Precipice: V Plague Book 9 (13 page)

It took me
over half an hour to get the wound stitched up.  The end result wasn’t
pretty, but on the bright side it was functional.  Blood still seeped
through but the sutures effectively closed the cut.  I poured more
hydrogen peroxide over the injury and cleaned my whole arm, then patted the
wound dry.  This time the towel came away with just a few red dots. 
Smearing on a thick layer of antibiotic ointment I wrapped a heavy gauze pad
with several turns of medical tape and decided that was as good as it was going
to get.

I had also
found a bottle of injectable antibiotic and filled a large syringe, the same
size I’d seen Rachel use on me more than once.  Rolling up on one side of
my ass I jabbed the needle in the other and depressed the plunger. 
Apparently, if you push the injection in too fast it hurts like a son of a
bitch.  Cursing and at the limit of my patience I flung the needle across
the room.  It bounced off the wall and came to rest next to the
respectable sized piles of bloody towels I’d used to clean myself up.

Sitting back
in the chair I took a deep breath to calm myself and wished for a
cigarette.  Or a stiff drink.  The BX didn’t sell tobacco products
and alcohol was the last thing I needed, so I settled for dressing in my new clothes. 
Once I was outfitted I spent a few minutes using a damp cloth to clean the
blood off my weapons. 

Reaching
into the cart I grabbed half a dozen protein bars, quickly devouring all of
them as I drank two more bottles of water.  I sat back in the chair,
exhausted, and relaxed for a moment as I popped open the first of three small
bottles of 5 Hour Energy.  They tasted like crap, but right now I needed
to be alert and moving, not dragging ass.  Eyeing the rifle as I downed
the final bottle, I observed how deep into every crevice it had gotten and made
a mental note to tear the thing down and give it a good cleaning.

The whole
time I’d been working there had been regular flyovers by helicopters.  The
Russians were searching the base.  It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to
figure out what had happened at the flight line.  I’d left a lot of
infected bodies on the ground.  One look and they’d know I was alive and
kicking.  But how certain were they I was still on the base?

The repeated
flyovers probably meant they were searching with FLIR, which is about
impossible to hide from in the open.  I didn’t think it possible the
Russians had the technology that could find me inside the building, but if I
happened to be outside when one of those Hinds passed overhead I’d be spotted
in a heartbeat.

Now I had a
real dilemma.  Were troops already on the ground, searching for me and the
helos were just air support, or had the boots not arrived yet?  That
mattered, because once I had to face both aerial and ground level searches my
odds of escape went down dramatically.  Not that slipping away from the
helicopters would be easy by any stretch.

I started to
wish for a way to contact Jessica in Pearl Harbor and get a bird’s eye view of
what the Russians were up to, but the sat phone had been taken from me when I
was searched and it hadn’t been in the storage locker where I’d found my
weapons.  It was probably in the pocket of the trooper who had patted me
down.  Might as well be on Mars.  There was no way in hell I could make
it back onto the flight line and into the crashed helo.

First things
first.  I needed ammo.  Drinking yet another bottle of water, I stood
and stepped around the shopping cart to the office door.  Pressing my ear
against the cold steel surface I listened for close to a minute but didn’t hear
anything moving in the main area of the BX.  Carefully unlocking the knob,
I gently turned it and cracked the door open a couple of inches.

I looked and
listened for another minute, still hearing nothing other than a Hind passing
overhead.  Opening the door the rest of the way I stayed standing where I
was and scanned with the rifle’s night vision scope.  A couple of minutes
later I was reasonably confident I was still alone in the store and stepped out
into the pharmacy area.

On the far
side of the building, towards the rear, was a section I’d noticed when getting
my new clothes that had hunting and fishing gear.  That was where I was
headed as I moved out and turned down the first aisle I came to. 

Passing the
electronics section, I paused long enough to pocket a package of batteries that
were the right size for the flashlight attached to my rifle.  Continuing
on I reached the sporting goods area, ignoring a long row of fishing
poles.  Turning the corner, I found a large counter area and after a look
with the night vision, stepped into the employee only area.

I looked for
close to five minutes, but couldn’t find a single round of ammunition. 
Looking around in frustration I was surprised when I realized there weren’t any
firearms to be seen either.  Still searching I spotted a large sign on the
wall over the back of the counter.  It was too dark to read and after
scanning with the night vision I wrapped my hand around the lens of the
flashlight and turned it on.

Hardly any
light leaked out and I pointed it up at the placard.

Per DOD
regulations no firearms or ammunition are sold in the BX

What the
fuck?  Really?  I started to wonder if this was an Air Force thing,
but the sign said DOD or Department of Defense.  What harebrained jackass
made that decision?  Hi, welcome to the US military.  Here’s access
to all of the most powerful and destructive weapons ever devised by mankind,
but sorry, you can’t purchase a pistol or rifle or even the ammunition for one
you may already own.  Have a nice day.

Shaking my
head at the stupidity of the policy, then at my own foolishness for getting
distracted, I turned my attention back to the task at hand.  Selecting a
large pack, I moved through the aisles and filled it with spare socks and
underwear, tossed in a fat multi-tool and another flashlight, then filled it
the rest of the way with MREs and a few water bottles. 

Passing
through the grocery section on my way back to the front of the store I paused
long enough to drain a jug of orange juice.  It wasn’t cold and I didn’t
have any idea how long it had been since the power had failed and the
refrigeration went out, but when I cracked open the seal it didn’t smell like
it had spoiled.  Like I could smell anything with the condition my nose
was in, but I took the chance.  I’d lost a lot of blood.  My body
needed the fluids, which was why I was drinking so much water, and the sugar in
the OJ would help if I hadn’t just poisoned myself.

I was
halfway to the front when a thought occurred to me and I changed directions and
headed for the electronics section.  Hopefully there would be a satellite
phone I could take.  Not that I had the slightest idea how to reach
anyone, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t willing to give it a try.

There was a large
phone section, but it was just regular cell phones.  Well, iPhones and
Android phones.  Nothing that would work without a cell tower. 
Disappointed, but not surprised, I headed back towards the front of the store,
freezing in place when I heard a subtle noise.

I didn’t
know what it was and was even uncertain about the direction it had come from,
but I had definitely heard something.  It could have been a Russian
patrol, or an infected, or even something shifting on one of the shelves. 
Maybe a rat working its way through the BX, nosing for unguarded food. 

Moving to
the end of an aisle I carefully scanned its length with the night vision scope. 
Nothing moving or out of place.  Carefully, I moved to the end of the next
aisle and repeated the scan.  Still nothing.  I checked two more
aisles like this before I found the source of the noise.

Two men with
rifles were slowly moving through the store, one cautious step at a time. 
I couldn’t identify the uniforms with only night vision, but the unique outline
of the rifles in their hands told me all I needed to know.  Russians
carrying AKMS rifles. 

Steadying my
aim on the closer of the two I waited.  The Hind that was orbiting the
area, searching for me, had been going overhead on a regular schedule. 
When it passed over the BX it was low enough and loud enough to mask the sound
of my suppressed rifle being fired.  Not that the second soldier wouldn’t
notice his buddy going down when I shot him, but with the helicopter drowning
out the sound of my suppressed rifle it wouldn’t be possible for him to
immediately zero in on my location.

Right on
schedule I heard the Hind approaching.  The volume of the rotor quickly
grew, the whole building beginning to vibrate, and when sound was at its zenith
I pulled the trigger and put a round into the Russian’s head.  He dropped
silently, even the metallic tinkle of my expended shell hitting the hard floor
covered by the noisy aircraft. 

The other
man reacted quickly, spinning and leaping for cover in an aisle that intersected
the one he was standing in.  I fired my second round while he was in
motion and saw him jerk before he disappeared behind the shelving.  I’d
scored a hit, but didn’t think it was fatal.  Now I needed to finish him
off before he was able to get on the radio and call for help.

Turning, I
sprinted down the aisle parallel to the one they’d been checking.  I
didn’t slow when I reached the intersection, but dropped to my ass and slid
into the open, already firing in the direction the man had gone.  A
foolish and potentially deadly way to go after an armed and trained opponent,
but time was critical.

I stopped
firing as soon as I got a look down the aisle.  The soldier was already
down, flat on his back.  Both hands were clasped firmly around his neck
where my first bullet had struck, destroying his trachea and tearing open an
artery.  I approached slowly with my rifle trained on his head, but by the
time I was standing over him he was dead.

Leaving the
Russians where they’d fallen, I turned and headed for the front.  I hoped
they were alone and kind of suspected they were.  If there had been more
there would have been a larger team moving through the store.  Unless
they’d left some guys at the entrance in case these two flushed me out and I
made a break for it.

Slowing, I
approached the registers very carefully.  Frequently pausing and scanning
with the night vision scope I didn’t see anything that hadn’t been there when I
came in.  I idly wondered why these two had chosen to search such a large
building by themselves, dismissing the questions that I had no way of
answering.

Coming
within ten yards of the glass doors I looked out into the parking lot and
spotted their vehicle.  It was an American Hummer, parked as close to the
iron bollards that guarded the entrance as it could be.  That also told me
some more about the two men I’d just killed.

I was
willing to bet they were just ordinary foot soldiers, pressed into service for
the search.  There was no way any operator, from anywhere in the world,
would just pull right up to the door of a building they were going to check for
a hostile enemy.  What a great way to get shot the moment you open your
door and step out.

There was
also a bonus to the fact that the Russians had boots on the ground driving
around in Hummers looking for me.  That meant I could move in a vehicle
without drawing undue attention.  Not invisibly, no, but at least I
wouldn’t be descended upon the instant I started rolling.  The real
question would be if I could manage to drive off the base and disappear over
the horizon without attracting a missile or cannon fire.

Preparing to
push out the door and make a dash for the Hummer the Russians had arrived in, I
paused and turned back to face the store.  I didn’t really know where the
hell I was.  I had a rough idea of where things were in Idaho, but it was
just that.  Rough.  Very fucking rough.  Certainly not good
enough to head out and hope I was actually going somewhere other than down a
road that led to nowhere.

Moving back
into the BX I searched around, finally finding a small section that sold books
and magazines.  Another few minutes of searching and I spied a large road
atlas.  Clicking on my flashlight and shielding the lens with my balled
hand I flipped pages until arriving at Idaho.  It took me some looking to
find Mountain Home, a small town a few miles northeast of the base, and I was
glad I’d come back for the map. 

For some
reason I had thought I was much farther north, close to Canada, rather than in
the southern portion of the state.  In fact, I was no more than a hundred
miles north of Nevada.  Southern Oregon was due west and if you drew a
line slightly north of northwest from where I stood it would intersect
Seattle.  That was my destination as I assumed it would be where Katie and
Rachel would go, but first I had to get away from the fucking Russians.

Stuffing the
map in my new pack I walked back to the entrance, approaching carefully and
scanning with the night vision scope as I approached.  I didn’t see any
movement, but this time I was coming at a different angle and noticed an IR
strobe flashing away on the roof of the Hummer. 

IR strobe
lights are only visible with night vision and, among other things, are used to
mark friendlies on the ground that are at risk of being fired on by aircraft if
they are misidentified.  This one looked small, not even as large as my
fist, and flashed in an odd sequence.  It took me a moment watching to
realize it was Morse code.

Very fucking
smart, Ivan!  Once an enemy knew that they were using IR strobes to
clearly mark captured vehicles it wouldn’t be difficult to use your own strobe
to blend in with the herd.  Unless the strobes issued by the Russian Army
flashed out a specific message.  It’s not like you can program these damn
things in the field, so they had eliminated the possibility of an enemy hiding
from them. 

Watching for
a moment, and trying to remember a code made up of long and short flashes that
I’d learned about a hundred years ago and had used maybe once in my life, I
finally deciphered the sequence to read “RUSS”.  No, I’d screwed up on
where it began repeating.  It was broadcasting “USSR”.  Cheeky
bastards.  Not that it mattered, but it was one of those things my mind
gets stuck on until I figure it out.

I waited
another minute for the orbiting Hind to pass over, then dashed out the door and
jumped into the driver’s seat.  Starting the engine, I spun the wheel and
nailed the throttle.  Hummers aren’t sports cars and though it started
moving it did so at its own pace.  Driving out of the parking lot I turned
towards the main gate.

My
destination was Seattle, but it was a long trip and I was going to have to
cover the distance in stages.  I knew from my earlier conversation with
Jessica that snow would stop me from crossing the mountain range to the east of
Seattle and I needed to head west to the coast while I was still far enough
south to have reasonably good weather.

I didn’t
remember any part of the route Jessica had mapped out for me other than a tiny
town named Dickshooter.  Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to find it on
the map, so I’d had to come up with my own path.  I planned to get to the
town of Mountain Home first, then work my way up to Boise.  From there,
west across Oregon to the coast and turn north.  I would avoid large
highways where I could and skirt cities that might have a large infected
population.  And hopefully evade the Russians in the process.

Before I
reached the exit from the base I was overflown by a Hind.  I had no idea
if it was the same one that had been orbiting the area of the base where the BX
was located.  My heart rate shot up and adrenaline dumped into my system
when I heard the rotor, but I forced myself to continue driving the same speed
and maintain my direction of travel.  The strobe should reassure the aircrew
that I was just another friendly Ivan, but if I suddenly began maneuvering to
escape when they appeared it would be like waving a big red flag.

 The
sound of the helicopter didn’t change until it began to bank as part of its
orbit.  I breathed a deep sigh of relief and kept driving.  Another
problem would be if there were guards at the gate, but they either hadn’t
thought about that yet or didn’t have enough bodies to station some men
there. 

The gate was
unmanned and wide open as I drove through, slowing to turn onto the road where
a sign pointed the direction to town.  Now it was getting risky. 
There wasn’t really an excuse for one of the patrols that was searching for me
to be off the base and heading for a civilian town.  At least not without
orders to do so, and now the damn strobe on the roof would act like a beacon
and draw attention to a vehicle driving in an area it shouldn’t be in.

Slamming on
the brakes I screeched to a stop, shut off the vehicle’s lights and jumped
out.  It took me a moment to figure out how to remove the device and turn
it off.  I didn’t want to damage it.  There was no telling when it
would come in handy again.  Back inside I left the lights off and started
driving. 

It was dark,
but the sky was clear and there was some moon.  All I really needed to be
able to see was the asphalt in front of me so I could stay on the road. 
It would be nice to have some bright driving lights so I didn’t crash into an
abandoned wreck, but at the moment that was the least of my concerns.

Craning my
neck around and ducking my head I peered out the passenger side windows, trying
to spot the helicopters that were searching the air base.  It wasn’t hard
as they all had their red and green anti-collision lights on, several of them
with high intensity spotlights stabbing down through the darkness to illuminate
the ground.

Why were
they using spotlights instead of FLIR?  At night it was a no brainer. 
Lights create shadows and won’t necessarily get into all the hiding places a
man can squeeze into.  FLIR, on the other hand, will detect the target’s
body heat and is just about impossible to hide from.  I’d heard of a
German company that had started manufacturing what they called Ghost Camouflage,
which would supposedly defeat FLIR, but I don’t think it ever made it out of
the testing stage.

Did the
Russians not have FLIR on all their helicopters?  I knew that their
military had always lagged behind the US as far as technology, but this wasn’t
anything new.  FLIR has been around for a long time.  Maybe they
hadn’t been able to spend the money to equip all of their aircraft?  If
that was the case I had a big advantage, but I had no way of knowing and
couldn’t bet my life on it.

At the moment
I hadn’t been spotted.  Or if I had been spotted the pilot hadn’t felt
like taking the initiative to come check me out.  Maybe there was a radio
on one of the dead Russians I’d left in the BX and his CO was screaming at him
for heading off base, but for the moment I was opening some distance between
us.  I pressed harder on the accelerator and leaned forward to peer into
the darkness ahead.