Warnick, Springer, and I drove out to Robbin-Sear in our Humvee, with Isaac and the Vollmer twins following. I was afraid for Holly, so I convinced the others not to tell her what we were doing. I knew I would hear about it later, but I didn’t care. Larry and Judith were waiting for us when we entered the facility. They were both skittish and at first avoided eye contact. After introductions, Warnick got right to the point.
“Does Creasy know about this?”
“We didn’t have a choice,” Judith said.
The three of us looked at each other as the others stood there, wondering what was going on. Warnick sighed and went on as if everything was fine.
“Anyone else?”
“Not that we’re aware of,” Larry said. “Look, we’ll share our research with you, but I must warn you. What we’re doing is very dangerous.”
I thought Isaac was going to lose his shit. “No more dangerous than what you people have done to this town. What in hell were you thinking?”
Warnick took Springer aside. “Go have a look around. Make sure we aren’t interrupted.”
“Hooah!”
We soon learned the code name for the virus was RS-6160. As we sat in a conference room, Warnick and I were lost as Larry and Judith tag-teamed, walking us through everything they’d done. I was astonished at their lack of emotion, describing things in clinical terms that had resulted in the deaths of thousands. When they were finished, the Vollmer twins shared their own work, equally dispassionate.
Finally, when Bud asked to see the actual virus, Larry told him all the samples were stored offsite. So instead, we spent the rest of the time looking at computer simulations projected on the wall. Two hours later, after everyone was finished geeking out, Isaac updated Larry and Judith on Ariel.
“So you’re saying her condition alternated between morbid and normal?” Larry said.
Isaac leafed through the manila file folder he was holding. “Yes. We witnessed a profound change in her. During an examination, her irises changed color, and she became violent.”
“And incredibly strong,” Warnick said.
“Right. She tore through her restraints and tried to attack us.”
Judith touched Larry’s arm. “I’d like to examine her.” Then to Isaac, “Is she at the isolation facility?”
“I’m afraid she’s dead.” He handed her the file. “This is a copy of my autopsy report. You can keep it.”
“Thanks. This should help.”
“I’d like to see the lab now.”
Larry and Judith led us into the large laboratory, where once again Dr. Royce stood working behind the Plexiglas wall.
“How’s he holding up?” Warnick said to Judith.
“He no longer sleeps. We have to continually make sure he eats.”
“What exactly does he eat?” I said.
She cleared her throat. “I’ll show you.”
They led us across the room to a stainless steel refrigerator. Her husband opened it, revealing stacks of raw, bloody steaks, which, to my shame, made me hungry.
“It’s the only food he’s interested in.”
“Let’s continue,” Isaac said to Larry.
“As I mentioned, we don’t keep samples of the virus here. But I can show you some brain tissue stains we made.”
Isaac and the Vollmer twins spent the next half-hour peering through microscopes while Royce continued working, occasionally swatting at flies. Warnick decided it was probably best to get out of their way. We were about to leave when Nancy turned to Judith.
“So you engineered the virus here?”
“Yes. We’ve been working on it for more than two years.”
“And how long have you been working on the vaccine?” Bud said.
Larry seemed surprised. “Vaccine? We’re not.”
I grabbed his arm and made him face me. “Are you serious? We thought you guys were trying to stop this thing.”
“Then what are we doing here?” Warnick said.
Judith and Larry avoided looking directly at us. There was something they weren’t telling us. He fidgeted, then finally spoke.
“I’m sorry we misled you. You see, the experiment is at the stage where…”
Just then, a door banged open behind us, and Bob Creasy walked in, accompanied by two cops.
“What my colleague is trying to say is that we’ve nearly perfected the virus.”
Creasy looked bad. If I had to guess, he was strung out. His skin was pasty, his pupils like pinpoints and his lids red-rimmed. As he stood there, he repeatedly wiped at a runny nose.
Isaac stepped forward to confront him. “Are you the one responsible for this madness?”
“I’m in charge of the project, yes. And all of you are trespassing.”
He turned towards the cops, and they drew their guns.
“Weapons on the floor.”
I looked at Warnick. There was a slim chance we could outgun them, but innocent people could die. His eyes told me he’d come to the same conclusion. So, we complied.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Isaac said.
The cop smiled viciously. “Not a joke.”
Then, his eyes betraying no emotion, he shot my friend point blank. I grabbed Isaac as he collapsed, bleeding, and eased him to the floor. Blind with rage, I looked up to find Bud and Nancy staring straight ahead in frozen twin horror.
“You were warned, Pulaski,” Creasy said. “But you couldn’t leave it alone. Did you really think you could stop this?”
He signaled for Larry and Judith to move towards him, which they did, meekly. Gripping Isaac’s hand, I glared at the two researchers—Judith examining her clenched hands and Larry staring at a spot on the floor.
“You never intended to help us.”
Creasy headed for the door and on his way out spoke to the cops, his tone dismissive.
“Kill them all.”
One of the police officers pointed his weapon at the Vollmer twins while the other trained his on Warnick and me as Isaac lay bleeding out on the floor. Our rifles were out of reach. We were going to die. I was grateful Holly wasn’t here, and only wished I could say goodbye to her.
As I closed my eyes, the sound of automatic gunfire echoed through the building, distracting the cops. Abandoning Isaac, Warnick and I scrambled behind a counter in a hail of bullets. I turned towards the Plexiglas and watched a reflection of the two cops firing at the twins, dropping them like sacks. Silently, we worked our way backwards one aisle at a time till we reached a wall.
Behind us was a supply closet and, next to it on the wall, a bank of light switches. I flung my hand up and switched them off. Warnick opened the door, and we went inside. In the distance, I could hear shouting and more gunfire. We only had a few seconds. I flicked on the light, and we searched desperately for something useful. There on the bottom shelf stood gallon plastic jugs of hydrochloric acid.
Warnick grabbed two beakers. I opened one of the jugs and, hands trembling and holding my breath, filled both beakers with the toxic liquid. A drop hit my hand and I bit down on a scream as it burned through layers of skin. I shelved the jug, turned off the light, and stood in darkness, listening. A faint click reached us, and a band of white appeared at the bottom of the door. Warnick handed me a beaker. We waited.
Silence.
Shouting voices echoed outside, followed by gunshots and the dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor. The voices were closer now. Someone else was in the room.
“Warnick! Pulaski!” It was Pederman.
We opened the door and found the supervisor, Springer, and several other soldiers standing there, guns drawn.
“What’s that?” Pederman said to me, staring at the beakers.
“Desperation. How did you know?”
“I’m starting to think like you—God help me. I thought I made myself clear the last time about keeping me in the loop.”
“This just sort of happened. We—”
“Save it. We need to get out of here.”
“Any more cops outside?” Warnick said.
“None that we could see.”
Carefully, we left the beakers on a counter. As Warnick checked the Vollmer twins, I knelt to examine Isaac.
“I’ll cover the door,” Pederman said.
Isaac’s pulse was weak, but it was there. Blood was leaking from his side in a growing pool. Though I knew what to do, I couldn’t move.
“Need… apply pressure,” Isaac said, snapping me out of it.
Warnick was next to me now. “Dave, use the heel of your hand and press down.”
I did as he said and could feel the life draining out of my friend. “What about the Vollmer twins?”
“Dead,” Warnick said. Then to Springer, “I need a medic kit.”
Springer left the room and returned with another soldier who set down a backpack and dumped everything on the floor. Warnick grabbed the EMT shears and cut Isaac’s shirt open. Then, he doused his hands in Betadine and, using his fingers and a Kelly clamp, probed the wound. He slid his hand under the patient.
“The bullet went clean through.”
The other soldier handed him a box of QuikClot gauze pads. Warnick ripped open the packaging and applied one to the front and rear.
“This will stop the bleeding until we can get him to a hospital.”
As Warnick worked on Isaac, an explosion rocked the building and sent us reeling.
“What the hell was that?” Springer said as we picked ourselves up.
“Grenades,” Pederman said from the doorway. “We need to get out of here.”
Another explosion knocked us down as a thick white smoke filled the room, burning our eyes and throats.
“CS gas!”
Now, a high-pitched alarm sounded and white emergency lights flashed through the haze. Next, the fire sprinkler system activated, drenching us.
“Let’s go,” Warnick said as he and Springer carried Isaac out.
Everything happened so fast. I couldn’t see the others. Suddenly, I was alone. Someone far away was calling my name. Choking, I struggled to my feet just as the murky shape of a man appeared in the fog. He took a few staggering steps towards me.
It was Dr. Royce.
He was swatting at an invisible fly. In an instant, his eyes became an iridescent purple, and he lurched at me, grinning like a demented ghost. I shoved him away. Coughing, I tried calling to Warnick and Pederman, but I couldn’t get the words out.
Royce was strong and easily dominated me, the gas having no effect on him. I dropped to the floor and tried rolling away, but he grabbed my ankle and dragged me towards him like I was a rag doll. As I got closer to him, I kicked at his face, breaking his nose with a sickening crunch. Though he lost his grip, he kept coming at me.
Barely able to see through the stinging tears, I looked behind me and spotted the two beakers of acid on the counter. Scrambling backwards, I got to my feet, grabbed them, and hurled the liquid at Royce. In an acrid plume of smoke, the flesh of his face and neck began to sizzle as it melted away like hot wax, exposing raw muscle and bone.
Blind now—his eyelids burned off—Royce lunged at me. Turning, I saw an AR-15 lying on the ground a few feet away. As I went for it, another explosion sent me to the floor. Royce was on me again, dragging me inexorably towards his chomping bare teeth in a gory mouth with no lips. With every bit of strength in me, I inched my way over to the gun, stretching my fingers. Now, I was touching the barrel. And finally, I could feel the weapon in my hand.
As I raised it, Royce flung himself forward. No time to think. I shot him in the face. Wailing, he fell back as I got to my feet and found the exit through the dense smoke. Outside in the corridor, both cops lay dead in expanding pools of blood. Warnick and Springer were tending to Isaac, wrapping gauze around his nose and mouth to help him breathe. When he saw me through a weak gaze, he smiled and touched my hand.
“Glad you’re here, Dave. Think I’m finished, though.”
“What do you know? You’re a doctor.”
Just then, Pederman and around twenty other Black Dragon soldiers met us. The CS gas billowed out from every doorway. Everyone was coughing and wiping their eyes.
“Thought we lost you,” Pederman said to me. “You okay?”
“Never better.”
“We need to get out of here. My guess is they’re waiting for us to come crawling out.”
“We have to surrender,” Warnick said.
Our eyes still burning, we made our way to the front entrance. Opening one of the doors slightly, Pederman called out.
“Hold your fire! We’re coming out!”
Springer swung the doors open. Outside, police cruisers filled the area inside the gate, with armed cops crouching behind the open car doors, their weapons raised. Then, Pederman, Warnick, and Springer shielded Isaac and me as the other soldiers went out first, weaponless, their hands up.
A torrent of automatic gunfire cut them down like matchsticks. Though body armor protected his torso, Pederman took a bullet in the arm and fell back. Quickly, we dragged the others inside. Now, gunfire rained down on us as we shut the front doors and locked them.
“I thought you said there weren’t any other cops,” I said to Pederman as I applied a QuickClot bandage to his arm.
Gritting his teeth from the pain, he gave me a look.
“Why are they shooting?” Springer said to Warnick.
Urgently, Isaac grabbed my arm. “The research…” Then, he passed out.
Springer shook his head sadly. “He’s not gonna make it.”
“Shut up,” I said. “He’ll make it.” Then to Pederman, “Can’t we radio for a helicopter?”
“Radio doesn’t work. We’re too far from the command center.”
After checking the doors again, we made our way back through the corridor. The smoke had dissipated because of the sprinklers, and we were no longer coughing. I remembered what Isaac had said and returned to the lab with Springer. We gathered as many laptops and external hard drives as we could carry and rejoined the others. Up ahead, I could see a sign that read Infirmary. As we entered, we found a series of examination rooms and three large refrigerators.
We carried Isaac into one of the rooms and laid him on the examination table. Then, I went back out to one of the refrigerators and flung open the door. On the shelves lay thick plastic bags filled with blood. I searched through them, found what I was looking for, and returned to the exam room.
“We’ll need these, in case we don’t make it to the hospital,” I said.
Warnick laid down his weapon and searched the cabinets, where he found needles, syringes, and rubber tourniquets. We placed everything into a backpack and put the blood into a plastic cooler, covering the bags with ice from the freezer.
Warnick threw the hard drives into another bag. “Dave, are you sure that’s the right blood type?”
“He’s the same as me—O positive.”
“Dude, how do you even know that?” Springer said.
“Trust me.”
When I was a kid, a drunk hit me with his car while I was riding my bike. I still remember spitting up blood. They got me into surgery in time to stop the internal bleeding, and I remained in the hospital for a week. That’s when I learned Isaac had donated blood—O positive.
Warnick lifted Isaac’s eyelid and checked his pulse. “It’s weak.”
“We can’t stay here,” Pederman said.
“We need to get to somewhere safe.”
“How do you suggest we do that?” Springer said. “With all those cops outside?”
I grabbed the cooler, ready to bug out. “What about through the rear?”
“No good. The fence goes all the way around. And there’s no rear gate—I already checked.”
I wracked my brain. This was a research facility, not an armory. Yet the last time we were here, Creasy had managed to get a weapon from somewhere. What if they had other weapons in case of an attack?
“Come on,” I said to Springer and two other guys.
We did a quick search of the building. Towards the rear, we found a room marked Supplies. The door was locked.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t,” Springer said, and kicked the door open.
Inside we found an impressive cache of weapons—AR-15s and an assortment of handguns, shotguns, and rifles. And three MilKor M32 MGL grenade launchers. Enough for a small war. Springer held his head in his hands.
“Boys, I think I’m in love.”
I grabbed a crowbar and opened one of the wooden ammunition boxes, where I found a steel case. Inside the case lay twenty black nylon bandoliers, each holding six 40 mm grenades.
“This should do it.”
We carried the weapons and ammo into the infirmary, where Pederman, his arm bandaged, sat resting as Warnick monitored Isaac, who had regained consciousness.
“How’s he holding up?” I said to Pederman.
“He needs a hospital. Looks like you’ve been busy. How do you propose we get out of here?”
“Through the front door,” I said.
Warnick, Pederman, Springer, and I waited near the front entrance with Isaac, who was fighting to stay awake. The plan was for us to get to our Humvee and drive to the hospital. The rest of the men were stationed on the roof, three of them carrying the grenade launchers. As Pederman brought his radio to his face, I said a silent prayer our plan would work.
“What do you see up there? Over.”
Immediately, a voice came back. “The cops have the front door covered. Looks like they’re waiting for us to make a move. Also, we’ve got draggers just outside the fence. Over.”
“How many? Over.”
“Two dozen maybe. Over.”
“Get ready. And remember, don’t waste those grenades. One per vehicle. Do you copy? Over.”
“Roger Dodger. Over.”
The supervisor rubbed perspiration off his forehead and grimaced from the pain in his arm. Then, looking at each of us, he closed his eyes as if praying. When he opened them again, he said a single word into the radio.
“Fire!”
Outside, explosions tore through the tense silence as men screamed and gunfire erupted. Warnick waited a beat, then flung the doors open so we could evacuate. Outside, six police cruisers, each with a shattered windshield, burned hot from the inside. More grenades destroyed the other vehicles and sent the cops running in all directions. In their panic, they retreated outside the gate, where draggers were waiting. The cops stayed focused on the draggers, shooting them as they closed in.
Pederman raised a hand. “You guys ready?”
“Do I have time for a nap?” Springer said.
The supervisor dropped his hand, and we went out, firing as we ran. When our guys on the roof saw us, they redirected their fire. The Humvees were in reach. Soldiers surrounded Isaac and me as I helped him towards one of the vehicles. One of our guys fell directly in front of me, shot through the head. Immediately, someone on the roof took out the shooter.
I made it inside the vehicle and waited for Warnick, Springer, and Pederman to join me. Once we were all together, I leaned Isaac gently against the backseat. Warnick started the engine and gunned it, racing out of the compound as draggers devoured the screaming cops. The plan called for the rest of the guys to eliminate everyone, get to their vehicles, and return to the command center. I prayed they would make it.
It had started to rain, making the road slick and bumpy. Lightning lit up the darkening sky as thunder came up from the east. Pederman was riding in the front with Warnick. Springer sat in the backseat with Isaac and me. I thought we were home free. But around a mile from the research facility, two black Escalades with government plates shot out of the shadows and began pursuing us.
“Who are these guys?” Warnick said, watching his rearview mirror.
Pederman craned his neck to see. “We need to get off this road. Dave, what do we have in the back?”
Getting closer, our pursuers began firing at us. Bullets screamed, glancing off the bulletproof rear window as I crawled into the back of our vehicle.
“More guns. Wait—we have grenades.”
“Figure something out. And fast.”
“Springer,” I said. “Try to keep Isaac stable.”
“You got it, boss.”
I grabbed one of the grenades and, clutching it, pulled the pin. I thought of Holly as I flung the door open and tossed the grenade. It bounced on the road and off to the side as the Escalades shot past it. The explosion made both vehicles veer slightly but did no real damage.
“Shit.”
I could see two men in each vehicle—one driving and the other firing. Then, we hit a bump, and I nearly fell out. Recovering, I ducked back inside as bullets flew at me. I grabbed another grenade, pulled the pin, leaned out, and threw it. Both Escalades accelerated, the lead vehicle trying to ram us. I could see the driver—a nondescript man in a gray suit and sunglasses. The grenade exploded well behind the second vehicle.
“Dammit! How long is the delay?”
“Five seconds,” Springer said.
I reached for another grenade, armed it, and released the spoon, but I didn’t throw it.
One thousand…two thousand…three thousand.
I tossed it. It bounced once and exploded directly under the lead vehicle, lifting it up in the air and sending it into the path of the trailing vehicle, which it crushed. A ball of flame shot up from the mangled frames of both cars as we raced away. In the distance, I could see one of the men pulling himself out of the wreckage.
I felt amazing as I closed the rear door and high-fived Springer. Pederman turned around, a smile on his face.
“Nice work, Pulaski.”
“Going off-road,” Warnick said. “Better hang on to something.”
He turned off at a fire road and burst through the locked gate. We continued north into the forest. I gazed out the window, studying the landscape. Something about our surroundings seemed familiar. Then, it clicked.
“Hey, I know this road. Keep heading north towards Mt. Shasta.”
“Where are we going?” Warnick said.
“Someplace safe.”
We cruised slowly under the darkening canopy of trees for forty-five minutes or so as rain poured down.
“Uh, Dave…” Pederman said finally.
“Yeah, yeah. See that road? Turn right. And go slow.”
We followed the road to a large clearing, its edges outlined by a circle of rocks. In the center stood a large concrete birdbath—the goddess Diana, a dead stag at her feet.
“Okay, stop here.”
I jumped out the rear and trotted up to the driver’s side.
“What is this place?” Pederman said.
As if by forest magic, a structure materialized from out of the shadows.
I pointed. “Look.”
“Aw, man,” Springer said.
A bullet whizzed past. Before we could move, a voice I recognized called out.
“Drop your weapons and lie face down on the ground!”
We followed orders and waited prostrate on the wet ground. A moment passed, and as I lifted my head, a thin wizened man with a long white ponytail, wearing khaki cargo pants, a Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops, stepped out of the shadows pointing an AR-15 at us. Then, crouching, he squinted at me.
“Dave Pulaski?” he said.