SurviRal
Authors: Ken Benton
SurviRal
Ken Benton
© 2014 Andrew Kasch
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, religious bodies, corporate or governmental entities, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author is only telling a story. Neither he nor the publisher are experts in survival techniques and advise the reader to seek qualified resources before engaging in foraging, gardening, hunting, fishing, operation of firearms, first aide, medical care, or attempting to produce their own food. Any such activities described in this book are solely for entertainment purposes and should not be considered accurate or necessarily safe.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying, or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author.
Chapter header image (virus icon) made by freepik.com from flaticon.com and is licensed under CC By 3.0:
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0
Table of Contents
December 14
Near Erasmus Medical Center, Rotterdam, Netherlands
“How bad is it, Dr. Fecher?”
A tree branch tumbled across the dark road in front of them before Dr. Fecher responded.
“We don’t yet know the full extent, but from what I’m told so far it sounds terrible. They say the roof is partially caved in, structural support beams have broken, and fires are burning. Also, windows are blown out all over the coastal side of the west building from the storm. We’ll know more when it gets light. Slow down, please. It’s still much too windy out here.”
Andries slowed. He knew Dr. Fecher was right, and he could feel the car swaying from the wind. But he instinctively wanted to hurry. The situation was so potentially dangerous it was almost forbidden to think about. They needed to assess the damage to the lab, and fast—before the world’s media sources swooped in and blew everything out of proportion like they always did.
“Curse this wind storm,” Andries said. “It must still be blowing close to fifty knots. Hard to believe this is half of what it was a few hours ago. This never happens in Rotterdam. Never. Who could have possibly foreseen it? Why didn’t the weather service give a better warning? And what was a Hercules aircraft doing flying so close to the medical center?”
“Blown off course on its way to Volkel.” Dr. Fecher spoke calmly, true to the image of the senior professional scientist Andries knew him for. “The C-130 apparently fell victim to the storm’s worst gusts. Some exceeded 120 knots, record wind speeds for Rotterdam. As you said, no one was expecting it. So tragic. I’m told much research equipment was on board that plane as well.”
“Probably nowhere near as much as we lost.”
“No.” His voice was now sullen with emotion.
“Do you think the inner virology lab could have been breached?”Andries asked as he turned the corner.
“That’s the question on everyone’s mind, Dr. Koning. You know we built it so it could withstand a terrorist attack. Terrorists aren’t supposed to get ahold of planes as large as a Hercules C-130, though. Still, any catastrophe big enough to break through the level-3 safety barriers should also be big enough to destroy everything in the laboratory. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Dr. Fecher shook his head. “We shouldn’t have been doing the new H5N1 mutation experiments while there was any chance of severe weather. I’m not worried about the vials or any stored materials. Those are secure. But the test subjects have legs. They can climb and scurry.”
“You think the infected polecats could get out of a burning, crumbling building?”
“It’s possible. Not likely, but possible. Hopefully, the on-duty personnel received some kind of warning and properly disposed of the test subjects.”
Dr. Fecher seemed to go into a trance for a minute. His dark eyes fixated on nothing while his small frame remained frozen in place. He then shuddered and came out of it, placing a hand on Andries’ shoulder.
“Extremely unlikely the polecats could escape. They’re quite high in the building. Don’t worry. Just keep driving carefully and get us there safe. I’m sure the situation will be containable.”
They saw the fires up on the west building as they approached. Emergency response teams were everywhere, though the wind played havoc with them. Andries had to get in line with fire and police vehicles. When they reached the security gate, a team of special intervention police shined flashlights in their car and wanted to know who the hell they were.
“This is Dr. Fecher!” Andries shouted.
The guards checked Dr. Fecher’s ID, along with both their clearance passes, before reluctantly waving them inside.
“Park on the west side,” Dr. Fecher said. “Far away from the fire trucks.”
The sound of broken glass crunched beneath Andries’ tires as he followed his superior’s instructions. It was still dark, but they could now see a sizable portion of the west building missing where the largest flames danced. Just as they feared, it was uncomfortably close to the location of the high security virus research lab. Damn. Even Bio-Safety Level 3 wasn’t safe from a massive aircraft impact. For a moment, Andries wondered if this is what the twin towers in New York looked like right before they fell.
With nothing to do but wait, the two of them sat in Andries’ car, tuned the radio to a news station, and watched the firefighters work to contain the destruction. Fortunately, the winds began to ease. According to the news the storm should soon pass. Neither Dr. Fecher nor the news broadcasters had any idea how many people were on board the military plane, or how many were working overnight in the famous medical center. At least three had to stay on duty in the special virology lab because of the hazardous nature of the current research. Maybe they all survived. Maybe none of them did.
Dawn finally came. The winds mercifully stopped. All was an eerie calm. The damage to the building looked even worse in the early morning light. Around the impact area, exposed girders dangled cables with huge chunks of concrete attached. Very few window panes were still in place on the entire west side.
Dr. Fecher got out of the car. Andries followed him after retrieving a pair of binoculars from the glove box.
The cry of a peregrine falcon caused them both to look up. Several were flying overhead, possibly displaced from their winter home on the roof of the medical building.
“Let me see those.” Dr. Fecher grabbed the binoculars away from Andries and scanned the broken windows of the upper floors.
“No,” he said. “Oh sweet God, no!”
Andries shielded his eyes and tried to see whatever it was his boss was lamenting over. He only noticed some large birds flying in and out of the window openings, probably more falcons. Some of them soared out over the parking lot. They were high in the air.
“No, no, no,” Dr. Fecher repeated as he moved the binoculars to follow the birds. He eventually dropped both arms to his sides and uttered only a defeated, whimpering sound.
Andries took the binoculars from his hand and held them to his face, looking for the birds Dr. Fecher was so upset about.
He found them. He cursed. There in his magnified vision were three peregrine falcons flying off in a southerly direction. Each held a polecat in its talons.
Four Months Later, Denver, Colorado
Chapter One
“Why do you insist on continuing to tempt fate?” Jake said.
Clint could tell his brother was getting agitated, even more than usual when they had this discussion. But Clint didn’t care. Two days of Jake was about all he and Jenny could take. Easter weekend was over. As far as Clint was concerned, Jake couldn’t get in his car and leave fast enough. Not to mention the fact his appearance was beginning to deteriorate. He hadn’t shaved in days, and his curly black hair was in bad need of a trim.
“I don’t know why you say that, Jake. I’ve done everything on that piece of land you asked me to.”
“No, you haven’t—”
“The berry vines are taking over the damn place,” Clint continued. “Can’t walk alongside the house anymore without tripping over them. I had to move the picnic table from where I like it because of that stupid potato patch in the ground. Then there’s the chestnut and persimmon trees—I’ve never eaten chestnuts, and I’m still not sure what the heck a persimmon actually is. No more. You want to make your own house into an exotic farm, that’s your business. But the hunting cabin is mine.”
Jake pounded a fist in his hand. “Man, listen to you. You’re a blissfully-blind city slicker who’s gonna get caught with their pants down, like all these other fools, and be standing in bread lines.”
Clint rolled his eyes, though he knew Jake hated it when he did that. It failed to decelerate his looney brother.
“Stop that, bro. You’ve got a good place down there at Springfield, but you refuse to set it up right. It could be so perfect, too. Right now it’s pathetic. The chestnuts will take years to produce, you have no gold buried, and you don’t have enough ammo stored to get you through even two seasons. This is a crime, man.”
“I don’t need that much ammunition, Jake. I live in Denver. It’s not even legal to have a loaded gun outside our house here. And you aren’t the one paying for all these survival supplies you want me to hoard.”
“Stock—not hoard. And that money you refuse to trade for tangible goods will be worthless when you finally pull your head out. It’ll be too late then.”
Silence for a minute while they frowned at each other. Clint remembered doing this when they were kids. Jake usually won those staring contests. But there was a moment here, a fleeting second, when they were both transported to their backyard in Cincinnati in the days before their mother left them, playing with Tonka trucks in the yard. Clint almost smiled.
