Zombie Battle (Books 1-3): Trinity (8 page)

Greg didn’t have much time to make his decision. He had to radio in for clearance and about Dr. Riesman. He took a brief moment to figure out what he was going to do. Then he picked up the radio.

<><><><>

Berlin Brandenburg International Airport had many air traffic controllers on duty that evening. The one in particular, communicating with Flight 76 wasn’t really given any information other than to convey back to authorities the status of the flight, the status of the wayward passenger.

He didn’t have any idea why they wanted to find this doctor. Maybe, he was some sort of guru or medical miracle worker. In any event, the ATC received an update transmission from Flight 76.

Passenger found and moved. The search for the passenger caused some sort of ruckus and the Captain bumped his head, leaving the co-pilot in charge.

The Air Traffic Controller replayed the information. Authorities were called to arrest and detain the few passengers on board who were engaging in a fight, and emergency medical personnel were requested for the Captain.

Berlin officials, irritated, transferred the information regarding the doctor, stating they’d detain him at the airport.

That was all that was needed to be reported to the Americans.

Flight 76 was cleared for landing.

<><><><>

As a doctor, he knew better. Yet, Saul Klein took another dose of Ibuprofen to battle that headache that seemed to be conquering his being.

Without a doubt, it was stress related. Being the director of the Centers for Disease Control had its prestige, but it had its moments, as well. Saul was experiencing one of those moments.

It wasn’t a moment that would easily pass.

En route back to the United States, Saul brought with him what he believed to be the most brutal virus ever to infect a human being. The samples of the contagion lay within the cells of the victims secured in the back of the plane.

Delivered via a rock from the sky that landed near a small village in Peru, the virus infected the villagers then turned them into something unimaginable.

It regenerated their corpses, making them mindless, murderous beings. Contagious beings that spread the incurable mystery virus through the simplest of bites.

It was something that had to be stopped. It spread too fast.

He hoped to get more samples, not just from victims either. Captain Steven Long, a virologist traveling back to the states with Saul, told him he had soil samples from the impact site.

While both Long and Saul agreed that it could be a fatal error to bring the infectious disease to the United States, it was something that had to be done.

Sophisticated lab equipment wasn’t found in a makeshift field unit in the middle of Nowhere Peru.

Saul held on to hopes that a ground zero specimen could lead them to isolating the virus, which in turn, would lead to a cure … hopefully.

A least one thing was removed from his mind, the worrying about Dr. Hans Riesman. The call from Colonel Manning at the Peru site was reassuring. Riesman had been found on the plane and everything was fine.

Saul had visions of Riesman on that plane. He was fearful that Riesman was infected and the ramifications of that infection reared its head on that flight. His horrific daydreams would have been considered nightmares had Saul not been awake when he experienced them.

But the Riesman situation could be put to rest. Saul didn’t have to worry about that.

He would, however, have a firm talk with Riesman once he got him on the phone. Saul planned on slamming him for being so irresponsible. He had his speech ready to deliver.

Little did Saul know that his reading the riot act to Riesman would never happen.

CHAPTER TWO

May 7th

Carancus, Puno, Peru

Something didn’t ring right to him. Colonel Manning had an uneasy feeling in regards to the phone call from Berlin.

Dr. Riesman left without notice, without telling a soul. He took the first flight he could. Something was up. Scared perhaps, but fear wouldn’t send him running like a fugitive trying not to be discovered. Only one thing would: If Dr. Riesman was infected. He indeed would know the outcome of the virus, and that alone would make him want to hide. Yet, Berlin airport stated all was fine and they would detain Dr. Riesman upon landing.

Despite the fact that Colonel Manning was informed of this, a part of him felt truth was being withheld.

For as much as he ran the scenario of an outbreak on a plane through his mind, for as much as he wanted to call Saul again and see if there was a way they could double-check the report . . . he didn’t.

Colonel Manning had other things to contend with. One of those things being the newest orders from health officials and the state department. Clean sweep ground zero and all surrounding areas of the infected; move and detain those not showing any signs of the virus; then pack up and move out. A ‘fire hole’ order was given for a fifteen mile radius. When that was done, not even an insect would be alive to spread the virus.

That was one order, one proverbial button Colonel Manning had no problem endorsing.

The immediate area was clean. The last of the moans stopped. The gunfire went from rapid to slow, sounding more like the end of popping corn than the extermination of over four hundred infected men, women and children.

His last radio call from within the perimeter delivered an ‘all clear’. Colonel Manning and staff began to pack up, but they wouldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until they heard from the Special Force groups that were out in the surrounding villages.

He hadn’t heard from them yet. Colonel Manning hoped that he wouldn’t. No news was good news, and that meant the virus was confined to the perimeter only.

He stared at his phone. It had been twenty minutes since he spoke to Berlin. The plane was set to land and Manning debated on whether or not he should call again. Just as he made the decision to do so, a knock came at his make shift office door.

Clearing his throat, Colonel Manning turned around. “Yes, son.”

He was a Corpsman with the Marines; he stepped forward and handed a folder to Manning. “We have three more, sedated and prepared for flight to the United States, per Captain Long’s request.”

“Just three. That’s better than we estimated.” Colonel Manning took the folder and looked at it.

“I know they needed more than that, possibly earlier stages, but we were efficient with the extermination.” The Corpsman gave a partial smile, almost arrogant.

 “Unlike the movies.”

 “I never doubted for a moment that we’d do better in this situation than the movies depicted the military. Wouldn’t make for good fiction if the undead were annihilated before their numbers could grow.”

“True.” Colonel Manning reviewed the contents of the folder. “Pretty minor injuries, I see.”

“Yes,” the Corpsman replied. “Hopefully, with the sedation, we bought our scientists some time to exam them before these victims succumb. But, this is unpredictable. They can turn in an instant. For that, we have an armed soldier watching them during the flight.”

The flight.

Manning’s thoughts, once again, went to the Berlin flight. He would, without a doubt, make another call. Even for his own peace of mind. However, total peace of mind would come when his men had returned from the field and the entire area surrounding Carancus was ‘fire holed’ and cleansed.

Colonel Manning had been on many battlefields in his life time, but this particular one frightened him like no other had ever done.

It was the start of a nightmarish war that he prayed would end just as quickly as it began.

<><><><>

An infantryman for his entire adult life, Sergeant Jack Edwards had known death. He had seen it, touched it and smelled it. But never in his entire life had he encountered such a foul odor as that which came from the mouth of the creature before him.

Its mouth was wide, biting air, snarling with each futile attempt to get Jack and his team member, Specialist Carlson.

The chains that held him strained to the limits with each violent move of the undead man.

Jack and Carlson were the only two of their team in that shed. Led there by the man’s wife Jack wanted to shoot it, or rather him, but the wife seemed to take a protective mode over her husband, flailing a machete freely through the air threatening Jack when he even tried to raise his weapon.

“We need someone to interpret,” Jack said. “Convey to her that we have to take him.”

“You want to take him back to base?” Carlson asked. “Are you nuts?”

“No! I want to take him out . . .” Jack lowered his voice. “And shoot him.”

The wife shrieked hysterical, rambling in her native tongue, lifting the machete in a taunt to Jack.

Carlson shook his head. “I think she knows English.”

Jack nodded in agreement. His mind raced for a plan, he had one, but he couldn’t convey it. Not there and then. “Carlson, nothing we can do. Back up and let’s join the others.”

“But, Sarge.”

“Just back up.” Jack held tight to his weapon. He turned to aim his voice outward, to call for his men, and that’s when it happened.

With a snarl, snap and a hard jerk of his body, the creature lunged out. But this time the chains didn’t stop him. A simple ‘crack’ of the wood, the restrained man, mouth agape, raged at Jack and Carlson.

Both men were fast, but not fast enough. The enraged man aimed his open mouth at both men as if a weapon, snapping, growling in a biting attack; finally, locking his teeth into Carlson’s hand.

Jack knew at that instant, pulling the man from Carlson was useless. The young specialist screamed out in pain as blood poured from his hand into the man’s mouth and he struggled to free himself.

Close range, Jack, weapon ready, fired a single shot into the man’s head. No sooner did he do that, the wife released a blood curdling scream. She raised the machete high, swinging it down at Jack.

 Quickly, he latched on to the machete and grabbed it from the woman. As she raced to Jack, he fired at her in defense. The moment she fell to the ground, Carlson dropped to his knees, holding his bleeding arm.

“Sarge,” the young man, weakly called in desperation, looking up to Jack. “Help me.”

There was no hesitation on Jack’s part. In fact, if asked later on why he did it, or what made him think to do it, Jack wouldn’t have a clue. Instinct perhaps. But he shoved Carlson back, knocking him backwards to the dirt. The much bigger Jack stomped a boot down on Carlson’s shoulder to pin him, then with one continuous swing, brought the machete down severing his arm.

Carlson screamed his loudest yet.

Dropping the machete Jack, reached for his own belt, pulling it from the loops of his pants.

He didn’t hear what the other two soldiers said when they blasted in the shed, Jack was too focused.

Dropping to his knees, he whipped the belt around the stump of Carlson’s arm, snapped it tight and created a tourniquet.

“Get a jeep. Now!” Jack ordered. “We have to get him to camp stat.”

The other two soldiers didn’t move. In their shock, their eyes shifted to the massacre in that shed.

With a ‘fuck it’, Jack shouldered his weapon, then swiftly lifted Carlson, tossing him over his other shoulder.

Carlson’s body slumped. Whether he was dead or he passed out, Jack didn’t know and he wasn’t taking the time to find out . He darted from the barn. They had footed their way into the small village; a jeep had dropped them off a short distance beforehand.

Carrying the weight of all that happened along with Carlson, Jack just ran. He would run until he met up with the rest of the platoon and the jeep or until he made it to camp. Whichever was first. It didn’t matter to Jack . What did matter was getting Carlson the help he needed as fast as possible. If Jack had to carry him all the way to camp, he would.

<><><><>

It was a wound. Plain and simple. About four inches long, a gash that needed stitched, and it was just on the inside of the forearm.

Colonel Manning didn’t have a clue what type of wound it was. Scratch, bite, or some other injury. Jack wasn’t any help. He couldn’t recall how he received it.

When Jack arrived at camp he was covered in blood. Most of which came from the young specialist that Jack toted over his shoulder.

The strong veteran sergeant didn’t seem shaken by what had happened, just focused. It was when Manning debriefed him that he noticed Jack’s wound.

Jack was tested. No sign of the infection was present. However, the calmer the victim the longer it took for the infection to show in the blood stream. So Manning couldn’t use that as a determination that Jack wasn’t bitten. Especially since Carlson still showed no signs either.

In any event Manning couldn’t take any chances. He explained to Jack, until some time had passed, he had to treat Jack as if he were bitten.

Jack understood.

He and Carlson were placed on the transport going to Atlanta with the other injured soldiers.

Captain Long was excited at the prospect of examining Carlson.

When Manning told Long what Jack had done, Long replied, “Wow, really? That was really cool thinking.”

Really cool thinking.

Manning, a doctor himself, had to agree with Long, even though he wouldn’t have chosen those words. Jack’s actions were logical, and perhaps something thought of by medical personnel down the road but not practical when in the field.

Maybe Jack was thinking if he took the limb, he would stop the virus from hitting the blood stream.

Manning could only guess Jack’s motives.

He questioned Jack about amputating the limb. Jack only shrugged. He seemed more distraught about having to leave Peru than the possibility of having been bitten.

Jack told the colonel, “I can’t leave. My work is not done.”

Colonel Manning simply told him. “No one said you were done working. You’re just finished in Peru.”

If the injury to Jack’s arm turned out to be invasive and not infectious, then someone like Jack was needed in Atlanta should problems arise with the infected they were testing.