Vampire's Day (Book 2): Zero Model (8 page)

32. Confirmed losses

“When did Louis die?”

“Earlier this morning, at 3:40am, to be exact. It was inevitable; the doctors couldn’t do anything. Perhaps it's for the best. Even if he managed to somehow survive, he would have remained an invalid for the rest of his life. Here's the official death certificate.”

She handed him the paper, and Bronson quickly ran through it. This was the third death since the start of operations.

“What's with Pete? He also suffered serious burns, but he’s still alive? What are your forecasts?”

“At the moment, I find it difficult to make a prediction. You'd better look at him, so it will be easier to understand what’s happening. Come on, it must be seen with your own eyes.”

Bronson slowly and gently rose from the bed, mindful of his broken legs. To his surprise, the wounds hurt a lot less than he had expected. Apparently they’d used some new, powerful, and most likely secret analgesic from Palmer’s stockpile. He was familiar with Army medicine and welcomed the almost complete absence of weakness and vertigo, which was characterized by the use of these powerful drugs.

“To the right.”

He went out into the hallway and saw his soldier at the far end, as well as Palmer, dressed in a protective suit. On the floor there was various types of medical waste – the packaging of disposable syringes, blood-soaked bandages, whole and broken vials of medicines, paper and something else.

“Pete is behind that door. You can’t go in, my men are working, but you can see him.”

Behind the closed glass door, three doctors in white overalls and sealed helmets moved around the operating table, on which lay a naked man with a bandaged head. In spite of the bandages, Bronson identified him.

“That’s impossible! I saw him yesterday, when he was burning. Impossible!”

“I know that it’s impossible. And yet, this is Pete. Look again.”

During his long service Bronson had seen many wounded, maimed and dead people, many of whom he had killed and mutilated personally. He had seen a lot of charred people: the enemies, civilians, his own soldiers. More severe wounds than burns were hard to imagine. He’d pulled bodies of crews from wrecked tanks and armored vehicles, turned into charred skeletons from intolerable heat; he’d seen how explosions and fires could make young men and women unrecognizable in a few seconds. Some of them weren’t lucky enough to die – they survived, and then lay in beds until the end of their lives, blinded and paralyzed, waiting for another dose of analgesic.

Yesterday he’d pulled burning Pete Anderson out of the fire in the critical condition, along with the second soldier, Louis, the one who had died that morning from severe burns. But, lying on the operating table, Pete wasn’t going to die because of fourth-degree burns.

No, he was obviously suffering, and had visible burns, but it was nothing like the critical condition he’d been in yesterday. His breathing was stable, and his pulse and body temperature were normal.

“Here, look at him yesterday. This picture was taken shortly after he was brought here. And compare it with him now.”

33. Clash

The shooting stopped suddenly, for no apparent reason - it reminded Sarah of a short-term lull in the heart of a powerful cyclone. And just like in the eye of the cyclone, the short-term lull didn’t last long. A few seconds, and the firestorm erupted with renewed vigor, the attackers heading in on a decisive assault, which would be the last.

The attack began with a few cars that crashed into the wall at full speed and then exploded. The cloud of dust and smoke hadn’t settled, before the infantry rushed to break, next to them clanged bulldozers and heavy armored tractors. The return fire, which had virtually stopped for a few seconds after a series of bombings, opened up again; machine guns and mortars mowed down infantry, but new fighters immediately took the place of the fallen.

Especially strong fighting unfolded in several breaches in the fence, where the bulldozers had cleared the road. She saw long ladders being thrown over the wall. She or anyone else in the control tower had never seen anything like this. With the view from Butterfly, it looked like a ruthless battle between two anthills.

“They're getting ready for a breakthrough!”

In the western part of the besieged fortress, on the lawn in front of massive steel gates, the owners of the fortress were preparing for a breakthrough, using everything that could move. Butterfly saw pricey sports cars near power tinted SUVs, armored cars and buses. The organized defense collapsed, and the surviving defenders ran to the gate, trying to take their places in these cars. The attackers entered the captured fortress, but the huge steel gate was still closed.

“Wait for the order!”

Bumblebee’s pilots eagerly awaited the opportunity to fire guided missiles on the Colonel’s orders, but so far it hadn’t been forthcoming. Only now was it that Sarah noticed that Richardson was speaking to someone on the radio. This was from the city, she suddenly realized. It was likely that they would give fire support to one side of the violent conflict. But who would they support? Who was the Colonel speaking to? It was necessary to move faster. The attackers could be seen regrouping, pulling infantry to the streets and squares at the front gate. They knew that the enemies were about to try and break out and got ready to meet them.

“The second hangar on the right side!”

“What… Damn!”

Within clouds of bluish diesel exhaust a camouflaged armored car with a rectangular turret crept from the second hangar.Sara
h
recognized a Russian anti-aircraft gun, able to break the Butterfly into pieces with one burst of its four barreled cannons.

“Shilka on my radar. Should I destroy it?”

“Set aside!”

Butterfly descended, and Sarah saw that Shilka had no air target radar. She clearly distinguished hinged armor and drawers for extra ammunition. No, they weren’t going to shoot at air targets, the self-propelled anti-aircraft guns were needed for other work.

Shilka took its place in front of the gate. Next to it waited a huge wheeled tractor with an armored cab and lowered bulldozer blade.

“Wait for the order!”

A powerful directed explosion broke the gate, knocking it down, but no one heard the roar of the explosion, all sounds drowned out by the deafening roar of Shilka’s four cannons, set for direct fire. A swarm of twenty-three millimeter shrapnel shells swept over a couple hundred meters and blew away the barrier, tearing apart dozens of people in a split second and turning machines into piles of charred metal.

After giving the first burst, Shilka raised its cannons, moving the fire on the roof and upper floors of the houses in the square. The tractor rushed forward, brushing through the flaming skeleton of the truck. A couple of seconds later, and the whole cavalcade in the courtyard flowed into the passage. Some of the attackers who survived the deadly Shilka’s burst continued to fight. Sarah saw overturned and burning cars, but still the column pushed forward, punching its way with Shilka’s fire.

“There are reinforcements on the side streets!”

Unable to stop the breakthrough, the attackers rushed to get to the convoy on the outskirts. With blows from both flanks, the end of the battle approached.

“Fire on the ambush, it’s necessary to open the way for them!”

“Roger!”

Bumblebee extended long smoke plumes of missiles to the city, tearing to pieces the columns of attackers in the narrow streets. The cavalcade meanwhile departed the city, leaving behind a half dozen wrecked and burned cars, including Shilka, that had shot every last shell, and was left on the outskirts with a broken caterpillar track.

Everyone who escaped from the trap went east to the villages and plantations of weed in the foothills. There the column split up, and a small group led by a military armored car rushed to the base. Sarah saw great white flags attached to the hood of a black luxury limousine.

“Provide him safe passage.”

34. Yes/No

“I haven’t found any explanation for this, it's impossible. Pete Anderson was as burned as shashlik yesterday, and now he’s practically healthy. I’m not a doctor, but my knowledge in medicine is enough to know that it’s impossible to restore such burned skin and muscles.”

“I haven’t seen anything like this in all my twenty years of work. Moreover, no doctor in the world, even the most experienced specialist in the treatment of burns faced with a similar case, would believe their eyes when they saw Pete. Yet, the fact remains - the patient was able to survive the severe burns, and with extraordinary speed regenerated damaged tissue. In fact he grew new, healthy skin and muscles. If the process continues at this rate, the he can be discharged tomorrow. Pete Anderson will be completely healthy.”

Palmer and Bronson were sitting in a small medical ward. The woman was still in the protective suit and Bronson in gray hospital pajamas. Outside the windows were buzzing drones.

“What's going on, Fran?”

“I think you already know. Or at least begin to suspect.”

“It's all because of this thing, right? Because of the ball that we removed from the fire yesterday? Pete was there; he found it. It's the spacecraft lander, right? It flew back from outer space and dropped into the ocean, then the bandits caught it and brought to the city. Then they sent us to pick up the ball. And there was a hole in the center of the hatch. It was from this hole the leakage started. Right?”

“I think it all happened that way,” Palmer said. “But this doesn’t explain what happened to the second soldier.”

Louis, yes, Louis had died in the morning, Bronson remembered. He had died of severe burns, and the doctors could do nothing. Like Pete, he too was badly burned, but Pete would leave the hospital, and Louis was already packed in a sealed plastic bag. Why, when they were both close to the ball? Why was Pete alive and almost healthy, but Louis died without regaining consciousness?

“Chief, I want you to tell me everything you can remember about what happened in the warehouse.”

He told her all that he remembered, and she listened to him without interrupting, and only occasionally asking clarifying questions.

The first group went into the fire, four of his men, along with firefighters and volunteers. They found the cargo, but couldn’t get out, and ammunition in the warehouse began to detonate. He had to go after them, but found only two of his fighters, the rest had been killed. Pete and Louis, by that time, had suffered burns. He’d pulled Pete out and was wounded in another explosion.

“That's all, nothing else happened?”

“There was shooting. They were attacked, but it’s not clear by whom. And there was this woman that I shot.”

“What woman?”

“She was already there, burned to a crisp. When I got Pete, she bit me. Yes, I remember now. I had to shoot her.”

“One moment.”

Palmer interrupted the conversation by browsing a short message on her tablet. The preliminary blood test confirmed her calculations.

“Chief, I have two pieces of news for you, good and bad. Which do you want first?”

35. True story

A big heavy metal box, left edge scorched by fire, was set on a low table, and then the patron personally entered the four code locks and opened the lid.

“Ten million dollars, plus a share for your men for the help, Colonel. All, as we agreed.”

Richardson leaned over and took out one of the packs. Twenty bills, already used, in a different series. Good.

“Will you count it?”

“My accountant will. Whiskey?”

A drink definitely didn’t hurt here, the Colonel thought, pouring a glass of Jim Beam for the patron. The drug lord didn’t look good – his gold chains and rings with diamonds had disappeared; the luxury suit and shoes worth twenty thousand had been changed to sneakers and sportswear, over which he’d added heavy Russian body armor. He took the glass, sleek fingers noticeably shaking.

“Your share would have been greater if you’d supported us earlier, Colonel. Perhaps we would have been able to hold the city.”

“You were too late coming to us with the offer. By that time, fighting was going on all over the city, and we couldn’t distinguish the enemy. That only became clear after the assault on central quarters began.”

Richardson drank down his whiskey, and then poured once more.

“So what are these panicky rumors about the undead?”

“It isn’t a rumor, Colonel. I saw them with my own eyes! Only it's not the undead, it's real people. They can be killed, I checked personally by shooting two.

“It all started last night. Several dozen small pendehos tried to challenge my leadership, and I had to take measures to get rid of them. I thought it finished this morning, but then I got reports of killings in favela, among ordinary civilians who aren’t aisles. I thought it was my competitors and sent out my men, but they didn’t return. While figuring out what had happened, a panic started, and people were all running at once, like rats from a burning ship. That was about four in the morning.

“We have detained several civilians and they are all talking about some cannibals, or even the living dead, who went from house to house and killed people with their bare hands. And then my men reported that they were fighting with some loonies, before the shooting started. They didn’t offer any threats or anything; they just killed everyone they saw. A few minutes later the bastards started appearing all over the city, and soon we were surrounded. That's when I saw them with my own eyes. They almost all had torn throats, by teeth or knives, and were covered in blood. And they can walk, these bastards coming at us.”

“It’s impossible, such wounds are fatal,” Richardson said.

“Hell, I know that such wounds are fatal! But I saw my former people with their throats cut, attacking all around them. And you know what they were doing? They cut the throats of everyone they took down. And then those victims rose to their feet, and started it all over again!”

“So, it's these dead that they are screaming about on the radio?”

“They aren’t dead, Colonel! They breathe, I don’t know how, but they do breathe. And those who we killed by bullets or fire, they fell dead and never got up. They die from bullets, shrapnel and fire the same as ordinary people. We mowed down hundreds of them in the central block. I don’t know what the hell they are, but they’re certainly not dead.

“At first, they just threw anything at us with their bare hands. When we repulsed the first wave, those who survived returned with guns, and drove the cars with explosives. Someone said its vampires – we waited for dawn, thinking they would all die in the sun, but nothing. The sun didn’t kill them, they just became angrier. It’s difficult to stop them, Colonel. They go on us like bulls at bullfights, they don’t feel pain at all, and strong, they are very strong. Give me a cigarette.”

Richardson gave his guest the opportunity to take a couple of puffs, and then continued his polite questioning.

“Do you know how it all started?”

“I know what one civilian told me. At night a man came from the port; he was wounded, burned badly. He came back to his family and killed them all. Then, his family killed their neighbors. And then those neighbors left the house and carried on the slaughter.

“A man from the warehouse? This is true?”

“How do I know the truth or not?! I haven’t seen him, and there are no witnesses left. The civilian I spoke to was killed in battle. But he said that this man was from the port, from the fire.”

“In the port – that’s where it all began?”

“I don’t know. Again there were no witnesses left; those who survived the fire were finished off by Bronson. But I heard on the radio that it was very similar - some of our men suddenly went mad and started killing everyone.”

“I got it.”

Everyone agrees on the same points, Richardson thought, looking at Palmer’s research complex. This bloody ball had come and people started to kill each other. First in the port, and then in the city, and then on his own base.

“Colonel, scouts have spotted armed groups emerging from the city.”

“Combat alarm!”