Patient Zero (16 page)

Baltimore, Maryland / Tuesday, June 30; 3:36 P.M.

“OKAY,” I SAID, “so we danced a bit earlier. Is anyone too damaged to train? More to the point, is anyone too banged up to go into combat today or tomorrow if it comes to it?”

“Well      my nuts still hurt,” Ollie said, then added, “sir. But I can pull a trigger.”

“I’m good,” Bunny said. He tossed the ice pack onto the floor beside the mats.

Skip winced. “Nuts for me, too, sir. I think they’re up in my chest cavity somewhere.”

“They’ll drop when you hit puberty,” Bunny said under his breath. He looked at me. “Sir.”

“Skip the ‘sir’ shit unless we’re not alone. It’s already getting old.”

“I can fight,” Skip said.

I nodded to First Sergeant Sims. “What about you, Top? Any damage?”

“Just to my pride. Never been blindsided before.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Church wants Echo Team to be operationally ready to carry out an urban infiltration sometime in the next day or two. The last two combat teams were KIA by these walkers. I haven’t seen the tapes yet, but they tell me those guys were at full complement and fully trained, but because of the unknown nature of the enemy at the time they became confused, and that caused hesitation, which proved disastrous. The five of us are supposed to be the new bulldogs in the junkyard. Sounds great, sounds very heroic—but on a practical level I’ve never led a team before.”

“As pep talks go, coach,” Bunny said, “this one kinda blows.”

I ignored him. “But what I
have
done is train fighters. That I know I can do. So, because I’m the big dog I get to teach you four to fight the Joe Ledger way.”

So far the Joe Ledger way had involved them getting their asses handed to them, so they weren’t all that eager to rush in. Not a “rah team” moment.

“How exactly are we supposed to kill these walker things?” Skip asked. “They, er, being dead and all.”

“Try not to get bitten, son,” Bunny said. “That’s a start.”

“In the absence of further info from the medical team we’ll proceed on the assumption that the spine and/or brain stem is the key: damage that and you pull the plug on these things. I kicked the living shit out of the first one—Javad—and I might as well have been shaking his hand; but then I broke his neck and he went right down. Seems reasonable that there’s activity in the brain stem area, so for us the new sweet spot is the spine.”

“Let me ask something,” Skip said. “The way you dropped Colonel Hanley      don’t you think that was a little harsh?”

“Church said something that had me scared and pissed off.” I told them about Rudy sitting there with a gun to his head.

“She-e-e-it,” Top said, stretching it out to about six syllables.

“That’s not right,” Skip said.

“Maybe not,” I admitted, “but it put me in a zero-bullshit frame of mind. I don’t play well with others when they get between me and what I want.”

“Yeah,” said Bunny, “I feel you.”

“Even so,” Skip said, “it reduced our operational efficiency by one man.”

Top answered that before I could. “No it didn’t. Hanley was a loudmouth and a showboat. He got mad and focused his anger on the cap’n as if he was the problem at hand. A man thinking with his heart ’stead of his head has stepped out of training. He’d get us all killed.”

“Yeah,” Bunny agreed, “the mission always comes first. Don’t they teach you that in the navy?”

Skip shot him the finger, but he was grinning.

The DMS Warehouse, Baltimore / 3:44 P.M.

THE FOUR OF them went to change out of civvies into the nondescript black BDUs that one of Church’s people supplied—correct sizes, too, even for Bunny. I was about to head off to the bathroom to swap out of my clothes when I saw Rudy standing by the row of chairs, an armed guard by his side. I walked over to Rudy and we shook hands, then gave each other a tight hug. I looked at the guard. “Step off.”

He moved exactly six feet away and stared a hole through the middle distance.

I punched Rudy lightly on the shoulder. “You okay, man?”

“Little scared, Joe, but okay.” He glanced covertly at the guard and lowered his voice. “I’ve spent the last few minutes talking to your Mr. Church. He’s      ” He fished for an adjective that probably didn’t exist.

“Yeah, he is.”

“So, you’re
Captain
Ledger now. Impressive.”

“Ridiculous, too.”

He lowered his voice another notch. “Church took me on a quick tour. This is not some fly-by-night operation. This is millions of taxpayer dollars here.”

“Mm. I still don’t know anything about how it runs. I’ve only seen two commanding officers—Church and this woman, Major Grace Courtland. Have you met her?”

Rudy brightened. “Oh yes. She’s very interesting.”

“Is that the shrink talking or the wolf in shrink’s clothing?”

“A little of both. If I was crass I’d make a joke about wanting to get her on my couch.”

“But of course you’re not crass.”

“Of course not.” He looked around the room. “How do you feel about all this?”

“Borderline freaked. You?”

“Oh, I’m well over the border into total freakout. Luckily I have years of practice at a professional appearance of calm tranquility. Inside I’m a mess.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His smile looked frozen into place. “Church told me about St. Michael’s and about that village in Afghanistan.”

I nodded, and for a moment I had this weird feeling that we were standing there surrounded by ghosts.

“And now you’re working for them,” Rudy said.

“Working for them maybe isn’t the right way to say it. It’s more like we’re both working against the same enemy.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

“Something like that.”

“Church said that you might be leading a small team against these terrorists. Why not send the entire army, navy, and marine corps all at once?”

I shook my head. “The more feet on the ground the bigger the risk of uncontrollable contamination. A small team wouldn’t get in each other’s way; there would be fewer instances where a soldier would be faced with the choice of whether to shoot an infected comrade. It simplifies things. And      if worse comes to worst and the infection has to be contained like it was at St. Michael’s then there are fewer overall losses of assets.”

“ ‘Assets’?” Rudy echoed.

“People.”

“
Dios mio.
How do you
know
all this?”

“It’s just common sense,” I said.

“No,” he said, “it’s not. I wouldn’t have thought of that. Most people wouldn’t.”

“A fighter would.”

“You mean a warrior,” said Rudy.

I nodded.

Rudy gave me a strange look. Behind him my four team members came filing in dressed in black BDUs. Rudy turned and watched as they walked over to the training area. “They look like tough men.”

“They are.”

He turned back to me. “I hope they’re not so tough that they’re hardened, Joe. We’re not just fighting against something      we’re fighting
for
something, and it would be a shame to destroy the very thing you’re fighting to preserve.”

“I know.”

“I hope you do.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better go. Mr. Church is going to introduce me to the research teams. I think he’s trying to recruit me, too.”

“Ha! That’ll be the day.”

But Rudy gave me a funny look before he turned and headed back into the offices with the guard a half step behind him, rifle at port arms. I watched them until they passed through the far doorway.

“Shit,” I murmured. I walked over to the team and had just opened my mouth to explain the first drill I wanted them to do, but I never got the chance as behind us a door banged open and Sergeant Gus Dietrich came pelting into the room.

“Captain Ledger! Mr. Church wants you immediately.”

“For what?” I asked as Dietrich skidded to a halt.

Dietrich hesitated for a fraction of a second, the new chain of command probably still uncertain in his head. He made his decision quickly, though. “Surveillance teams found the missing truck. We think we found the third cell.”

“Where?”

“Delaware. He wants you to hit it.”

“When?”

“Now,” said a voice, and I wheeled to see Church and Major Courtland striding across the floor. “Training time’s over,” he said. “Echo Team is wheels up in thirty.”

Claymont, Delaware / Tuesday, June 30; 6:18 P.M.

FOUR HOURS AGO I was buying coffee for Rudy at a Starbucks near the Baltimore aquarium and now I was ankle deep in shit and sewer water in a tunnel under Claymont, Delaware. Life just gets better and better. I was even wearing my street shoes, too. Once we’d gotten the go order there was no time to find boots my size or change into fatigue pants.

We all wore Kevlar chest protectors, limb pads, gun belts, and tactical helmets and night-vision goggles. We had enough weapons to start a small war, which was pretty much the plan.

We’d taken a chopper from Baltimore and offloaded in the parking lot of an abandoned elementary school near Route 13 near Bellevue State Park. Not a lot of foot traffic out that way. From there we’d piled into the back of a fake UPS van borrowed from the local vice squad’s surveillance team and they drove us around behind a liquor warehouse up the street from Selby’s Fine Meats. We used the warehouse’s cellar to access the storm drains and from there into the main sewer line that was supposed to have a vent in the meatpacking plant. My handheld GPS tracker pointed the way.

Ollie Brown was on point and I liked the smooth way he moved, making very little noise despite the water; he checked his corners and kept his eyes pointing in the same direction as his gun sights. The big guy, Bunny, was our cover man, tailing us with a M1014 combat shotgun that looked like a toy in his hands, and in the bad light he looked like a hulking cave troll as he walked bent over, filling the tunnel. I was second in the string, with Top Sims and Skip Tyler behind me. I didn’t have a silencer for my .45 so Sergeant Dietrich had loaned me a Beretta M9 with a Trinity sound suppressor and four extra magazines. I didn’t have a long gun, though everyone else did; handguns were always my thing.

We moved like ghosts, no chatter, just a line of men moving through shadows to face monsters. It was unreal, I felt like I was in a video game. Shame real life doesn’t have a reset button.

In the chopper we’d sketched out what plans we could. “Here’s the skinny,” I said as we nodded our heads together over a map in the narrow confines of the chopper’s cabin. “Church has a en route to give us a thermal scan of the place, but that’s about as much intel as we have. He’s also arranging to have phone lines cut and Major Courtland said that they’ll get a presidential order allowing them to disrupt all cell reception in the area. We don’t want one of the hostiles texting his buds on his
LG Chocolate.
”

“LOL,” Bunny murmured.

“We’ll come up through the sewers. We pulled up the schematics for the storm drains and there’s a big line that goes right under the plant, very nicely placed for a quiet walk-in once the lights are off. Questions?”

“Mission priorities?” asked Top.

“Mr. Church wants prisoners for interrogations. We’d all like more intel before we kick the doors on that crab plant. From all indications that’s going to be the big enchilada. The computer geeks think this meatpacking place is a storage depot for our hostiles, not a main action center.”

“Does that mean taking a bullet to give him his prisoner?” Ollie asked, his eyes hard, challenging.

“No, but don’t let it fall that way. Shoot to wound, try to disable whenever possible, but don’t get killed.”

“High on my to-do list, boss,” observed Bunny, and Skip nodded.

“What about those zombie motherfuckers?” asked Top.

“If we’re lucky the walkers will be in their containers, locked up and on ice.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“If it doesn’t have a pulse, Top, you have my permission to blow it all the way back to hell.”

They all nodded. It was the only part of the plan that they liked. I could see their point. In the annals of warfare there was a long history of men getting killed because they lacked clear intelligence. We had jack shit.

Before we boarded the chopper I said, “Look, we don’t know each other and we haven’t even had the chance to train as a team. Church is asking us to hit the ground running. Let’s do just that. None of us are green at this sort of thing, so let’s act and function like professionals. Chain of command is me, then Top. Everyone else is equal. We all watch each other’s backs as well as our own. Five of us go in, five of us come out. We all clear on that?”

“Hooah,” Top said.

“Hoo-fricking-ah,” agreed Skip.

That was half an hour ago; now we were in the sewers and as we walked I had to fight to keep my whole attention on the matter at hand. If there was ever a better definition of too much too soon I don’t want to hear it. I wondered how unsettled the others were, and how that would affect them once things got hot.

Ollie stopped, one fist raised, and we froze in place. He pointed to our ten o’clock and I saw the rusty iron ladder bolted to the wall. It was covered in moss and rat shit and it ran up into a black hole in the ceiling. Thick frigid white mist snaked down through a grille set into the concrete.

“Scope,” I whispered to Skip and he produced a fiberscope camera that was attached to the display screen of a miniature tactical video system. We clustered around and studied the screen display. It showed an empty room lined with stained metal tables. No movement except for the mist.

“Must be cold as hell up there,” Top said. He glanced at me. “Them walkers need to be kept on ice, right?”

“Let’s hope so; but even if it’s cold up there let’s not take anything for granted.”

“Skip,” I said, “up the ladder. Look for trips and traps.”

But after he was up there for a minute he quietly called down, “Clear. No electronics. Just a padlock. I need the bolt cutters.”

Bunny pulled them from his pack and handed them up. There was a sharp metallic snap and then Skip was handing down the chain in sections. That was good news as far as it went, but it still spooked me. Any time something is too easy, it isn’t.

“Go, go, go,” I hissed as one by one Echo Team climbed the ladder and took defensive positions inside the room. I went up next to last and gave the room a quick eyeball, but it really was empty, just an old meat-cutting room with roller tables and hooks on chains so that sides of beef or pork could be swung in on ceiling-mounted rails from the killing rooms, then once cut they would be rolled along the metal tables into an adjoining room for cleaning and packaging. Waste and blood was flushed down the floor gutters to the sewers. The function of the room was obvious and I don’t think any of Echo Team missed the irony of being in a room made for butchery.

The mist was ankle deep and clung to the floor, obscuring our feet. It stank of raw sewage and decay. The ambient temperature had to be right above freezing although the air was oppressively humid. There were doors on either end of the room. One led to the disused packaging shed, which was empty except for old heaps of dirty Styrofoam meat trays and rolls of plastic wrap; the other door was locked.

“I got it,” Ollie said, and as he knelt in front of it he pulled a very sweet set of professional lockpicks from his thigh pocket. It was as good a set as I’d ever seen and he handled them with practiced ease. It wasn’t the sort of thing soldiers carry; I’d have to ask him about it later.

There was a soft buzz in my ear and I held up my hand for silence. There was some static on the line but Grace Courtland’s voice was clear and strong. “Thermal scans show multiple tangos.” “Tango,” or “T,” was field code for “terrorist.”

“Count how many?”

“Clustered. Maybe twenty, maybe forty.”

“Say again.”

She repeated it and asked me to confirm reception.

“Echo One copy.”

“Alpha on deck,” she said, “local law on standby.”

“Copy that. Orders?”

“Proceed with caution.”

“Copy. Echo One out.”

I called the men over and we crouched down, heads together. “Thermal scans say that we have upward of twenty warm bodies in the building. No way to know how many walkers—their heat signatures are too low.”

I saw the news register on each man’s face. Skip looked scared, Bunny looked mad. Top’s eyes narrowed and Ollie’s face turned to stone.

“Five men in, five men out,” I reminded them.

They nodded, but I added, “This isn’t the O.K. Corral. We don’t know for sure that everyone in here is a hostile. Check your targets, no accidents, and I don’t want to hear about ‘friendly fire.’ ”

“Hooah,” they said, but without much enthusiasm.

“Now      let’s go kick some undead ass.”