ARES Virus: Arctic Storm (5 page)

Pineville University

September 2

The steel door at the bottom of the stairs squeaks loudly as Brown pushes it open, an obvious sign that the facility was built with federal dollars and forgotten. Brown had studied the campus upon his arrival and noted the FEMA shelter on the maps. Being one who likes to have all options open—inclusive of having a handgun in his drawer—he then o
btained
a set of keys.

Cool, musty air seeps out of the opening. Stepping inside, Brown turns on another set of switches. Audible clunks echo within the darkness as overhead banks of florescent lights hanging from the ceiling sequentially come on. Clarke and Hayward bump into him in their haste to get inside.

“Just like dogs going through a fucking door,” Brown mutters. “Don’t mind me—I’m just standing here,” he says, louder.

Both cadets come to a stop and sheepishly look back. “Sorry, Sergeant,” Clarke manages.

Grunting in answer, Brown closes and seals the door. The room they’ve stepped into is vast, meant to hold hundreds, if not thousands—although that would make it a touch cramped. It was a facility meant to shelter people for a short period of time, rather than an extended one. Several closed doors lie along one of the concrete walls. Shelves stacked with cases of goods and water bottles occupy most of another.

Striding across the vast shelter, Brown opens one of the doors leading to the men’s restroom. Rows of stalls reside along one side, with sinks and a large basin set into the wall for a communal urinal on the opposite side. In the back are shower stalls. Walking to one sink, he turns it on and is relieved to see water actually coming out. He then flushes one of the toilets. Although it’s apparent the facility hasn’t been maintained as well as it could have, the water is running, the shelter is dry, and the food and water appear to have been restocked on a regular basis. Pleased, he heads to the next room where he finds neatly stacked cots.

“Okay, you two. Haul out some of these cots and find us some sleeping bags, blankets, or whatever they have. I’m going to see what we’re having for dinner,” Brown states.

Sitting on a cot a short time later, Brown lays his handgun next to him.

I’m going to have to find something better than that, and soon
, he thinks, staring at the sidearm.
The remaining rounds will last about ten seconds, and that means that we’ll last about eleven.
It’s better than a stick, but not by much
.

Shoveling a couple of peaches into his mouth, he wipes a touch of juice from his chin and looks at the two cadets. They’re staring at the cans in their hands, not saying anything, merely going through the motions of eating.

“Look, I know this is a lot to take—what happened to Mendez was a shame—but we aren’t out of this by a longshot,” he says to the morose cadets. “We have to put what happened behind us if we’re going to get through this safely.”

Once he has their attention, he continues, “Now, there’s two ways this is going to go down: Either the infection will run its course and die out, or it won’t. By what we’ve seen, this will have spread to a greater portion of the city by now. And the way it’s going down, local law enforcement will have a hard time handling something of this magnitude. The city will be overrun.”

“So, what do we do now? Wait it out?” Clarke asks.

“I don’t know,” Brown responds, shrugging and spooning another bite of peaches into his mouth. After swallowing, he resumes, “If you ask me, this has the stink of government written all over it.”

Noticing the questions forming, he forestalls them with a raised hand. “Don’t ask me how. It just does. So, if that’s the case, they’ll set up a cordon and seal off the area. Then the military will swoop in and
clean
it up.”

“What does that mean? I mean, that’s a good thing, right? We should just stay here and wait for them,” Hayward comments.

With a heavy sigh, Brown replies, “No, that’s not a good thing. What that means is that this is the exact wrong place for us to be. I’ve seen cleanup operations in the past. Trust me, we don’t want to be anywhere close if that happens.”

“So, we try to get out of town again? That really didn’t work out well the first time,” Hayward says.

“Listen to me, and listen well,” Brown states, pointing his plastic spoon at the cadets. “We don’t have any other choice. When they come in, there’s going to be a lot of people dying. Three more won’t matter, infected or not. When they
clean up
, they clean up. Got me?”

“They wouldn’t do that! I mean, we’re officer cadets and you’re a sergeant…a veteran. They wouldn’t do that to their own,” Hayward states, disbelief written all over his face.

Brown stares hard at the cadet, who quickly looks away, the message delivered.

“We were initially caught in a blender, but the three of us survived. For now, we eat, rest up, and set our minds right. Then we’ll figure a way out of here.”

“If what you say is true, shouldn’t we be getting out of here…like now?” Hayward queries.

“They’ll move fast, son, but not that fast. They’ll have some hoops to jump through, and while they’re doing that, we’ll rest—at the moment, that’s what we need the most.”

Colonel Koenig’s residence, Maryland

September 2

His cell phone rings and vibrates. Setting down his small glass of scotch on the end table, Koenig grabs the remote and mutes the TV. Reaching for his phone before it manages to vibrate off the coffee table, he recognizes his office’s private line. Koenig thumbs the answer button.

“Koenig here.”

“Sir, Major Skier. Sorry to bother you, but this couldn’t wait. I hope you’re sitting down.”

Koenig feels a chill creep inside, as he does every time his phone rings and he sees his office number. In his mind, the big one isn’t a matter of if, but when. He just doesn’t want to be the one in charge when it happens. They have plenty of contingency plans, many of them drastic, but his name will always be associated with it. His career won’t survive something like that. That’s aside from the fact that they are storing some nasty stuff that could cause a nightmare beyond compare if any were released.

“I am, Major. With a drink in hand, I might add. You had better be on fire and forgotten how to drop and roll,” Koenig responds.

“I only wish I were on fire, sir. And, just so you know, this line is secure.”

“I’m guessing that I’m not going to like this much. Okay, let’s have it, then,” Koenig says, expecting to hear that a shipment was lost or that they shipped a package to the wrong location. However, that could have been handled in-house and he would’ve been notified upon his arrival in the morning.

“There’s been a release,” Skier states.

Koenig pauses, his mind sorting through the shipments they’ve sent out to various labs. It’s the news he’s been dreading ever since they were ordered to submit samples to private laboratories. The sinking feeling in his stomach deepens. He’s almost afraid to ask the next question, hoping the release is confined to some lab that they’ll have to shut down and quarantine. He mentally goes through all of the contingency plans they have in place.

“Oh great. Okay, I’m ready for the details. Where and what are we dealing with?”

Skier details what he knows of the misplaced shipment, the subsequent release, location, and the reports coming in.

“We aren’t sure exactly how it was released. The initial reports we’re receiving indicate that it’s widespread and growing,” Skier ends.

Koenig, while taking in all the major has to say, notes one very telling thing: He hasn’t mentioned which virus is involved. The omission worries Koenig even more.

“Which one, Major?”

The pause on the other end of the line causes Koenig’s stomach muscles to tighten even more as he braces for the answer.

“ARES, sir.”

“Oh God! ARES?! You have to be fucking kidding me! Ares has been released on American soil…in a populated area?!”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

“We’re fucked. You know this, right?”

“I know, sir.”

Koenig’s phone vibrates in his hand. Looking, he notes General Hague’s private line.

“I have to go, Major. That’s General Hague. I’ll call you back as soon as my ass-chewing is over. Until then, begin issuing a recall, and start setting up backchannel communications with the CDC.”

Without waiting for a reply, Koenig thumbs the waiting call.

“Colonel Koenig here.”

“Colonel, I just received a call regarding Pineville. Is this one of ours?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“What are we looking at?”

“It’s ARES, ma’am.”

“ARES! I hope to God that you’re kidding, Koenig,” Hague coldly comments.

“No, ma’am. I only wish I were. We’re still getting details, but here’s what we know at the moment,” Koenig replies, and goes on to report what Skier told him.

“How could this happen?” Hague asks. “And of all the ones to spill, it had to be ARES.”

“Remember that memo ordering us to send…” Koenig begins.

“Yes, yes. There’s no need for us to go into that, but surely we had security protocols in place that would prevent this from happening. But, that’s a detail for later scrutiny. So, tell me what we’re looking at, worst-case scenario.”

“Total infection of the city and possibly the surrounding area, depending on the extent of the exodus. It may be that there won’t be many who escape the spread,” Koenig answers.

“So, we may be looking at numbers close to one hundred percent infection and annihilation of the city?”

“I’m afraid that’s a distinct possibility, ma’am.”

“You know, Koenig, how badly this will affect the upcoming Arctic Storm operation if the news gets out?”

“Yes, ma’am. I am very much aware of the ramifications, not to mention the public outcry,” Koenig responds. “If word gets out, then the operation will essentially fall into the no-go category. To prevent that, we’ll need to move quickly.”

“Okay, I just wanted to make sure that you are aware of the consequences. Are you suggesting that we initiate the Phoenix protocol?”

Koenig pauses. The slippery slope he’s found himself on just became much steeper, and much more slippery. The Phoenix protocol is a drastic measure to be activated in the event of a widespread release of a deadly toxin or virus into the populace. The basics involve setting up a cordon around the involved area, setting up quarantine stations, and annihilating everything within the sealed ring. It goes further, detailing public relations, press releases, and the aftermath. The coordination between state and federal agencies is intense, with all communication routed through backchannels. It’s designed to present a good public face, while at the same time destroying everything—the whole “rise from the ashes” kind of thing.

Koenig knows that Hague is waiting for him to make the call. That way, should things go south—and they probably would—fingers will be pointing at him. He knows it’s the right call given the situation, but he’s hesitant to take such a drastic measure. After all, the annihilation zone will contain American citizens, and if it were ever leaked that they did something like this, well, no one would survive that.

“Well, Colonel?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m suggesting that we initiate the Phoenix protocol,” Koenig answers, the sick feeling inside his stomach worsening to the point that he’s about to throw up.

“Is there anything in particular that we need to worry about, other than what we already know?”

“Keep the cordon far away from the city. They’ll react to movement and sound. If they see or hear anything, they’ll all come running and we’ll have a bigger mess on our hands,” Koenig answers.

“I’ll pass that along. Okay, Koenig, I have joint chiefs to bother, along with a thousand other phone calls to make. You handle the CDC side of things. The governor will call up the National Guard, and we’ll augment those forces. This needs to be handled quickly. I’m sure the joint chiefs will authorize it, as that’s part of the protocol. We’ll fine tune our prepared press releases and have them ready. The CDC will issue theirs once we have the cordon and quarantine areas established. But, you know how the protocol works. It’s not ‘official’ until I get JCS approval, but you can consider Phoenix operational.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The line clicks dead.

Downing the rest of his scotch, Koenig dials Major Skier on his secure line.

“Yes, sir,” Skier immediately answers.

“The Phoenix protocol has been initiated,” Koenig states.

“The Phoenix protocol?! We’re all going to fry,” Skier says.

“That’s a distinct possibility. But, with Arctic Storm in jeopardy, we have to get a handle on this fast. Two cordons will be set up around the town. An interior one to keep anything from escaping the city and an outer one to keep the press at a distance. Cell jammers will be in place and communication channels shut down. That will probably happen within the hour. However, that’s someone else’s headache.

“We need to contact the CDC through backchannels and alert them that the protocol has been initiated so we can coordinate. Assemble a team under CDC auspices and get them into place. And I mean I want them there yesterday. Begin setting up the mock quarantine areas and get people inside them. We want this to look like we’re doing everything we can to save people. But, Major, no one gets out of the cordon. Do you understand? No one. We can’t afford to let any of this get out. We need the story we present to be the only one. You know what to do, so let’s get shaking. Minutes count here,” Koenig briefs.

“Yes, sir. Consider it done.”

“I’ll be in the office as soon as I can. Be ready for an extensive brief once I arrive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Koenig hangs up. With his hands shaking, he pours himself another scotch, gulps it down in a single swallow, and heads out the door.