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  Capt. Christopher walked along side me, matching my pace. “Dr. Barry is there anything that you can think of that will help me keep these men safe?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “You know almost as much as I do about the virus.”

  The captain thought about that for a moment. “Pretend I don’t,” he prodded. “You’re a doctor, I’m a grunt. Break the disease down for me. Help me understand how it works.” He looked me in the eye. “It’s important.”

  “Viruses are everywhere.” I began, warming up to my subject. “Every living thing has a virus, even bacteria have viruses.” I noticed that everyone was listening, so I spoke up a little.

  “They are one of the most basic life forms. Some scientists consider them to be predatory, but I consider them more symbiotic.” I wasn’t sure my listeners understood. “Viruses live within their victims, like parasites. They might make you a little sick, but they usually don’t kill you. They can’t live without a host.” I explained.

  “So viruses aren’t really trying to kill you?” Blythe asked.

  “Correct,” I replied, “…most of the time. The most successful virus is one that you never realize you have. And you have a lot of viruses, everyone does. It is usually only when a virus crosses between species that it becomes deadly to its host. The victim has no defenses, and the virus can cause serious damage or death to a host organism it has never infected before.”

  I paused to think about how I would explain, and then I continued. “The basic building block of all living things is DNA, short for deoxyribonucleic acid; you guys know this, right?” I asked.

  Capt. Christopher nodded, but Keyes, Robinson and Blythe looked lost. “Didn’t you guys pay attention in biology class?” I scolded.

  “The heredity of all living things is programmed by four nucleic acids; guanine, adenine, cytosine, and thymine. These nucleic acids combine with simple sugar and phosphate molecules to form nucleotides. The nucleotides combine to form genes. Genes determine everything about you; your sex, the color of your eyes, everything.” I concluded.

  “Some viruses use RNA, ribonucleic acid, instead of DNA.” I could see I was losing my audience. “That’s not important, it’s just that only viruses do that, every other life form only uses DNA,” I continued excitedly. “When a virus infects a host, it attaches to a healthy cell and overrides that cell’s genetic code with its own. It multiplies, replicates itself. But, it doesn’t normally kill its host. Only the most virulent viruses do that,” I exclaimed.

  Robinson laughed, “You are actually excited by this virus bullshit, aren’t you, Doc?” he asked derisively.

  “I suppose I am,” I replied. “Viruses can cause animals to act in a manner completely alien to their instincts. They can take over a host, and force that host to perform actions harmful or even deadly to it, in order to propagate the virus.”

  I jumped when Keyes tapped me on the shoulder. “Dr. Barry, I still don’t understand why we had to risk coming here,” she stated. “Why didn’t the CDC or the military handle this?”

  “I think they consider the virus too dangerous to bring into the United States,” I answered.

  “They tried,” Capt. Christopher added.

  Everyone turned to look at him. “The Army rounded up a couple of infected civilians and tried to airlift them back to Atlanta. They only got half way home before the flight crew caught the virus. Somehow it got through their protective gear.”

  The captain looked at me. “They didn’t take the ACS Intel seriously. The commanding officer did his duty and reported that the crew was infected. The Air Force shot the plane down over the Atlantic.”

  Everyone was silent for a moment. “The President decided that it was too dangerous to bring the virus into the continental United States,” the captain added. “It was the right decision. That’s why we’re here,” he pointed out.

  “Why are you here, Doctor?” Keyes asked.

  “Apparently I’m the most qualified expert on cellular necrosis in the entire world,” I explained with a shrug.

  “Actually, Dr. Barry is the best shot we have at beating the virus,” Capt. Christopher interjected.

  “Yes, you see,” I explained, “very few medical researchers specialize in necrosis.”

  “Huh, lucky break for you, hey, Doc?” Blythe quipped.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I won the lottery. Since I am the most qualified medical investigator remaining, I decided to volunteer.” I looked at the captain. He chuckled quietly, but didn’t contradict me.

  “I’m assuming you gentlemen also volunteered out of altruistic sentiments?” I queried.

  “What did the nerd just say?” Robinson asked.

  Keyes shook her head and explained. “He asked if you volunteered to save the world.”

  “Hell no! I didn’t volunteer for anything,” Robinson laughed. “I negotiated a million dollar contract to protect your narrow ass, prepaid into a Swiss bank account.”

  “Same here,” Blythe added. “We just have to live long enough to collect it.”

  I looked at Keyes. “What about you?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I was offered a field upgrade of three pay levels and a promotion to a senior communications officer slot at the Pentagon,” she dissembled. “Normally, I would have to wait six years for that position. They offered you two a million dollars each for this trip?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Just another mercenary, huh, Keyes?” Robinson interjected.

  She looked around, “Yea, I guess so.”

  “And you, Capt. Christopher?” I asked. “What’s your story?”

  “I have my orders,” he replied curtly. He didn’t elaborate further.

  “What about Dyson?” I pressed.

  The captain looked at the sergeant, who was far ahead on point. “Sgt. Dyson assaulted his commanding officer, and was serving twenty-five years in Leavenworth when all this started. He was offered the opportunity to serve under my command on this mission, due to his skills as a sniper, or finish his sentence in prison. He really likes to shoot people.” With that the captain walked away.

  “Is story hour over?” Robinson asked.

  “I suppose so,” I replied.

  TO THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF - CODE RED COMMUNIQUE

  CONTACT LOST WITH BRAVO COMPANY

  LAST RADIO TRANSMISSION INDICATES BRAVOS POSITION OVERRUN BY ACTIVE ACS VICTIMS

  SATILLITE SURVELANCE CONFIRMS CIA ANALYSIS THAT ALL PERSONNEL ARE KIA

  AWAITING FURTHER ORDERS

  REPORT ENDS

  Chapter 4

  2:08 p.m. Zulu

  Village of Kilae

  Central Africa

  We trudged across country the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon before the captain brought everyone to a halt. I gratefully collapsed into the grass, and shrugged out of my pack. I gulped down some of the warm water from my canteen.

  Sgt. Dyson had stopped to allow us to catch up. He signaled for the captain to join him on point. He and the captain were well ahead, looking through binoculars at something just beyond us.

  Keyes removed her pack, and sat down beside me. I guess I looked pretty rough. “How are you holding up, Doc?” she asked.

  I was actually struggling, but I didn’t want the others to know that. “I’m fine,” I lied. “This is awesome.” I waved a fly away from my face. I had been doing that all afternoon. I pulled a power bar out of my pack and slowly ate it. I seriously doubted there was enough power in it to get me through the day.

  Keyes didn’t seem to be suffering too badly. She was sweaty, but she still looked fresh enough. Of course, she was fifteen years younger than me.

  Capt. Christopher and Sgt. Dyson walked back and squatted down beside us. The captain motioned the mercenaries in.

  “We’ve got a situation up ahead,” the captain explained.

  “Trouble?” Robinson asked.

  “Refugees,” the captain replied.

&nbs
p; We all stood up. With Dyson’s help I struggled back into my backpack.

  We walked forward until we all could see what lay ahead. Just beyond a small rise was a road that ran to the east, away from the town of Kilae. The road was packed with refugees, all moving away from the town, which was immediately to our south. It didn’t look like much from here, but I was glad to see any sign of civilization.

  The captain did not look happy. “The virus must have spread faster than the computer models anticipated,” he offered.

  “It’s the roads, Captain,” Keyes suggested.

  “Damn,” he spat. “We have to go in. I don’t like it, but this is our best chance to get some firsthand information.”

  “This could get hairy really fast if the locals aren’t happy to see us,” Blythe warned.

  “I know,” the captain replied. “Everyone stay tight. Weapons slung. Hopefully they’ll realize we are here to help. AVRs on people.”

  We walked slowly down to the road. Dyson and Blythe walked slightly ahead, their hands open and empty.

  The refugees didn’t seem to care that we were there. They streamed past in a relentless line of humanity. Many wore ragged strips of cloth wound around their faces, and most seemed very sick. They shambled past, stooped over, many were obviously in distress, coughing, moaning and crying.

  We stopped at the edge of the road. Keyes began to shoot video. Blythe spoke to the passing people, but no one stopped or seemed to hear him. Finally, Sgt. Dyson stepped into the stream of refugees and steered a tottering older man to the side by his arm.

  The man seemed listless, his eyes were glazed and he didn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings. Blythe shook him gently and questioned him in French and broken Bantu.

  I examined him while Blythe held him upright. The man was obviously running a high fever. His pulse was very rapid. I immediately noticed that his pupils were dilated. In the bright sunlight they should have been fully constricted. I pointed this out to the others. This indicated brain damage, quite possibly serious. I was amazed the man was still able to walk, without immediate care he was on the verge of death.

  Finally, the old man seemed to regain focus for a moment, he replied to Blythe’s repeated questions in a language I had never heard before. He pointed feebly back towards the town and struggled to escape.

  “Let him go,” the captain commanded. Blythe released him.

  The old man stumbled back into the road, and wandered away.

  I sprayed my hands with the disinfecting foam and tossed the canister to Blythe. He did the same.

  “What did he say?” Keyes asked.

  “He said not to go into the town. He said it is full of the living dead,” Blythe replied.

  “Are you sure that is what he said?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Blythe answered. “I’m pretty damn sure.”

  “He probably meant the town is full of sick people, like him,” I suggested. “He was already dead; he just didn’t know it yet. Hell, all of these people are going to die and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. As far as I can tell, they all have the virus.”

  “We need to go in and verify it one way or the other,” the captain decided.

  We walked against the flow of humanity, off to one side of the road, towards Kilae. We immediately began to find corpses.

  The broken bodies of those who had died lay scattered in the road, like discarded dolls. The refugees walked around them, no attempt was made to help anyone who had collapsed.

  Keyes took photos as I stopped to examine a fresh victim. Sgt. Dyson helped me drag him out of the road.

  The man was in his early twenties, and had no obvious wounds. His pupils were fully blown open, and his eyes had glazed slightly. His skin was very dry, and still extremely warm. I realized he must have just died, perhaps a moment before we came upon him. His tongue was swollen, and protruded slightly through his thick lips. I closed his eyes and pulled his dirty scarf up over his face.

  “If the local authorities will allow it, I need to do a series of autopsies,” I said.

  “There may not be any local authorities left, Doctor,” the captain pointed out. “Let’s go.”

  As we approached the town the ratio of corpses to refugees increased until the road was occupied by only the dead. The town of Kilae lay deserted before us, devoid of all signs of life. We entered cautiously.

  The road turned into a crooked lane that wound between slat board huts and mud brick walls.

  As we advanced further into the town the number of bodies diminished. We passed one last corpse and emerged into a crude town square.

  It formed an intersection with three other roads that lead off to the compass points. Debris of all sorts lay heaped around a common well. This had obviously been a medical staging point at one time, as stretchers and medical supplies lay scattered about. There were fresh bloodstains on the cobblestones, but no corpses to be seen.

  “Hello!” I yelled. “Is anyone here?” Everyone jumped.

  “Damn it, Doc, don’t do that!” the captain growled.

  A low moan echoed up the lane from our left and a man limped into the square, holding his head in his hands.

  “We’ve got a survivor!” I yelled. I immediately moved to assist him.

  With Blythe’s help I moved him to the well and propped him against the stone wall. I checked his vitals. He had the same temperature, rapid heartbeat, and blown pupils as the other victims. His breathing was very ragged and labored.

  “Doc, you’re wasting your time,” the captain offered, shaking his head.

  “If I can stabilize him we may be able to talk to him,” I suggested.

  “Give me a perimeter,” the captain ordered.

  Robinson, Blythe and Dyson each moved down a lane away from the square, and stood watching the road before them.

  I peeled the sweat stained, stinking rags from the man’s torso, and dumped bucket after bucket of well water over his head. I had to lower his core temperature very fast if he was to survive. The man stiffened with shock as the cold water hit him. He began to go into convulsions.

  “Shit, I’m losing him!” I shouted. I frantically dug into my medical kit and pulled out an adrenaline syringe. I stabbed it into the man’s heart, and depressed the plunger. The man jerked violently, then subsided. I felt for a pulse, it was still there, barely. I laid my hand on his forehead; he was much cooler.

  “Captain, I got multiple civilians headed this way!” Dyson yelled back to the square.

  “Same here, sir!” Blythe echoed.

  I could hear both men screaming for the approaching civilians to stop.

  “Doctor, we have a situation here,” the captain suggested.

  “I’ve almost got this man stabilized,” I shot back. “I can save him.”

  “I’ve got multiple targets!” Robinson bellowed. “They don’t look friendly.”

  “Captain, something is wrong with these people!” Blythe shouted.

  “No shit, Sherlock!” I yelled back. “They’re sick! Help me rig up a stretcher, Captain, and we can take this man with us.”

  “Cap, they’re almost on me!” Dyson yelled.

  Keyes screamed bloody murder.

  I involuntarily jerked my head around and looked behind me. The lane behind us was filled with the victims of the virus. They staggered forward, their arms outstretched for help, moaning pitifully. Before my horrified eyes Capt. Christopher snatched out his Beretta and shot the closest victim, a frail old woman, three times through the heart.

  “What are you doing?” I screamed, dragging his gun down. “You just shot an unarmed woman!”

  The captain snatched his gun away from me. “Look you idiot!” he demanded.

  He pointed at the old woman. She was slowly sitting upright. The bullet wounds in her chest were not bleeding.

  “Are we shooting?” yelled Blythe. “Permission to engage?” he pleaded.

  Dyson sprinted back into the square, his sub-machin
egun held before him.

  The sound of automatic gunfire erupted from Robinson’s position. He slowly backed into the square, firing as he retreated.

  The old woman regained her feet and slowly approached us. I could clearly see now that her eyes were completely milked over, the corneas glazed with death. The other victims were close behind her; I could see now that they too were dead.

  “Do you believe in ACS now, Doc?” the captain shouted. He fired a round at point blank range into the old woman’s head.

  The top of her skull exploded, and she went down, a quivering heap on the cobblestones.

  “Permission to fire!” Capt. Christopher shouted, jerking up his KGP-9.

  All four men opened up with their sub-machine guns; the square erupted into a bloody massacre as the cadavers stumbled forward into the barrage of bullets.

  The captain quickly cleared the lane behind us, and ordered the other men to retreat, one by one. I attempted to pull the man I had saved away from the carnage. The captain yanked me loose and pushed me down the lane.

  “Leave him!” He ordered.

  The cadavers filled the road behind us as we retreated. The captain led the way out, shooting each corpse that tried to block our escape in the head.

  The other three men worked in pairs, two men firing back into the approaching mob while one reloaded. Slowly, we retreated to the outskirts of the town as more and more cadavers filled the streets behind us.

  The captain stopped us as we reached the last pair of buildings along the lane.

  Dyson, Blythe and Robinson fired their machine guns into the mass of approaching cadavers. The captain reloaded his KGP-9, and opened fire. Keyes and I joined in with our pistols. The roar of the guns in the closed street was deafening. The mercenaries emptied magazine after magazine into the cadavers. Keyes and I fired until almost all our ammunition was gone. The breach of my pistol locked open as I fired my last round. I lowered my smoking pistol and looked at the carnage in total amazement.