Gnash (11 page)

Sergeant Owens pulled the 9mm pistol from its holster.  He dropped the magazine into his palm and pulled the slide to the rear.  A round ejected from the chamber.  Next he worked the bullets from the magazine, it was a difficult task to accomplish with his protective gloves on, but he was finally able to get the motion down.  “Yes sir, there are only twelve rounds left out of the fifteen-round magazine, so he fired three rounds.  I was stationed here on 9/11.  My section of the building didn’t even know that a plane had crashed into it until people started getting phone calls from their families asking if they were alright, so its easy for me to see why we didn’t hear the firearm discharge, especially since we have our protective masks on.”

“Specialist, hand me the radio.”  He waited until Billy Givens gave him the hand mike, “Put it on channel 63560.”  He waited while the radio operator tuned to the given frequency then said, “Hammer, this is Anvil, over.”

“This is Hammer, go ahead.”

“We’ve had two attacks by unknown assailants.  It appears they are former building workers that have been exposed to an agent that has drastically altered their physical and mental states.  I’ve been able to conduct a thorough field investigation on one subject and have determined the flesh and organs of this assailant are, in effect, dead.  The internal organs are shriveled and in some cases, burst.  Skin and subcutaneous fat is consistent with a deceased patient of one, possibly two weeks.  The problem is, this guy was walking around and was a member of a group with the same type of symptoms that attacked one of the chemical agent monitoring teams.  Bottom line sir, I don’t know what we’re facing, but I recommend that we lock down the building and set up a perimeter, over.”

“Any indication that this can spread, over.”

“Unknown at this time, but whatever hit this place has an extremely high kill rate and those that it doesn’t kill turn into some type of crazed half-dead thing.  I’ve got video of the autopsy that I can send to you via the satellite uplink, over.”

“Alright, I’ll give an update to Eagle.  As for now, consider the outside perimeter closed.  Consolidate your men at your location and send your video journal to the command center via the uplink, over.”

“Roger.  Also, two members of the team have had close-contact injuries from the diseased and we’ve found a survivor with apparently no symptoms, over.”

“Alright.  Isolate those three and you are authorized to conduct testing on the survivor.  Where have you set up your position, over.”

“In the center courtyard, over.”

“Alright Anvil, expect a helo delivery of supplies and a special ops team for security against any possible threat.  As you probably know, you’re staying put inside until we get this solved and ensure that it doesn’t spread.”

“Roger,” he sighed.  “We’re circling the wagons where we are.  We’re going to clear the center court food shack as our new base of operations.  Also, recommend power remains off until we can ensure all doors are barricaded against the threat, over.”

“Acknowledged.  We’ll get those supplies to you.  Stay safe, you’re on your own until the Delta team gets there.  Hammer out.”

Collins turned to the noncommissioned officers of the hazardous materials response unit and the military police, “Alright, you heard my boss.  Sergeant Jones, I need you to get into that snack shack and clear it so we can have a semi-secure base of operations.  Sergeant Owens, have your men keep an eye on the building in case more of those guys choose to attack.  Oh, and we need to segregate the colonel and that young private that got bitten.  If they begin to develop symptoms from being injured, we need to have them in a controlled environment.”

SIX

19 April, 0356 hrs local

Comanche County Emergency Medical Center 

Lawton, Oklahoma 

What the hell happened?  Where am I?  God, my face hurts.  Why am I so sore and stiff?  Wait, why can’t I move my arm?
  It all came crashing back to Grayson in an instant.  They’d beaten him outside the diner, then he was picked up in an ambulance and brought here to the hospital.  He vaguely remembered being told the extent of his injuries, but he couldn’t remember what he’d been told.

He lifted his head up and felt the bandage on his face bunch up.  His right arm was in a cast.  With his left hand he gently probed his sides and felt some type of bandages there as well.  Grayson wove his hand through the IV lines and fumbled with the nurse call button on the bed rail.  He finally hit it and laid his head back down.

A few moments later a chubby Native American nurse walked in.  “What is it now, Mr. Donnelly?”

“Hi ma’am.  What hospital am I at?”

“You’re in the only one around here so don’t be difficult like you’ve been the past two days.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Has anyone called my fiancé in D.C.?”

“No sir, you’ve been raving like a crazy person every time you woke up and we’ve had you sedated for a little while.  Do you feel like cooperating now?”

“I…I guess.  I didn’t know I’d been awake, how long have I been here?”

“About three days now.  Sometimes head injuries make people act different than they normally would.  We searched all the databases before the networks went out, but since you weren’t married, we didn’t get a return on a next of kin for you.  So, no, we haven’t contacted your fiancé sir.”

“Can I have the phone so I can call her please?”

“I’m sorry, but the phones have been down ever since the attack on the base.”

“Huh?” Grayson asked, not quite understanding, and tried to sit up.  “Why are the phones down in Oklahoma when the attack was in D.C.?”

“Oh, well,” she glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder at the closed door.  “There was an attack on the base here.  You know, Fort Sill?  And the news says at bases all over the country.  Seems the local militia boys and all these other groups have been coordinating and planning this for a long time.  There’s still some fighting that can be heard every once in a while and the guys we get coming into the ER say that it was an inside job, that the militia took over all them tanks and started shootin’ at everything.”

“My God.  All over the country?”

“Yes sir.  It’s a full-on uprising everywhere.  I guess people finally got tired of their Constitutional rights being slowly and systematically stripped away.  Now, I don’t agree with them fighting the government, mind you, but I understand how they feel.  You know what?  My husband had to turn in his favorite shotgun last summer because it had an internal magazine tube that held seven rounds.  They called a pump-action shotgun an
assault weapon
that violated the terms of the Smithwick-Greenspan Gun Registration Act.  Can you believe that, an
assault weapon
?”  Each time she said assault weapon she emphasized her words and made a sour face.

“Well, I guess he did the right thing by complying with the law,” he answered at a loss for words.  He’d long since stopped listening to the different sides of the gun control debates that had raged across the country for decades.  Both sides were unwilling to budge, so the rhetoric went back and forth in an exhausting, never-ending debate.  Two years ago, the party pushing for gun control finally won a majority of seats in both the House and the Senate and pushed through an extremely restrictive and harsh policy towards private gun ownership in an effort to get even with their political rivals.  Even the politicians themselves admitted that the Smithwick-Greenspan Gun Registration Act would never have passed as it was written if the two sides hadn’t squared off so long ago and caused the bitter hatred between themselves.

  “Well, maybe so, maybe not,” she said as she shrugged.  “I’ll update your chart and when the doctor can get in here and see you, we’ll see what the next move is for you.  I’m sorry we can’t let you call your fiance, I’m sure she’s real worried about you.”

“Thank you for the information,” he said dejectedly.  “I think I’m ok, I’ve got to get a flight out of here.”

“Well, that won’t happen either, airports are all closed what with the attacks in D.C. and the president getting shot and now the military being overrun…”

“Overrun?”

“Ok, maybe not overrun, but they definitely got their nose bloodied, that’s for sure.  I’ve got to return to my station, so please let me know if you need anything later.  Just push the call button like you did before.”  She turned around and opened the door into the hallway.  She paused before stepping outside, “I’m glad you’re feeling more like yourself sir.  You were so crazy, I was worried that I was gonna have to put you down for a while there,” she said with a wink that left Grayson wondering if she really would have killed him in his sleep. 

There was nothing for Grayson to do except to lay his head down and attempt to fall back asleep…    

***

19 April, 1024 hrs local

The White House

Washington, D.C.

“Now Jean-Pierre, I assure you that the situation is totally under control...Yes, of course I realize that this is a potential global disaster.  Given the high mortality rate of the original virus and the extremely high infection rate of the mutated strain…” he paused and cocked his head to the side, listening to the receiver.  He unconsciously shook his head and said, “The Pentagon, where one hundred percent of the cases have occurred, is completely sealed, none of the infected individuals are going to get out.  We’ll whip this thing and hit those sons-a-bitch Al-Qaeda bastards at their home base…Yes, we have some very good intelligence as to where they are…No, I don’t have that information available to me right now.  Tell you what, you have the director of your Interior Intelligence agency call my CIA chief and have them exchange information…Well, thank you for those sentiments, I believe…Hello?  Jean-Pierre?”  The president pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it.  He shook his head in disgust and slammed it down on the receiver.

He looked at the men assembled on the two couches in his office, America’s men of military power and political influence.  “That shit-bird Frog is gonna do something to fuck up this situation, mark my words gentlemen.”  He stood up and looked out the windows to the South Lawn where a few workers clipped the grass to its characteristic perfect appearance.  He sighed audibly and walked around his old desk to sit in the armchair positioned at the head of the low coffee table situated between the couches.  “Sorry Chip, didn’t mean to throw you under the bus like that, but if I didn’t give that French bastard a bone, he would have kept at me and I’ve got better things to do.”

“That’s alright Mr. President, it’s my job to interact with the intelligence agencies of our foreign partners,” William “Chip” Bullis, the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, said as he made a half-shrugging motion.

“Bullshit, no one should ever have to deal with the French.  Goddamned thorn in our side.  Ever since they helped us out during the Revolutionary War they think we owe them something.  Anyways, sorry for the interruption gentlemen.  It’s been four days since this attack, the assassinations and various coordinated attacks worldwide.  Chip, give me a rundown on what we know.”

“Yes sir.  First off, we did verify Agent Michael Winters’ story.  There was no sign of his family until last night at approximately midnight.  The FBI was tipped off on some suspicious activities going on at a run-down apartment over in Silver Springs, Maryland.  Given the current situation, they pushed through a warrant and raided the apartment.  Inside, they found bomb-making material, automatic weapons and fundamentalist paraphernalia.  Two men of Middle-Eastern decent were killed and two more were wounded and taken into custody.  In a back room the strike force found Agent Winters’ wife and three children, relatively unharmed except for a few bruises and the mental trauma of being kidnapped.”

“Thank God for that.  Although that son-of-a-bitch will probably feel justified for killing those people now that his family was rescued instead of murdered,” President Holmes said.  “Alright, go on.”

“Yes sir.  The Justice Department feels that they’ll be able to go to court within a few months on that.  He’s admitted to the killings and gave his motive.  He’s turned down any legal assistance and will act as his own defense at the trial.  He’s not looking for a plea bargain, he just wants a speedy trial, a quick judgment and an even quicker carrying out of whatever sentence he’s given.

“The aftermath at the Pentagon is still a disaster.  The media is going crazy with the stories, as you well know, sir.  We’ve apprehended several journalists trying to get inside the boundary we’ve set up around the building.  Our team on the inside is reporting gains in identifying what the disease is, but are taking casualties.  So far, three men have died, six men are injured and two of those have contracted the symptoms of these, these…”

“Just call them what they are goddammit.  They’re fucking zombies.  Just like the damned movies.  Lifeless and mindless with a bad attitude and they attack everything that they see.”

“Well sir, not quite.  The doctor in charge of the operation, Doctor Collins, is reporting that they appear to have some type of pack mentality, like dogs if you will, but as of yet, he’s seen no evidence of a leader among them.  They disappear into the building during the day and the teams we send in there can’t find any indication of where they went.  At night, there is definitely some type of communication between the infected because they attack in waves, withdraw and regroup and try it again and again.” 

The president rubbed his temples with his thumbs, “Ok, let me get this straight.  Initially we thought everyone was dead, but most of them have now come back to life.”  He held up his fingers as he called out his points.  “We’ve got an untold amount of these zombie-things, possibly every man and woman that worked in the Pentagon, 27,000 people. They are infected with some biological agent that has ruined their bodies and their minds are mush, or so they appear to non-infected people.  They’re so aggressive that they throw themselves onto barbed wire in an attempt to get to our men inside that wire, they have little care about their own bodies.  They don’t appear to attack each other, but will stop at nothing to get to normal people.  There’s been no way to turn them aside other than to shoot them, and thank God that works better than it does in the movies.  Do I have this right?”