The White Death (21 page)

“There she is,” said Barrington, gasping.

“The carrier?” said Nelson.

“Hopefully,” said Barrington. Mechanically strapped behind a glass chamber standing upright, the blond woman was calm and sedated. Barrington walked up to her, not without a certain amount of trepidation. If she was a carrier, it represented the most important find in this war so far.

“Doctor, we should get to work,” said Nelson.

“You’re right,” said Barrington, snapping herself out of her awe.

“Captain,” said chopper flight Captain O’Hara. “A jeep just pulled up. Six occupants exited and have gone inside. We can hear weapons fire. I’m sure they’ve heard us hovering above as well.”

“That has to be Chinese Special Forces,” said Barrington. “No group of civilians would have any reason to come here. They’ve come for her.” She looked at the woman in white, and Nelson agreed. They had to protect their find at all costs.

“How long do you need?” said Nelson, taking off the safety of his automatic assault rifle.

“At least fifteen minutes,” she said, already roaming through the notes scribbled down on paper and files everywhere. She opened the silver briefcase and prepared her equipment to get a full biological sample of the specimen.

“We’ll neutralize the threat,” said Nelson. “Men…”

Barrington barely registered the adrenaline pumping through her protection team now as they prepared battle positions.

“I suggest we go up and mount a full-frontal assault,” said Thorton, third in command.

“Might I suggest,” said Barrington loudly, not looking around at them, “that you use the elevator to your advantage and wait until they come down it?”

“Which is a much more sound tactical idea,” agreed Nelson. The team took tactical positions along the glass hallway, and Barrington dimmed the lights down to the bare minimum she could work in.

“When the elevator opens, we’ll catch them in a crossfire,” said Nelson, kneeling down at the rear of the corridor behind a well-placed plant. “Doctor, as fast as you can.”

“I need a full biological sample,” said Barrington. “And whatever progress the Chinese made.”

“Swiftly, Doctor, swiftly,” said Nelson.

“You repeat that one more time…” warned Barrington. She happily left the military matters to the professionals. Barrington knew Chinese Special Forces had a reputation as fearsome, brutal fighters.

“Nelson,” said the chopper captain again.

“Go ahead.”

“Another vehicle just pulled up,” said Thorton.

“Fuck. Roger that. Have they detected you?” said Nelson.

“Unknown, sir.”

“No action until I give the order. Nelson out.”

“Fire,” shouted Nelson as the lift doors opened. His team unleashed their automatic assault weapons, firing over 100 bullets into the elevator. The noise was deafening.

“Cease fire.” He gave time for the smoke to dissipate. He silently ordered two of his men to investigate the elevator.

They returned an “all clear, no one here” hand sign.

“Just testing your reflexes,” thought Barrington, but she continued to work. Nelson’s two men went to return to their combat positions, just as a Chinese operative came crashing through the ceiling of the lift. Both of Nelson’s men were dead before he could react.

“Oh no,” said Barrington, seeing it all in slow motion. The Chinese operative flung an explosive grenade down the corridor. She watched as Nelson and his team were catapulted backwards, onto the tiled floor in agony. The glass walls shook but thankfully stayed intact.

“Don’t you dare move,” shouted Barrington, charging out into the corridor with her pistol armed and ready.

“Put your weapon down,” shouted the Chinese operative.

“Not bloody likely!” she retorted, shooting him in the hand holding his weapon and then in both kneecaps. Nelson and his team still lay stunned on the floor, writhing around. The rest of the elevator ceiling tiles came crashing down, and a dozen Chinese Special Forces began jumping into the lift. Stuck in a deadly crossfire, Barrington reacted impulsively. Grabbing a grenade from Nelson’s belt, she threw it into the elevator, blowing it to smithereens along with the Chinese operatives.

“You destroyed the elevator,” roared Nelson in joint disbelief and agony. “I can’t believe you just destroyed the elevator.”

“Rather that than us dying,” she said, walking forward with her gun raised. The lift was a smattering of metal with crumpled bodies lying together in a heap. Nelson, despite the crippling pain he was suffering, crawled over to check on his team.

“Dead,” he replied quietly.

“All of them?” asked Barrington.

She ran to check their pulses. Three had suffered multiple bullet and shrapnel impact wounds, dying instantly. The fourth had had an allergic reaction to the stun grenade.

“Nothing?” he asked, dejected.

She shook her head quietly.

“Nelson to chopper—come in.”

Silence.

Nelson repeated.

Silence.

The ground around them began to shake.

“Do you hear that?” said Barrington. “That’s an impact explosion.”

The floors shook.

“The helicopter,” said Nelson.

“That is definitely not helpful.”

“You think?” said Nelson. “In less than five minutes we’ve lost my squad, the helicopter, and any chance of escape. We need a plan of action.”

She scanned the atmosphere again; it was infection free. She removed her mask.

“You come up with a plan of action,” she said. “I have data to collect.”

“Doctor.”

“No,” she insisted. “This data is more important than you or me. If we don’t develop a vaccine, there’ll be nothing for us to come home to.”

Chapter 40

Back in Section 51, Marina sat in the empty cafeteria, her appetite gone as she read the status update on her pad. She had tried getting some shuteye, but there was little point. Her mind was fully engaged, even if her eyelids weren’t.

“Anything?” asked Christopher, coming in, a cup of tea in hand. His eyes were strained, and they showed how deeply he missed Freda. Marina knew that, without her, he felt lost.

“We lost contact with the helicopter ten minutes ago,” she replied. Pushing her food away, she rubbed her temples. Section 51 was usually the best, able to perform magic compared to the capabilities of modern society, but now she couldn’t see anything worth doing.

“You don’t think…?” he said, his voice shaking.

“I do,” admitted Marina, trying to concentrate. “The chopper was destroyed. It sent out an emergency distress call just before its beacon went silent.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Christopher. “Can’t we get just one break?”

Christopher shouted his demand upwards. The café was dark and lonesome, and Marina wasn’t in the mood for a shouting match with him over the next course of action. He didn’t need it, and neither did she.

“I’ll lead a team there personally and recover Barrington and the carrier,” she said. “The only difference is it won’t be a discreet mission.”

“I appreciate the offer, Marina, but I won’t risk losing anyone else.”

“I’m prepared to take the risk.”

“I’m not prepared to let you, and Richards will never approve another mission,” said Christopher. He remained standing, Marina knowing he’d no intention of staying. “He approved this one without the president’s knowledge, and there was only one refitted helicopter. I don’t think the Pentagon could spare another chopper anyway.”

“We always have…?”

“No,” cut in Christopher. “I won’t send anyone else to their death.”

“What’re you going to do then?” asked Marina.

“Assist the president in exterminating the world’s infected population,” said Christopher. “It’s the only option we have now.”

“Well,” said Marina sadly. “We gave it our best shot. What will happen to Section 51?”

“With Freda gone, I’m sure we’ll be closed down. We don’t really have much use anymore. The greatest threat mankind has ever faced has links back to Section 51. We might be used as a scapegoat.”

“They’d be right,” said Marina.

“What do you mean?” said Christopher.

“This happened on our watch,” she said. “We failed when we needed to succeed the most.”

Chapter 41

“What is the point of whatever it is you’re doing?” snapped Nelson. “We’re trapped, and I really don’t see help coming.”

“Oh, will you calm down?” Barrington snapped back. His constant yapping was brain-freezing. She knew help wasn’t coming. Using her chair to scoot between the different shiny white desks, she compiled every scrap of information left. A motherly instinct of global proportions had kicked in, as she strived for a vaccine.

“That’s easy for you to say,” said Nelson.

“Then practice doing nothing,” said Barrington. She turned to look at him and regretted what she’d said. “Look, I know this is tough. I’m just like you—I need to be useful, but you’ve been moaning now for over an hour, and I have work to do.”

“I’m sorry…” said Nelson.

She nodded, clearing the largest desk of rubbish by throwing it all across the floor. From what she could tell, the Chinese had made some progress. Their notes, while basic, were heading in the right direction and saved her a lot of groundwork.

“This woman may be a carrier,” she replied, folding a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. She poked her glasses back up her nose and kept typing. Establishing a reliable data connection with Section 51 was proving difficult, and she suspected it was because they were underground. Transmitting data back to CIM for simulation and analysis would be vital.

“You keep saying ‘might be,’” said Nelson.

“I can’t confirm it yet, but we’ll know soon,” she replied.

“Doc, explain this whole carrier thing to me again,” said Nelson.

“Thing?” repeated Barrington, smirking a little to herself.

“Hey! I’m no scientist,” said Nelson. “I have no problem admitting I’m not up with all this science stuff. Give me a gun, and I’m a pro.”

They chuckled, as Barrington finished off her own hot chocolate. She often drank sweet stuff when working, her only real vice.

“Well, prepare for an education,” said Barrington.

“Throw it at me,” said Nelson.

“The very definition of a carrier is someone who is asymptomatic,” said Barrington. She called up the Chinese data collection system. “That is, they are infected and they are infectious, but they don’t display any of the normal symptoms of infection.”

“She’s hardly normal, though,” said Nelson, pointing to the woman in white. “I mean, she doesn’t look or act normal.”

“Fair point,” she said. “Firstly, she is sedated, but more importantly, this virus is so powerful and destructive it’s a miracle she hasn’t become some kind of blubbering mush.”

“Mush?” Now who’s not being scientific?” said Nelson.

“Anyway,” said Barrington, “we are witnessing firsthand a war taking place within her body. Right now, her body is sending legions of virus-killing cells into battle. It’s a battle for survival, Commander, just on a smaller scale, but our bodies can be veracious when required.”

“You mean antibodies?” said Nelson. “This brings back my basic medical training.”

“Antibodies is a broad term, but yes,” said Barrington. She popped the blood vials into the centrifuge, watching them spin around. “Antibodies are the army of the body, attacking any intruder. They may lose this particular battle eventually, but I need to find them. It could provide the basis for my vaccine.”

“So you’re trying to find them?” said Nelson. “These antibodies.”

“That’s my first task, to identify and isolate a sample of the antibodies being produced,” said Barrington. “After that, find out why they are effective against the virus, while looking for any peculiar attributes of this woman’s blood work and immune system.”

“Attributes?”

“Sorry,” said Barrington, staying busy on the computer. The Chinese software translated the cold data into colorful graphs and diagrams. “In essence, to see if there was anything different about her before infection. Was she fighting the common cold? Measles? Did she have cancer?”

“If something was already happening in her body and she wasn’t in normal health, then it might have affected the virus?” said Nelson. She knew he was starting to understand the basic web that was virus vaccination.

“The perfect conditions for the virus might not have been present. It might have been entering a war zone before starting its own war.”

“I take it just, you know, jabbing her with something is out of the question to cure her?” said Nelson.

“Obviously,” said Barrington, hoping that was a tongue-in-cheek remark.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said, exasperated, though she wasn’t that surprised. Deadly viruses were something humans hadn’t had to deal with in centuries. Sure, there had been the occasional blip dominating world headlines for a few weeks, but a true global threat had slipped into history. The last one was the Spanish flu of 1918.

“Commander, only the human brain and body will be able to reverse the effects of this virus,” said Barrington. “I could make it … possible, by removing the virus, but I would only be able to remove the infectious qualities of the virus. The damage to the neural networks in the brain is beyond repair.”

“She doesn’t look happy, does she?” he said, referring to the woman in white.

“Her body is fighting a virus designed to change it at the genetic level,” said Barrington. “The miracle of the human is awe-inspiring sometimes.”

“The miracle of the human?” he said, finishing a cookie.

“Yes,” she replied seriously. Lifting two more vials of blood from the small outlay attached to the containment chamber, Barrington continued her experiment while educating the military commander. “When you think about it, the human body is a marvelous piece of machinery. We have a memory databank larger than anything we can estimate and brain processing power that outstrips every other animal on Earth, past and present.”

“And what are you planning to do with this marvelous body of ours?” he said.

“Hopefully give its defense budget a huge boost,” said Barrington, deciding that talking in military terms might be easier for the special operative commander.

“Now you’re talking,” he said, proving her point.

“You see, Commander, when an infection enters the body, our immune system takes action,” she explained. “Our first response is huge, but very broad-scoped. Consider this like the army, sent in, in large numbers, to try and control the situation.”

“Following so far,” said Nelson.

“Well, if the army is struggling, the body deems the infection more serious, and bigger guns are released.”

“Total war,” said Nelson. She could tell she was speaking his kind of language now.

“Yes,” said Barrington. “The body hunkers down and prepares for all-out battle. Our big guns—the adaptive immune system—are the body’s elite infection fighting warriors. These cells are specifically adapted to this kind of combat and, if successful, usually provide lifelong protection against that virus should it ever try and infect the host again.”

“They have a memory?” said Nelson.

“They do,” said Barrington. “Lifelong memory. That’s how vaccination works. The immune system has a vast memory databank. Two of the greatest advancements in human civilization in the past 250 years have been sanitization and immunization. Providing people with toilets, educating them to stay healthy and wash their hands, shower often, and clean their homes has been a major coup for science and medicine.”

“And immunization?” said Nelson.

“Yes,” she said. “Those painful jabs you get as a baby and child provide lifelong protection against some of the worst fatal diseases humans can be infected with. Immunization allowed doctors to inject patients with a weakened form of an infection, which the body could easily defeat but, more importantly, remember. So, when you get vaccinated against a disease, the body has an instruction manual of exactly what to do if that infection ever presents itself again and can create the necessary antibodies to combat it.”

“So you’re going to help our immune system?” said Nelson.

“If I can,” said Barrington. “Our body need the tools to fight infection, as soon as the virus enters.”

“Good luck, Doc,” he said. “I think I’ll stick to combat.”

“Ursula?” came the voice of Peter Roberts coming from the briefcase.

“Peter!” she said, shocked. “I’ve been trying for an hour to get through to you. We’re too far underground for a reliable signal.”

“I know,” said Peter. “We’re going to reposition one of our communication satellites over China. It might improve the reception.”

“Please do,” said Ursula. “We have much to get on with here, and let me make one thing very clear.”

“I know—no talking about the situation,” said Peter. He really did know her too well.

“None whatsoever,” she confirmed. “We have so much to do, and I can’t afford to get distracted.” She’d rather focus on making progress and making a difference, instead of worrying about how to escape a situation that was inescapable.

“What progress have you made?” he said, putting on his best professional tone.

“Peter, she might be a carrier.”

“Might be? Ursula, we need to know.”

“We will know soon enough.” The percentage bar on the screen crawled upwards, and Ursula turned to stare at the woman in white.