The Search For A Cure (5 page)

 
Before they landed, Captain O’Shea’s voice came over the loudspeakers for both birds.
 
“Okay, people, suit up. We land. The refueling teams do their work. Everyone else stays on board. No sightseeing. Gunners keep your eyes peeled.”

 
Both the troopers and the scientists had their chemical suits on in moments. All had been through the drill countless times and it went without a hitch. Several Rangers looked at their civilian counterparts with partial envy. The portability and rigorous construction necessary for the Army JSLIST chemical warfare suit consisted of a relatively comfortable coverall but the M-40 gas mask was a sweaty affair with limited peripheral vision. A person could get quite warm in hot conditions, risking significant dehydration. The scientist’s Tychem suits, on the other hand, took in the need for maximum movement and sensory awareness; though big and rubbery, they had large hoods with big face shields and a corresponding breathing mask offering a wide field of view. They were also fluorescent yellow - basically saying to a potential Fiend: Pick me.

 
The Chinooks landed without incident. Two teams of three soldiers hopped out to retrieve the refueling trucks and begin the fill-up. Other than the ticking of the cooling engines and hustle of the working crew, it was a very quiet place, almost like time stood still. There were no birds, no insects, and no breeze to fill the void. Everything in earshot was either dead or gone, the only steady sound… humans breathing into gas masks. The daylight even seemed different. Though it was gray and overcast, the air seemed to have an extra glow to it. It gave Tran the creeps and he chocked it up to an overactive imagination, maybe the reflective nature of his Tychem suit. He looked across at Susan who smiled and winked at him.
 

 
That was just like her to offer reassurance in a moment like this. He had come to love his boss. She was tough but fair. Her willingness to listen to opposing points of view and alter her own in the face of a good argument, was what made her leadership stand out. He was lucky to work for her – not at the moment, doing the most dangerous thing he’d ever done – but in general. He couldn’t imagine working for someone better.

 
After the refuel team hosed and scrubbed their JLIST suits off, the Chinooks wound up and took off again without incident. The relief was palpable as everyone loosened their
 
gear and removed their gas masks. But for small asides and a few raw jokes at infected human’s expense, for the next four hours, no one really spoke. The plan was to refuel again at Fort Jackson and hopefully bunk down for the night in one of the fort’s bomb shelters. The thinking was that a shelter would be free of any gas contamination and the continued presence of nerve agent spread all over the landing area would keep the possibility of a Fiend assault low. Captain O’Shea had been given word, via the F-22 pilot, that there could be healthy people holed up in one of the vehicle depots, but those were on the opposite side of the fort from where they were landing. His orders were to approach from the city side, refuel, sleep and bug out at dawn. By no means were they to make their presence known to any refugees. The mission was too critical for arguments about rescues.

 
Ten miles before their next landing, the pilots moved down to treetop level. Fort Jackson shared its eastern side with the city of Columbia. Per the briefing, the metropolis was a smoldering ruin. Major buildings were scorched and blackened while whole suburban neighborhoods were burned to the ground. Thunderclouds were rolling in and already a light mist fell over parts of the city. The late afternoon sunlight that still broke through the clouds filled the streets with smoky shadows. The air was pungent with the chemical concoction of an immolated modern society. The people in the helicopters were grateful to put their gas masks back on. A population of infected seemed to still roam about. Several Fiends came running out of intact houses and gave hopeless chase to the big birds.

 
When the Chinooks crossed the boundary fence at the edge of the fort, all seemed suddenly peaceful. Supposedly, with the personnel evacuated and therefore no healthy people
to hunt down and kill, Fort Jackson was an oasis.

 
It, and the female It hunted with, watched the big machines fly past the trees in the distance. It was feeling gorged as It sucked marrow out of the picked clean femur that It had just cracked open with the ax that It carried. The female’s face and chest were red with fresh blood and that gave It an erection when It looked at her. There were many Others around them. They all fed on the Fresh Ones that had been in the building with the big machines.
 

 
A few of the Fresh Ones had climbed inside one of the machines and locked the hatches. Lots of Others stood around it, waiting for them to come out. It knew from experience that the Fresh Ones probably wouldn’t. It had waited for five sunsets and sunrises for some Fresh Ones to come out of a locked room until It finally got too hungry and left.

 
Normally they would fuck after eating like this, Others joining in as well, but the female that It hunted with nodded at the machines flying past the trees. There would be Fresh Ones in there too. So It followed her, along with some Others. It wasn’t hungry, but It nevertheless felt a strong compulsion to track the new Fresh Ones down.

Everyone snugged up their chem suits as they came in for the landing. The area was clear of Fiend activity and the troops and scientists leisurely disgorged from the helicopters.
 

 
The scientists stretched and looked around while the Rangers quickly broke into squads with orders to set-up and guard the perimeter as the fuel handlers did their work. The base’s bomb shelters were located adjacent to the landing pads under a series of earth-covered mounds. Captain O’Shea directed Corporal Cavanaugh’s squad to secure one of them and ordered the scientists to follow. When the group reached the first shelter, they all stopped in their tracks. The door wasn’t sealed. Five Fiends lay dead outside, their twisted and contorted bodies showing signs of the nerve gas poisoning. The door was covered in bloody handprints. Cavanaugh radioed O’Shea .

 
The Captain touched his mic, “What do you see Corporal?”
 

 
“I see Deadheads, sir, and an open door that they were trying to force.”

 
Susan said to Cavanaugh, “Tell him that there may be survivors holed up inside. Perhaps they opened the door when they didn’t hear any more noise from the infected.”

 
“I’ll let you tell him yourself.” He nodded over her shoulder and they all watched O’Shea and Specialist Melman jog over to their position.

 
Susan walked quickly toward the officer. Her voice sounded hollow through the Tychem suit. “Captain O’Shea, there could be survivors here.”

 
O’Shea pointed out cameras at the entrance and a periscope sticking out of the top of each mound, “Each of these shelters is equipped with multiple ways to observe the outside, including air quality sensors. If they opened the door, they didn’t know how to use these things.” He stopped next to Cavanaugh, “You try the door yet?”
 

 
“Not yet, sir.”

 
O’Shea turned to the scientists, “CDC stays back one hundred feet. Specialist, standby with them.”

 
The scientists moved back with Melman as Cavanaugh directed private Deeter to gently push the door open. Deeter got it to move about six inches before meeting an obstruction. “Sir, we have at least one body up against the door.”

 
With some effort, two other squad members put their shoulders into it and got the door to open wider.
 

 
Private Peabody turned with a crack in his voice, “I count three. One appears to be bitten on the face, sir. All male, all appear to have died by Novichok contact. And, sir… they don’t have any clothes on.”

 
“Excuse me?”

 
“The dead people on the other side of the door are naked.”

 
O’Shea observed that the intercom had been pried out of the wall. Bloody fingerprints told the tale of a frustrated Fiend who must have heard a voice and wanted to get to its owner on the other side of the box. He poked his head inside. The lights were on. A staircase led down deep into the ground. The victims at the top of the stairs were indeed without clothes. They appeared malnourished with markings on their wrists as though they had been manacled.
 

 
He yelled down as best he could through his gas mask while two soldiers pointed their weapons down the stairs, “Hello? Do we have survivors down there?”
 

 
There was no answer.

 
They pushed the bodies to make way for the door, while two soldiers continued to cover the stairs.
 

 
Susan stepped up to O’Shea. “I assume Captain that you’re going to go down to investigate. We can’t just ignore survivors if they are right under our feet.”

 
“I thought I asked you to stay back one hundred feet, ma’am.”

 
“I asked you a question, Captain.”

 
“And I’m thinking about the answer.”

 
Susan looked at him expectantly.

 
“Doctor Chancellor, we have a very specific mission… but I don’t have to remind you of that. It’s not a humanitarian one.”

 
“Actually, we are on the ultimate humanitarian mission, but that’s just semantics. We have a mission as humans to try to guarantee the survival of our species in every way. I’m not suggesting that we take anyone with us and I know there is no possibility of rescue right now, but there may be people down there who need aid and/or medical attention, as well as guidance as to how to best make use of these shelters. Particularly if other healthy people should find refuge here.”

 
O’Shea thought about this for a moment then said, “One of the people on the other side of the door had been bitten in the face. That would suggest to me that there’s a pretty good chance that the only people down there are infected people. I cannot and will not risk any of us in an effort to find out. We’ll post a guard with the door open. If a healthy person walks out, we know what we’ve got.”

 
“If a healthy person walks out that door, they are likely to come into contact with nerve agent and die.”

 
O’Shea smiled at Susan, “Then we’ll leave a note several steps down. There is no gas in the air, so they will be fine if they see the note and call up.”

 
She thought about this solution and decided it was the best she could negotiate. “All right. I guess that will do.” She rejoined her team while the Rangers continued to secure the area.

 
The light mist that had greeted their landing turned into a heavy rain as a loud clap of thunder shook the ground. With the Chinooks fueled up, Operation Henhouse moved into an unoccupied shelter. Jones’ unlucky squad drew the short straw and was left outside to monitor the open shelter and also keep watch for other activity.
 

 
The stairs leading down into the bunker were long and narrow. They turned back on themselves repeatedly and descended a couple of hundred feet. Cowboy Johnston took off his gas mask and everyone else followed suit.
 

 
Susan commented, “Any voice calling from the surface would have little chance of reaching down here.”
 

 
Captain O’Shea chose to ignore this.

 
The final landing opened to a foyer of sorts, which led to another door. They opened this one and a body heat sensor turned on the lights, revealing a large room with several other doors and corridors leading off of it. The main room appeared to be set up as a community lounge and dining area. It had some of the basic comforts of home, but in an efficient military way.
 

 
Tran made an aside to Aaron, “No elevators. Must’ve built this place in the fifties. Before the American’s with Disabilities Act.”

 
Aaron, always the contrarian as well as literalist shrugged, “I’m sure there are handicapped-friendly shelters.”
 

Maine in late spring/early summer could tease a traveler into thinking it might be a warm day, only to stay cool from dawn ‘til dusk. Jon awoke from a fitful, semi-lucid sleep feeling cold and stiff on a threadbare canvas cot. The thin blanket surrounding him was nearly useless. Pulling it up tight around his neck, he was reminded that he'd spent the bulk of the night shivering, neither awake enough to fully acknowledge it nor asleep enough to be free from it. His fellow power station prisoners were in various states of wakefulness, some already up, others still snoozing away. With little to do but languish in steady fear, there wasn’t much reason to rise and shine.

 
He looked over at the cot to his right; the old woman, who had been exhibiting dementia the day before, lay with her mouth agape, her eyes fixed on oblivion. His instinct was to count it a blessing, and he sent a kind thought out to the universe in respect for her soul. He turned over and looked at Nikki who lay on the cot to his left. She was still asleep, her blanket pulled up to her chin. She had curled herself into a fetal position. Her closed eyes and open mouth gave her features a childlike quality. As he admired her sharp cheekbones, he felt an unexpected tug in his heart and his body warmed with increased blood flow. Someone sneezed and she woke. She focused on him briefly and then rolled over on her other side. He could smell fire and slowly sat up to scan the area around him. Will and a few others had a small campfire going, heating a pot of coffee. He hadn’t had coffee in weeks. The part of his brain that had long ago become addicted to it flashed awake. He stood up stiffly, kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and shuffled over to the group huddled around the small blaze.