Vampire's Day (Book 2): Zero Model (20 page)

72
.
Casus belli

The Colonel’s adjutants died instantly as Chief’s fighters used silenced guns.

“Close the door!”

Bronson disabled the radiotelephone, and then peered out of the window – everything was quiet; no one had heard Palmer’s shots, because the module was well insulated. His men quickly searched the bodies, taking weapons, documents and removing tokens. They had black plastic bags ready.

“We had no choice; he realized that we’d deceived him, deceived them all.”

“If he opened it, in headquarters soon realize too what is happening.”

“When will they raise the alarm?”

“Soon. But I think we have about twenty-five minutes.”

Time was running out. In less than half an hour, Richardson would be replaced by a senior officer, and when the deputy understood what was happening, he would launch the alarm and the encounter with them would be short. The marines and base personnel outnumbered them five to one, and their firepower superiority was overwhelming. They would be surrounded, armored infantry vehicles shooting the laboratory complex with automatic guns, and drones finishing them off.

Should they take hostages, using the wounded as a shield to hide behind? No, that wouldn’t work, they had to act differently.

“Get the truck to the exit. Francis, here’s what to do. Inform the control room that you need to take the equipment to the airport, then…”

At this time in the common dining room a completely different mood from yesterday reigned. The day before the refugees had gathered here, anxiously listening to the sounds of the approaching battle, quickly eaten and then fled into tents. Now everything was different.

Yesterday's fear and tension had disappeared, and an atmosphere of excitement could be sensed instead. Rumors went round the refugee camp that the enemy was completely destroyed. And then came more long-awaited news – the planes would arrive soon, the quarantine was about to be lifted and they would finally fly home.

Boris slowly ate pasta with meat in a tomato sauce, listening to the conversations at the table. Natasha poured out thick bean soup, her workmate telling her something, with much gesticulating. The company to his right discussed the forthcoming strategy of action; they wanted to file a lawsuit, firmly intending to claim hundreds of millions in compensation for the risk to life, loss of personal property, and irreparable moral damages. They agreed on their testimony in advance, and who would speak at the upcoming press conferences, and then began to argue about who they planned to sue - the company, the army or the government.

Someone played the harmonica as another person sang, and beer was passed around, probably bought from marines. A woman from the factory administration told her friends that she’s already made an outline for a book, which she would write and then immediately sell the film rights. Hollywood wouldn’t miss her story; she was a witness to all these amazing and dangerous events, and intended to tell the world about it. The would-be writer needed to hurry, she had competitors - in the last hour Boris had heard about the book at least three times, and was sure that the competition between the authors would only grow.

“Hey you!”

“What?”

“You, I saw you when the truck was blown up. You fought against these bastards. I should definitely interview you; your story will be of interest to my readers. What is your name?”

“Ivan Drago.”

Boris finished his spaghetti and got up from the table. The company of future millionaires came to the conclusion that they had to sue the company, the army and the government at the same time, and then proceeded into an intense discussion about how to spend their millions.

“It’s said that we’ll be flying away from here tonight, that they will announce boarding very soon.”

Donahue met Boris at the exit, along with several hundred civilians who had come out of their tents for an evening stroll.

“Boarding what? The Hercules will not be able to take so many passengers.”

“It’s said that the planes are already flying. There will be a short check at the airport and then a direct flight home. They say that the big bosses are jittering at the hundreds of complaints from our families, and now wants to get rid of us, afraid of the consequences.”

Boris said nothing; he stared at the toy town. All was quiet there.

“Our agreement remains in force, until after we get to civilization. I will get you and your companion a great feast in the best restaurant. What do you prefer? I can’t promise Russian cuisine, but can guarantee excellent Italian or French, or Japanese and Thai, if you love the exotic. Vodka will be…”

“Donahue, we still haven’t departed. The restaurant and vodka comes only after we get out of here.”

“Yes, I’m not arguing, just say…”

Donahue had said something else, but Boris wasn’t listening, watching the truck pull away from the toy town, heading to the main barracks.

73. Code Red

Walt didn’t like to fly; he wasn’t a fan of travel at all, not wanting to waste time in useless journeys. Modern communication technologies make it possible to perform most work remotely, and his personal presence was required only in exceptional cases. But now such a case had come, and he hurried to depart, knowing that time was running out. Any more and the Zero Model may be lost forever.

The laboratory mobilization was conducted according to a predetermined plan and took two hours; they then drove to the airport, where a black IL-76 waiting ready to take off. After taking his seat, Walt didn’t take his usual sleeping pills to slumber away the entire flight; on the contrary, he swallowed a double dose of a stimulant, which had not let him sleep for the last two days. When all this was over he would need to take a couple of weeks of vacation to Cuba, but now he had to work.

According to recent reports, the fighting had stopped in the valley, the enemy was completely destroyed, and the elimination of the dead bodies was in full swing, burning everything that could be burnt. Palmer continued her analysis, but complained about the lack of necessary equipment and drugs. Well, he would do it personally. Most importantly, she had told him that she had more than a dozen infected prisoners, and some fresh corpses in the freezer, plus a large collection of Z-Model taken from different carriers.

The stimulator began to exert its effect - he got cold, fingertips trembling. He needed to call a flight attendant for some strong hot tea with sugar and lemon, and a few sandwiches. He no longer wanted to sleep; the hot tea prevented the chills, and now he could work.

“Scenes from thirty-two to forty-five.”

He studied the recent research results – Z-Model photos made through an electron microscope. Palmer had finally sent these pictures last night and this morning. Not being able to see the Z-Model for detailed study, he was instead keen to look at these images, and finally, just before leaving, received them, but they didn’t make him happy. Infrared spectrum, visible light, ultraviolet, X-rays – all are of a similarly poor quality, and he can’t see anything.

“I can’t work with these. Impossible.”

The pictures weren’t suitable for use, the quality was too low. The research equipment had been damaged by close explosions: the shock waves broke subtle adjustments, and a readjustment wasn’t possible – this was Palmer’s explanation. Another failure, another link in the long chain of failures that had fallen on the project in the last few days. Walt had never been superstitious, but he couldn’t help a feeling that this wasn’t the end of his trouble.

“We’ve crossed the border, and will be landing in an hour and twenty minutes. The weather is fine; airport services are ready to take us.”

Walt was going to pour another cup of tea, when a strong movement made him lurch, spilling hot liquid on his sleeve - the heavy plane made a sharp turn to the left. The red beacon of an emergency call flashed.

“What's wrong?”

“Walt, we have a problem! Code red on base, repeat, code red! The infected somehow broke inside; there is a large-scale outbreak and fights. I repeat - fighting at the base, large-scale contamination! You are given orders to return immediately!”

74
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Assault team

Two precise, silent shot and the observers on the hangar roof fell down dead. Chief believed that they had ten minutes before the alarm, but he would handle everything. In ten minutes you could do a lot, especially with the element of surprise on your side.

“Done!”

Here they were - two dozen infected, selected by Palmer. They were prisoners from the night fight and a few people from the base, infected in the past two days, including the first one - Mike Vitelli, the driver. The irreversible destruction of brain and nervous system had started; they hadn’t lost their mind, but felt hunger. The growing colony of nanomachines within them required blood to a stronger and stronger degree. And they were ready to do anything to get the blood, as soon as they removed the handcuffs and shackles.

“Take the vests!”

After yesterday's battle, when the wounded marines were brought into the hospital, Palmer’s team got a lot of uniforms - damaged, burnt and bloodstained. But the vests and helmets weren’t damaged, and now Chief’s men hastily put them on the infected, before loading them into a truck – it was necessary to make them hard to kill, at least with the first shot. They would not be able to use firearms, just knives and reinforced bars, Chief considered this arsenal sufficient.

“Done.”

Bronson again looked at the vanguard. They had a loss of facial expressions, and were staring vacantly, senselessly babbling. The women were virtually indistinguishable from the men, as though the Z-Model thoroughly blurred the distinction between the carriers. Now they were quiet, pale fingers gripping knife handles. Their muscle memory and reflexes weren’t yet fully degraded, allowing them to use simple weapons, when the time came.

“Start loading.”

Palmer opened a tiny vial of blood and threw it in the back of the truck, so that the infected instantly woke from their stupors and climbed inside, trying to find prey. Chief closed the tailgate and pulled down the awning. Two fighters took their place in the cab; and four more got into the back near the kamikaze infected, the truck heading at slow speed onto the runway. The remaining fighters got weapons, while the engineers prepared a small unmanned helicopter for take off.

“One minute.”

The truck turned to the two-story building of the main dining room. It was nine o'clock in the evening and dinner had just started.

75
.
Military coup

“Well, here I am.”

Natasha came from the dining room shortly after her shift ended, excited, pleased and already preparing for the long-awaited flight away from the base. Putting all her surviving objects in the bag, she had time to brush her denim overalls, and apply a little makeup. This sudden change caused Donahue confusion, but Boris stayed calm - he has been aware of the girls ability instantly put them in order to look at its best just when it’s most needed. Self-discipline.

“My workmate’s lover, a marine, he said that the planes are already flying. They’ll set down for an hour, and then immediately begin loading. They are waiting to leave, and sick of this war.”

“And he didn’t say with whom they fought?”

Natasha shrugged.

“He said that those in the city experienced a new drug, something went wrong, and all who have tried this drug went crazy and started killing everyone they see. That's why they attacked us.”

Boris wanted to ask a few more questions, but didn’t do it; Natasha would not be able to answer. In the end, maybe they're right, and tonight a few large aircraft would arrive, the civilians would plunge inside and forever leave this smell of gunpowder and blood valley. He was also bored to death of staying in the refugee camp. It was time to go home.

“What is it?” Natasha interrupted her retelling of fresh rumors and pointed to the toy town. Boris turned around and saw a tiny black helicopter rising into the sky over the hospital; he had never seen such an aircraft before. The black unmanned helicopter hovered for a moment and then rushed forward, in the direction of the main buildings, like a big angry wasp. Boris remembered that only a couple of minutes ago, a truck had left toy tow
n
and gone in the same direction.

“Quickly run to the shelter!”

“What?”

Boris didn’t answer; the response was machine gun fire instead. Sirens wailed, and then there was a muffled explosion - turning, Boris saw the high radio mast fall on its side. The shooting became heavier, explosions rumbled one after the other, and it was all happening there, behind the runway, deep inside the protected area.

Even before his arrival, Chief had carefully read all the information about this small naval base, where he would have to work for some time. He knew the area, knew where the senior officers should be according to the combat schedule, he knew all the key objects. Here was the command post, drone control room, broadcasting center, dining room, where dinner had already started, and the well-guarded entrance to the main arsenal. If someone was planning an attack on the base, then these objects would be subject to attack in the first instance. And it was Chief starting this attack.

Sending an assault group to the dining room, he returned to the command module, and sat down at the remote control of the unmanned helicopter, which had already taken off. They had carried this tiny fighting machine for a long time, but it had never been used in a real fight. The unmanned aerial predator was small, and the fuel reserve lasted for only thirty minutes, but the weapon was serious - four guided missiles with powerful thermobaric warheads, ideal for the destruction of enemy fortifications. Bronson confidently lifted the drone and rushed at maximum speed to the center of the base, counting the remaining seconds until the moment when the truck would be near the dining room. He saw a couple of guards, who watched the helicopter flying over them in a puzzled fashion, and got to the command post. There was a signal that the truck had arrived at the drop zone, and then it began.

Here it was - a wide window on the second floor; Bronson had been there a few times. This was Richardson’s study, and directly under it was the central control station, where the senior officers must be, unsuccessfully trying to find Colonel.

A guided missile flew into the window, and the small building fell like a deck of cards, but Bronson didn’t watch it, instead turning the drone and taking aim at the next two targets – the drone control room and broadcasting center. Two shots with a two second interval – the targets were destroyed, and Chief again turned the helicopter, sending it to the dining room, where the shooting was becoming stronger. An armored car was stopped at the crossroads near the burning truck, from which came continuous shots, marines shooting the infected running from the dining room. They need to open the way, and Chief did it by hitting the enemy machine with his last missile.