re joking, right?” says another soldier.

“I shit you not, Kane.  You know I don’t have the whole story either, but I can tell you that that guy,” he nods in the direction of the man in the protective bio-gear, “could be the beginning of the end of the world.”

The guys know Wilder is not one to exaggerate dangers.  They all stop and look down at the man.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” another soldier asks.  “I mean, fuck. Are we safe back here?  We don’t even have one piece of protective gear on, and this ‘thing’ he’s in looks about as thick as a condom.”

“The Colonel wouldn’t knowingly put us in harm’s way.  You know that.  The cargo isn’t contagious unless you come in contact with the subject’s blood or saliva.  Just keep your eyes on him.  We’re almost there.”  Wilder again looks at the men through the rearview mirror.  He knows they have a million questions, and they also know that he has no more answers than what he’s just told them. 

They all switch on their coms, sit back, and keep their eyes on the cargo.

2

Jim’s eyes feel like they have hundred pound weights on the eyelids.  He is having an odd dream when he was jerks out of sleep.  He tries to look around, but the light is bothering his eyes.  He tries to relax and let his eyes adjust to the light.  Slowly, the image of five men sitting around him comes into view.  He can’t make out anything specific.  It is almost as if he is looking through a plastic bag.  He starts to panic. 
Am I dead?  Do they think I’m dead?
  He realizes that if he is questioning it, he can’t be dead. 

He tries to remember the last thing before he passed out.  He was in the shelter with Julie.  Julie… where the hell is she?  Is she all right? 
I was
bitten by something
, he thinks.  He makes a fist with his left hand, expecting to feel pain.  Nothing. 
Maybe it was my right hand
.  He makes a fist with his right hand, but instead of experiencing a shooting pain, he feels nothing. 
What the hell?  No… I know it was my left hand
.  Another fist and there’s still no pain.

He attempts to raise his left hand only to find it bound to a gurney.  He tries to lift his head and feels the leather strap across his forehead holding him firmly in place.  He is also able to feel something on his temples and other parts of his head.  When he moves, something tickles his cheeks.  Looking down the bridge of his nose, he can see wires hanging from his head down past his cheeks.  He realizes he is on some kind of monitor.

What the fuck is going on?  Why are these men just sitting around me?
he thinks.  He then realizes he can see one of the men looking down at him. 
Wait
, he thinks.
A second ago, I couldn’t see anything.  Am I still inside the plastic bag?
  He is surprised he is remaining so calm.  He was never one to keep his head in an emergency.  He remembers the time when he was playing soccer with his brother and other friends in that league championship game.  His brother had stepped into a hole and broken his ankle.  When the paramedics arrived, they’d had to attend to Jim first because he was hyperventilating so badly.  He didn’t hear the end of that for months after it happened. 
That’s just the way you are, buddy,
his dad would tell him. 
You really need to stop being so overly sensitive.

Growing up in a small Texas town hadn’t been easy.  He’d hated football and most other sports, but most of all, he hated hunting.  His dad would drag him out every season to try to “bag a deer.”  He’d always aimed too high or too far to the side.  He might’ve been a good shot. Who would know?  He’d sworn that he would never hurt or kill an animal.

A split second later, he can hear the monitor he is hooked up too.  The steady beeping is, he assumes, his heartbeat.  His senses are coming back.  He figures the drugs are wearing off.  He listens to the men talking and realizes they are military.  He begins to panic, but the heart monitor keeps the same steady rate.

Just as Jim is beginning to make sense of his surroundings, he is hit with a tremendous hunger. 
My God, I’ve never been so hungry in my life
.  He looks at the men around him. 
I really need to eat
.

He tries to ignore his hunger by focusing on what the soldiers are saying:  “…not unless you come into contact with the subject’s blood or saliva.  Just keep your eyes on him.  We’re almost there,” one of them says.

Almost where?
he thinks. 
Am I the cargo?  What the fuck is happening?
  He tries to say something, but no sound comes from his throat.  He looks around and finds two large symbols along the mesh above his chest.  One he easily recognizes as the biohazard warning sign.  The other looks familiar, but he can’t remember where he’s seen it. It is a large circle with a black outer rim.  The inside is shaded green.  In the center lies a smaller red circle with three additional circles forming a broken triangle.  Loosely connecting the broken triangle are three half arcs. 
Damn
, he thinks.
I know I’ve seen that somewhere
.

Then it hits him like a truck:  “Why the hell am I in a biohazard bag?” he asks.  The men around all look down at him at the same time. 
Looks like I got my speech back
.  “Please, someone help me. Why am I in this bag?  Where are we going?”  The men all remain silent.  He feels the vehicle they are in make a sharp turn and can tell by the change in sound that they have left the main paved road.  “Where are we going? 
Please
! Someone answer me!”

That gets a response.  He sees the man sitting closest to him lower his hand to his side arm. 
Not really the reaction I wanted
.  As odd as the situation is, he can feel himself getting stronger with each passing minute.  But not only is his body getting stronger. His hunger is as well. 
This is the best I’ve ever felt
; he thinks.
I’m just so damn hungr
y
…

3

“The cargo is waking up, Sir,” Laning whispers into the intercom.  Laning is sitting closest to the cargo and isn’t taking any chances. His hand rests on his Glock.

“Fuck,” Wilder says, “Nothing’s simple.”  Then, to his men in the back, he whispers, “Maintain continual visual contact with the cargo and watch both the heart and EEG monitors for any spikes in activity.”  He looks at the clock and sees it is time to check in with Butsko. 

“Well, that’s just it, Sir,” Laning reports.  “The cargo is moving around, but there’s nothing registering on either monitor.”

Wilder stares out the windshield and drives in silence for a few minutes
. 
“Maintain visual contact.  We’re almost there.”

Wilder briefly thinks about the last mission he was on with Laning and his men.  They were sent in to check out some abnormal activity in a group of caves picked up by one of the satellites over Afghanistan.  It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. 
Nothing’s simple
.  The first seven caves they’d checked were empty with no traces of anyone being in there for at least a week.  They’d been about to check out one last cave when a rogue group of Taliban ambushed them.  Those fuckers just came out of nowhere; inside the last cave, on top of the hills, and two came up out of a sand trap they had dug into the ground.

But Wilder and his men were good.  Not only good, but the best.  No one had hesitated or missed a beat.  The two coming out of the sand trap were taken out first.  Each got a double tap with one round in the chest and another in the head.  Kane had taken care of three coming out of the cave.  You could see the surprise on the Taliban’s faces when their ambush did nothing to shock the Rangers.  Instead of retreating, Kane had jumped forward and thrust his fist into a man’s throat, immediately breaking his windpipe.  As he suffocated, Kane had grabbed him and used him as a shield against his comrades’ barrage of bullets.