Grunt Traitor (8 page)

He sat on the couch, making notes in a small green notebook with a stubby pencil. “Ever heard of
Ophiocordyceps unilateralis
?”

“I can’t even spell it.”

Dupree glanced at me. Always that grin. “You’re funny, Mason.”

“Didn’t that bother you, out there?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure did.” He was drawing something.

“But you’re smiling.”

He paused in his drawing, but didn’t look at me. “Know the difference between smiling and gritting your teeth?”

“No.”

“Me neither, sometimes.” He finished the drawing and showed it to me. “This is a badly drawn representation of
Ophiocordyceps unilateralis
.”

It looked like an ant with a periscope, and I told him so.

He turned it sideways, then back again. “It does, doesn’t it? But of course it’s not. So here’s what you’re seeing.
Ophiocordyceps unilateralis
is an entomopathogenic fungus—a fungus that is parasitic in nature and can kill or seriously harm the host. It’s also known as the zombie fungus. These fungi usually attach to the external body surface in the form of microscopic spores, like the ones you probably released from that sac.” He shook his head and made a face. “The spores germinate and colonize the epidermis, eventually boring through it to reach the body cavity. Then the fungal cells proliferate in the host body cavity, usually as walled hyphae or in the form of wall-less protoplasts.”

“What does all that mean?”

“This fungus enters the body of a specific ant in the Amazon. It takes root, then removes all motor control from the ant. Once the ‘periscope,’ as you call it, grows, the fungus then forces the ant to climb to a position so that the fungus can anchor it there. Then after a few days, the ant sprouts fruiting bodies that disperse the spores over a larger area, thanks to the height the ant reached before death.”

I stared at the drawing, then at Dupree. “Are you fucking serious?”

This time he didn’t smile. “Serious.”

“Could these be terrestrial in origin?”

“We’ve never see it in humans, not that it isn’t possible. There’d have to be some sort of genetic manipulation, though. What concerns me is the apparent territorial drive.”

“The what?”

“Based solely on the pair we saw, it appears that the hosts attack those who aren’t infected. This could be a species imperative or a territorial drive. Either way it’s bad for those who aren’t infected, since the infected humans are the vector for this fungus.”

“But how do they know? How can they tell us apart?”

“Cancelling out the idea of a hive mind, I’d say it would be purely visual. The growths identify a host to another host.”

I thought about this for a second. “So if we wanted to move among them, maybe travel deeper into their territory, we could fabricate some of these growths and wear them. Is that what you’re saying?”

“It could be possible, but we should try it under laboratory conditions first.”

The sun was going down; we had to get ready to move. With the two old golfers aware of our location we were no longer safe anyway. There was no telling whether they lived alone, or with a commune of flesh-loving octogenarians keen to have a little fresh meat between their dentures.

I packed up my things and prepared to move out.

Dupree had yet to move.

“What’s wrong?”

The scientist had been making rapid calculations on the pad. He was sweating even though it was cool. He glanced at me, worry in his eyes. “If this is the next battlefront, then we’re in serious trouble.” He tapped the paper with his pencil. “We’ve had reports that this urban flora is growing at a rate of one foot every hour. Such a growth rate is unprecedented. We need to find it and find it fast.”

“What’s the hurry?”

He talked fast and low. “The fungus has to come from somewhere. My guess is it’s being delivered from an alien plant. This means that there’s now a third fauna species out there, pollinating this plant. What it does and what it looks like we don’t know. But it could be as or more deadly than the fungus.”

I set my teeth. I was used to bad news. This was nothing new. “Then come on and let’s go. We have miles to make and I want to get to Azusa at the very least before daybreak.”

“How far is that?”

“It’s only twelve miles on the freeway. But it’s going to be more like twenty, hugging the mountains.”

The sound of a door opening made me spin. Rookie move. I must not have locked it. I knelt and readied to fire. Footsteps shuffled closer. When I got a visual, I almost pulled the trigger. Orange paisley stepped through the door.

“Do not move,” I ordered.

He held up his hands. Tears had scored clean rivers through the grime on his face. “Don’t shoot.”

I knew we should have left the area quicker. I pointed back the way he’d come. “You need to leave.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Dupree asked.

“They got Larry now too.”

I guess Larry was red paisley.

“I’m really fucking sorry, pops, but this is a military operation, and we got no room for you.”

“But you can’t just leave me. I’ll die if you do.”

I sighed. “You’ll die if you come with us. We’re going to move fast and shoot anything that moves.”

“I can move fast.”

“Oh, please.” I turned to Dupree. “We don’t have time for this.”

Dupree nodded as he stared at the old men, then turned to me. “Why is it we’re doing this, Mason?”

I knew where he was going. “Don’t get sentimental on me. We all have to make sacrifices.”

“He could be your grandfather. Would you do that to your grandfather?”

I remembered gnarled hands on mine as they taught me how to reel in a fish. One of my few truly perfect memories not sullied by the shit that had been my childhood. I lowered the barrel of my rifle in disgust.

“I’m going to need to check you out.” Dupree pulled on some gloves, then a paper facemask. “What’s your name?”

“Hen—Henry Maxwell.”

“Okay, Henry Maxwell, tell me what happened.” He walked over to Henry with a portable black light in his hands. He turned it on and held it over the face and shoulder area of the old man.

“We live less than five hundred feet west of here, in a resort home. We spent our days reading and playing games. Then every morning and evening we play a round of golf.” He flashed a shaky grin. “You know I’m seventy-seven years old and a five handicap?”

“Is that good, Henry?”

I had to admit, Dupree had a charming bedside manner.

“Good, hell. It would almost put me on the PGA,” he said. Then he gave a short bark of a laugh and beamed a plastic grin in my direction. “Do you believe people used to get paid to golf? What a world we had.”

Dupree stepped back. “Yeah, what a world we had.” He held up a hand. “Give me a moment, Henry, to confer with my colleague.”

“Sure thing.” Henry sat heavily in a chair, staring expectantly at us.

Dupree came over to me and directed me to follow him to his bag. I kept my weapon at low ready and one eye on the old man.

“What’s up?”

He spoke in a hushed whisper. “You’re right. He can’t come with us. He has spores all over him. My guess is they got on him during the attack.” He glanced back at Henry. “I’d love to take him back to evaluate the growth infection rates, but without a biohazard particulate suit, he’d be too infectious.”

“What do you want to do with him, then?”

Dupree gave me a stern look. “I don’t want to kill him.”

“Okay, then. What happens if he infects someone else? You yourself said that this fungus has made humans the vector for its spread.”

He nodded and frowned. “I know I said that. But what would you have me do?”

I turned to Henry.

When he saw my face he stood. “I’m not going with you,” he said, his eyes searching mine for an answer.

“The same thing that infected the fungees that killed your friends has infected you. We don’t know how long it will take, but Dupree believes that you’ll become a fungee too.”

Henry blinked rapidly as he took in the information. Then he looked to Dupree, who nodded in affirmation of my statement. Henry took a moment and closed his eyes. Then he opened then to stare out the window. The sun was setting over Los Angeles, sinking into the ocean. A golden light captured the flag on the eighteenth green, surrounding it with a nimbus of shifting gold.

Henry said the words slow and plain, “How do you know that will happen?”

“I’m a scientist here to learn about the epidemiology of the fungus.”

“Is there a cure?”

“No.” Dupree licked his lips.

Henry tried to speak twice, but each time his voice caught. He finally cleared his throat. “I was in Vietnam twice. Once fighting my way through Hue during the Tet Offensive in ’68, then up in the highlands supporting special forces. I was just a grunt, you know. We were up on the Ho Chi Minh Trail, trying to stop Charlie from resupplying. One day my best bud, Vinnie Mafia, got stomach punched with a pungi stick.”

Henry glanced my way, a sad look on his face.

“Know what that is, son?” Henry asked.

I nodded.

“I thought so. You look like you would.” He returned to staring at the golden-hued green. “So Vinnie’s bleeding all over God’s creation. We’re three days march from friendly forces. We can’t call in air support because we’re on the wrong side of the border. So Vinnie is basically fucked and he knows it.” Henry chuckled now. “Know what that
mensch
said?
You gotta kill me, Hank. No, listen, I’m a gonner. I’ll only slow you down so Charlie does the same thing to you. So kill me, already, why don’t you?
”

That moment in Vietnam filled the room. I could almost hear Vinnie’s words. God knows I’d heard them before. I’d had my own Vinnie. We’d called him Todd, but his full name had been Specialist Todd Chu. We’d taken fire from an enemy mortar and a piece of shrapnel had sliced his femoral. He’d begged me to kill him. I’d nodded and said I would, but in the end I didn’t have to. He’d lost consciousness a few moments before he’d died. It had been quick.

Henry spoke again, but didn’t turn this time. “Do you understand what I said, soldier?”

“Yes.” My throat was dry. “Yes, I do.”

Todd Chu had been a twenty-year-old kid whose parents had emigrated from Taiwan to San Francisco. He’d always felt their disappointment for not doing as well in school as they’d wanted him to. He’d loved watching his beloved 49ers and playing soccer. His favorite food had been BBQ chicken pizza, and his favorite beer was Anchor Steam. He was a true-blue American whose death was forever etched in the dirty sand of Al Kut, and he’d been my friend and fellow soldier.

Henry spoke for the last time. “So kill me already, why don’t you?”

I raised my rifle and fired twice, the noise shocking in the silence that framed it.

Henry fell straight down, two holes in the side of his head.

I stared for a moment, then shouldered my rifle. I reached for my equipment. Then to Dupree, I said, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

My words seemed to shake him out of his shock. He stepped back and nodded, then hurriedly finished putting his kit away. A breeze brushed against us as we exited the clubhouse. It did nothing to cool me, but it did dry the wetness that had somehow found its way to my face.

Luck is where opportunity meets preparation.

Denzel Washington

CHAPTER TEN

W
E LEFT THE
motorcycle as a backup. I wanted to know that I had a quick way to evacuate, in the event we needed to or were on the run. We’d find another mode of transportation soon enough, I suspected. So we hung to the side of Golden Hills Road, which ran through an upscale housing community that was probably part of the golf course. Here and there we saw a light, but for the most part, the homes were completely dark. I only had about fifty percent power left in the batteries for my NVDs, so we didn’t have that advantage. But with the wide open roads and few trees, we could see for quite a good distance.

We left Golden Hills and crossed a wide space that the map pegged as a gravel pit. On the other side was San Dimas Golf Canyon Course. This close to the mountain there seemed to be a lot of golf courses, which I didn’t mind a bit. Urban warfare was my least favorite type of combat, especially patrolling streets with high-rise buildings. Every doorway, every window held the potential for death. In Iraq, I’d developed an ache in the center of my shoulders from the sheer stress of waiting to be shot in the back.

We walked side by side, carrying our rifles. I’d put my Leupold scope on mine. We were about halfway across the gravel pit when I saw the coyotes—three of them, their eyes catching the sheen of the moon. I raised my scope and with enough moonlight, was able to pull in their image. Something was off about them. Coyotes normally avoided humans, unless they were rabid. These began loping towards us.