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  The captain checked in with the pilots, and then he wandered through the equipment, cross-referencing it against an inventory list. Finally, he came back and sat down next to me.

  He looked down at the deck, and was silent for a moment. Finally he spoke. “Dr. Barry, I know what my superiors told me, but I want to hear it from you. Why did you volunteer for this mission?”

  “Honestly, they offered me a lot of money,” I replied. “Plus, I really want to see this virus. We aren’t going to see any walking corpses, no zombies. You know that don’t you?” I asked.

  The captain frowned at me. “Something very bad is going on down there, Doctor. The ACS briefing was not a joke. My superiors would not pass on intel like that unless they believed it posed a significant threat,” he replied.

  “Perhaps something uncharacteristic is being caused by the virus,” I admitted. “But it will be some minor twitch that scared someone, that’s all. Viruses do some strange shit,” I offered.

  “I am somewhat concerned that there are only five people assigned to my armed escort, and one of them is a civilian.” I wasn’t sure if I was offending the captain, but I said it anyway.

  “The brass decided that a small team was the way to go,” the captain explained. “Fewer people on the ground draw less attention. I can assure you that everyone here is a seasoned professional. We’ve all seen combat, with the exception of Keyes, and she was a combat photographer. Everyone has a specialty that was considered essential to our mission. If there is anyone on the team I consider unqualified that person would be you.”

  “Me?” I stuttered. After the effort the government had put into my recruitment, I was stunned to hear the captain say this.

  The captain lowered his voice. “You’re not even a real doctor. You never finished your dissertation and completed your doctorate. The medical college you attended consisted of four trailers that were later washed away in a tropical storm. You’re brilliant at what you do, but you’ve never really lived up to your potential. You are a slacker.”

  I grew angry. “You don’t even know me!” I shot back. But even as I said it, I realized that everything the captain had just stated was the truth.

  “I have reviewed your records,” The captain answered calmly. “I feel that you have the potential to solve the problem that confronts us, and allow me to complete my mission. I will complete this mission. We will not fail.”

  My anger subsided somewhat; I had been called a slacker before. “Why are you here, Capt. Christopher ?” I inquired.

  “I am simply following orders,” he replied tersely. “I was the most qualified officer available who volunteered. This mission is more dangerous than you seem to realize. As I explained earlier, we are not the first team to go in. There have been fatalities.”

  I considered this before I answered. “I deal with bio-hazards almost daily. It’s my job to examine contaminated tissues and cell samples,” I retorted.

  “Africa is a very dangerous place, Dr. Barry,” the captain cautioned, “With or without the virus.”

  With that he got up and walked over to where Dyson was working. The sergeant had broken his rifle down and was packing it into a padded case. He sat down next to the burly Marine and they talked quietly.

  As we flew across the Atlantic I had plenty of time to worry about what was coming. At some point I finally relaxed. It was chilly but the strong pulse of the engines lulled me to sleep and I dozed off. I woke up mid-flight and stumbled to the plane’s tiny lavatory. A little later, the crew chief brought me what passed for the Air Force’s in-flight meal. When I looked back Robinson was working out on the flight deck, Blythe and Dyson were playing cards, and Keyes and the captain were asleep. I pulled out my journal and reread some of my earlier notes. I had not had much time to rest in the past few days, and eventually I fell asleep again.

  The next thing I knew, the crew chief was shaking me awake. He strapped a jump helmet on my head and checked my parachute rig. Everyone else was up and moving about, checking and rechecking their gear. Sgt. Dyson opened a small crate and extracted a wicked looking machine gun. He checked its action and handed it to Blythe. He did the same for Robinson and the captain, and took the final gun for himself. The four men stood together, loading the weapons and securing spare magazines as the sergeant handed them out.

  “Two minutes to drop,” the crew chief shouted. “Stand by.” He pushed a large button on the plane’s bulkhead and the rear cargo door of the plane slowly opened. Cold air rushed into the cargo bay.

  The captain guided me closer to the rear, and attached my parachute’s lanyard to the static line. “Your chute will open automatically once you clear the plane,” he shouted into my ear. “Just remember to keep your knees bent when you land. Stay loose and roll into it. Nothing to worry about, you’ll be fine,” he assured me.

  “That’s good!” I shouted back. I had never jumped before, and I was nervous.

  Everyone else lined up with me and locked their lanyard onto the line. I noticed when the light above the jump door changed from red to green. The crew chief pushed our cargo crates out into the open air.

  It seemed like everyone was yelling, and then the captain was pushing me towards the door. I pushed back, hard. I had changed my mind, but it was a little too late. The bastard was a lot stronger than me. He shoved me forward and then I was falling.

  My parachute opened and I was slowly drifting down into equatorial Africa. The sun was just coming over the horizon and I could see the Congo River in the far distance and the huge expanse of green that was the rain forest stretching away to the south. It was beautiful from up here; I knew it wouldn’t be as pretty on the ground.

  TO THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF - CODE YELLOW COMMUNIQUE

  MOTHER GOOSE REPORTS RECON TEAM CHARLIE SUCCESSFULLY AWAY

  NO SATELLITE REPORTS OF ACS ACTIVITY THAT SECTOR

  NO REPORTED ACTIVITY FROM ARMY UNITS DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO

  NO REPORTS OF RADIO, PHONE OR INTERNET CHATTER THAT REGION

  ALL LINES OF COMMUNICATION REMAIN DARK INSIDE ZONE OF INFECTION

  REPORTS OF INFECTION REMAIN WITHIN ALL COMPUTER SIMULATIONS

  CONDITION YELLOW AT THIS TIME

  REPORT ENDS

  Chapter 3

  5:52 a.m. Zulu

  Seven Kilometers NW of Kilae

  Central Africa

  The earth rushed up to meet me and then I was rolling across the savannah, the tough grass cutting at my face. Before I could get up, Sgt. Dyson was there, pulling the release cord on my chute. He took my hand and helped me up. I removed my jump helmet and slid out of the parachute harness.

  “What do I do with these?” I asked the sergeant.

  “Normally we would bury them,” he replied. “Just bring them along.”

  The bolt on his machine gun slammed closed with a metallic click as he loaded it. He put his hand up to shade his eyes and looked around. Then he laughed, “Welcome to Africa, Doc. You’re really going to like it here.”

  I scanned the area around me, a little bewildered. It looked more like Kansas than Africa. Grasslands stretched away in every direction as far as I could see, broken only by an occasional scraggly tree or shrub. It didn’t look like the Africa I had imagined.

  “Come on, Doc,” Dyson suggested, nodding his head towards the others.

  Blythe and Robinson had already broken open the supply crates, and were dividing up the equipment between the others as we approached. Sgt. Dyson took his share and then handed me a military backpack. I sat my jump gear on a crate and took it. He picked out four MRE packets and a small bottle of water purification tablets, and shoved them into my hands.

  I was about to complain when he wagged his finger at me and explained. “Always pack your own supplies, at least enough for a couple of days.” I knew that I already had enough to carry with my medical equipment, but I deferred to his experience.

  The captain walked over with a pair of black combat boots, and tossed them in
the grass nearby. “Lose the tennis shoes,” he suggested. “Those should be your size.”

  I slipped off my shoes and put on the new boots. They fit.

  “Don’t worry, those will break in quick,” he added.

  “What about my medical gear?” I asked.

  “I got you a standard field surgeon’s kit. It’s the really old kind, perfect for these conditions. The other stuff is over here,” he concluded.

  The captain pointed out my custom designed field lab. It included a prototype field portable electron microscope. The whole package was small enough to fit into one backpack, but at around sixty-pounds it was heavy. I squeezed everything inside my pack, tied my tennis shoes to the frame, and hoisted it onto my back.

  Keyes also had been provided with a custom backpack. It had a solar converter panel built into the top of the frame. The panel would collect solar energy as she walked along and convert it to direct current that could be used to recharge the batteries for our equipment. It also contained the communications array and her laptop computer. As usual she carried her camera and camcorder.

  Everyone was handed an AVR respirator and a military pistol belt. The belt supported a holstered nine-millimeter Beretta pistol, a spare magazine pouch with four extra clips, a spare AVR, and a two-quart canteen.

  Sgt. Dyson grinned as he handed me two boxes of extra ammo, 100 rounds. He pulled my Beretta from its holster and quickly explained how to load and fire it. He had me practice several times until I could change out the magazine and load the gun myself.

  The captain walked over and watched me fumble with the weapon for a moment. Finally he said, “Leave the gun in its holster unless I tell you otherwise, Dr. Barry.”

  The captain handed Keyes a gun belt identical to mine. She pulled the Beretta from its holster and deftly loaded it before replacing it. Capt. Christopher, Robinson and Blythe each had a KGP-9 nine-millimeter machinegun with a folding stock, a Beretta like mine, and more ammunition than I thought they could ever fire.

  I noticed that Robinson had strapped a hand axe to his belt, and that Blythe was also carrying a machete.

  Only Sgt. Dyson carried a really big gun, his fifty-caliber Barrett sniper rifle. He pulled it from its case and assembled it with practiced ease. Once assembled, the rifle was almost as long as he was tall. The sergeant also had a sub-machinegun like the others and a forty-five semi-automatic pistol with a silencer.

  I asked the sergeant about his pistol. “Why are you carrying a different pistol Sgt. Dyson? How come my pistol doesn’t have a silencer? Why don’t all the guns have silencers?”

  Dyson laughed, “One question at a time, Doc. I carry the forty-five because it’s my personal preference. Nine-mil ammo just doesn’t have enough stopping power for me. It has a silencer because I use it for close work, when I have to be quiet. The more rounds you run through a silencer, the less it works, so they ain’t no count on a machinegun. You can’t put a pistol with a silencer in your standard holster; you have to screw it on. That’s why you ain’t got one. Any more questions?” he grinned.

  I had shot squirrels and birds as a kid, but I wasn’t sure I would be able to hit anything with the Beretta. Still, it was reassuring to have its weight pressed against my right thigh. I wasn’t planning on shooting anything, that’s what everyone else was along for.

  Once the gear was stowed the captain pulled everyone together.

  Sgt. Dyson stood a short distance away, slowly scanning the grasslands around us.

  “You people will do exactly what I say, when I say it, got me?” the captain asked. He looked at each of us in turn, waiting for a reply. Everyone nodded, Robinson grunted in approval.

  “We will be on our own here with no local support. I will be in constant contact with the staff at the Pentagon, and they will be code-named Home Plate,” he explained.

  He looked at Keyes. “Ms. Keyes, the computer and communications equipment is our life line here, our only means of direct contact with the outside world. I don’t think I need to emphasize how important their safety is.”

  He nodded to the mercenaries. “Gentlemen, your primary duty is to guard Dr. Barry. He is to be protected at all costs.” They both frowned at me; I assumed they were already unhappy with their assignment.

  The captain paused to look around at the savannah.

  “Do not approach anything dead without wearing your respirator. This place is going to try real hard to kill us. I will not let it succeed. Our standard operating procedure will be that no one out there is a friendly; it makes things a lot simpler. Do not eat any local food or drink the water here. If you must use the local water in an emergency, use your purification tablets,” he cautioned.

  Robinson interrupted him by half-raising a hand. “What kind of support can we count on, Captain?”

  The captain frowned but answered. “I can call in limited air support, but the closest carrier is about fifteen flight minutes away. We can be re-supplied by airdrop from southern Europe within two hours or so. I can call for a helicopter extraction if things go really bad, that’s it. We are on our own. We have to complete the mission.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have anything to add, Dr. Barry?”

  “Not until I can examine something,” I replied.

  The captain’s voice became sterner. “We’re here and we have a job to do, and I will see to it that the job gets done. We have to reach the village of Gatou. It’s that way,” the captain gestured with his head.

  “Stay sharp,” He adjusted the rim of his field cap and pointed towards the south. “Sgt. Dyson, you’re on point!” he commanded.

  “Sir, yes sir!” Dyson replied and trotted out ahead as the rest of us fell in loosely behind. At the captain’s command Robinson walked a short distance away on the left, and Blythe did the same on the right. The captain told me to remain between them and follow Sgt. Dyson. Keyes and I walked along, the captain dropped back a short distance behind us, and brought up the rear.

  We walked along through the tall grass. Everyone was tense, and no one was talking. It wasn’t too bad at first, but then it grew hot, and it stayed that way. My shirt was soaked with sweat, and I began to understand just how unpleasant this trip could be.

  Most Americans don’t walk anywhere, and I was no exception to the rule. At thirty-eight years old I was in decent enough shape; I still rode my bike, and worked out occasionally; but, I was lazy. Ironically enough, that was why I was here.

  We trudged along, our little group of humanity, the only living people for miles around as far as I could tell. It was pretty depressing. I had always been an optimist, and I felt we needed to lighten the mood a bit. I was beginning to find the silence oppressive. “Any of you guys like basketball?” I asked.

  “Can the chatter,” Robinson hissed.

  “What, we can’t talk?” I queried. Everyone stopped and looked at me.

  “You’re going to get us all killed, Doc.” Robinson added. He raised an eyebrow and slowly turned until his gun’s barrel was pointed directly at me.

  Capt. Christopher approached and quickly stepped between us. “That’s enough!” he barked.

  “Look, Captain,” the mercenary continued, “just because I’m getting paid to baby sit this asshole doesn’t mean he can do whatever he likes. He needs to be plused-up on procedure! I can’t spend my money if I’m dead.”

  The captain remained where he was. “Robinson has a point, Dr. Barry. I suggest we don’t talk, it might draw attention to us.”

  Someone smarter than me would have backed down, but I wasn’t done yet. “Do you guys actually intend to walk all the way to Gatou without talking? Man, talk about a boring trip. The locals are not going to be unfriendly to a medical team.”

  “There might be hostiles out there; rebels, tribesmen, bandits,” Robinson spat back. “It’s our job to make sure you don’t get your liberal ass shot off.”

  “No one will shoot at us,” I replied. “We’re traveling into an infected area. I guarantee you ever
yone we meet will be going the other way, and fast.”

  No one spoke for a moment.

  “Basketball is for children Doc,” Blythe said with a grin. “Now soccer mind you, soccer is a real sport for men.”

  “Do we really have to talk about a bunch of overpaid pussies playing games for a living?” Robinson moaned. “Where’s a zombie when you need one? I’d rather die than talk about fucking soccer.”

  “Get bent, mate,” Blythe retorted.

  “Alright everyone,” Capt. Christopher laughed, “Since this is such an unusual mission, and we have two civilians along, it’s okay to talk quietly, unless I say otherwise.”

  Sgt. Dyson had wandered back. “Could we get going?” he asked. “I want to find me some unfriendlies to shoot.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll get your chance,” the captain replied.

  We walked along. Occasionally a gazelle or some other animal would scamper out of our way. There were animals and insects everywhere, but that didn’t surprise me, I knew the virus only affected humans.

  There wasn’t anything civilized around for miles. We had dropped into a remote area about five miles north of the town of Kilae, one of the few areas that satellite surveillance had identified as safe. It was well outside the predicted zone of infection.

  I hoped to get firsthand information about the virus in Kilae. The inhabitants would know of the deaths, and some refugees should have reached that point by now. My job was to identify the virus’ source in the hope that we could find a cure. The first step in manufacturing a vaccine was identifying the original viral strain. I was familiar enough with virology to know that each time a virus was transmitted from person to person it could mutate. Using a mutant strain to develop a vaccine would not ensure that that the vaccine was effective against all variants of the virus. In order to do that you needed to find the source of the virus. So far we knew nothing, except that the virus appeared to have originated near a remote village deep in the Congo. The practical side of me was in no hurry to go there. I was anxious to actually see the virus though; safely, through a microscope. I just hoped we could do it quickly.