Recovery: V Plague Book 8 (12 page)

It took them
every bit of ninety minutes to make the journey from the Naval Air Station to
the entrance into the ship canal.  The ride had been brutal as Stag pushed the
RIB to the limit of its capabilities in the rough weather.  Between the rain
and the drenching they received every time a wave crashed over the bow the men
were soaked to the skin, cold and miserable.

The SEALs
endured it with stoicism but Dr. Kanger had nearly freaked out when they exited
the harbor.  He had begun screaming, looking around in a wild eyed panic and
trying to break free from the bonds on his wrists and the harness securing him
to his seat.  When it was obvious he wasn’t going to calm down the SEAL sitting
next to him withdrew a morphine syrette from his med kit and jammed it into the
Doctor’s thigh.  Within moments Kanger calmed as the opiate took effect.

The ship
canal was well sheltered and where the open seas of Puget Sound had been
violent, the protected channel was almost calm.  Stag cut their speed as they
approached the locks, steering to the side so the SEALs could disembark.  They
were out of the boat in a flash, running through the rain towards a large
building that housed the equipment that controlled all of the functions of the lock
system.

Reversing
the engines, Stag backed a hundred yards from the gate and shifted into
neutral.  A few minutes later the giant steel plates, angled slightly into the
lock, began to open.  There were two sections, meeting in the middle, and as they
parted water began sluicing between the two halves. 

The calm
surface of the canal roiled and a wave rushed towards the RIB, passing under
the hull just moments after the gates opened.  The boat bobbed up and down but
Stag knew all the energy of the released water was below the surface and
wouldn’t create any problems for him.

The water
level inside the lock equalized quickly with the salt-water side of the canal
and he didn’t wait for the gates to open any farther.  Putting the boat in gear
he fed in throttle and steered between them, going back into neutral as he was
approaching the entrance and letting momentum carry him the rest of the way in.

The RIB
drifted to a stop at the midpoint of the one hundred and fifty foot space. 
Turning his head he watched as the gate slowly closed, knowing the SEALs were
cranking like hell to get it to move that fast.  It shut with a quiet thud and
he looked up when Lieutenant Sam stepped to the edge on his right.

“The lake’s
a lot higher than we expected,” he said.  “Maybe the storm, but you’d better
take a look.”

He kicked a
rope ladder over the edge as Stag maneuvered the boat close enough to reach
it.  Sparing a glance at his passenger, who was still drugged to his eyeballs,
he made a line fast to a rung of the ladder and climbed easily up to ground
level.  Sam had already moved to the lakeside gate and was staring to the east,
waiting for him.

Looking
around he saw two of the SEALs on the roof of the control building, keeping
watch.  The third was nowhere to be seen and was probably the one assigned to
operate the gate mechanisms.  Striding forward he came to a stop next to the
young officer and cursed.

The lake was
a lot higher than when he’d made his scouting run.  It had been raining like
hell for several days and he guessed there was a lot of runoff adding to the
volume.  Checking the markers painted on the walls of the lock he wasn’t happy
to see the water level difference was well over three feet.  A quick bit of
math in his head and he cursed again.  There was going to be over a million
pounds of water that would come surging in to the closed lock when the gate
opened.

“Can the
boat take it?”  Sam asked.

Before Stag
could answer there was the sound of several suppressed rifle shots and they
both snapped their heads around.  One of the SEALs on the roof had shot three
females that had charged out of the trees less than fifty yards from where they
were standing.

“We’re going
to try,” Stag said.  “Get our passenger out of the RIB in case things go bad. 
I’m going to go see what can be done about opening that gate a few inches at a
time to let the water in slowly.”

Sam nodded,
no longer worried about who was the officer and who wasn’t.  He was just
focused on the mission.

Stag jogged
to the building, stepping through the door and heading to where the SEAL that
had injected Kanger with morphine was standing.  He was between two very large
iron wheels.  They were mounted horizontally on top of massive iron rods and
labeled as “salt” and “fresh” to indicate which gate they controlled.

“What’s
up?”  The SEAL asked as Stag approached.

“Lake’s
higher than expected.  Too much water going to come in.  You just opened the
salt side.  Did it feel like you could have gone slow and only opened the gate
a few inches at a time?”

“No way.  I
didn’t even have to turn the wheel except to close it.  The weight of the water
forced it open as soon as I released the brake.”  He pointed down at where the
iron rod connected to the wheel disappeared into the concrete floor.  The
bottom six inches of each rod was a giant gear with thick teeth and a heavy
piece of spring-loaded iron blocked it from moving.  “No way anyone is
controlling that by hand.  The wheel is spinning so fast it would take your arm
off if you tried.”

“Well, fuck
me.  That ain’t good,” Stag said, looking out the window when he heard a scream
and the faint sound of more suppressed rifle fire.  “Hang on.”

He went over
to the door and looked out just as Lieutenant Sam emerged from the lock,
climbing the rope ladder with Kanger hanging on his back. 

“Open the
fresh side,” he said.  There was no point in thinking about it any more. 
Either the boat would survive and they’d all motor across the lake or it
wouldn’t and they had a long, wet walk ahead of them.

There was a
loud clang as the SEAL released the brake and the gate began opening quickly
under the pressure of the lake.  The wheel spun crazily, a high-pitched groan
starting up from deep in the concrete floor.

Blue lake
water rushed into the lock and Stag ran outside to stand next to the Lieutenant
and watch the show.  The water spilling through the swiftly opening gate struck
the calm surface in the lock hard enough to send a cloud of mist into the rain-saturated
air.  A swell instantly appeared just inside the gate and raced down the lock. 
The top of the wave was higher than the bow of the RIB, breaking over it and
washing the length of the small boat.

The RIB,
basically unsinkable, bobbed like a cork and shed the water but it was shoved
hard enough to snap the line secured to the rope ladder.  Free to move, it was
carried back and slammed into the salt water gate hard enough for Stag to feel
the impact in his feet. 

He could
tell from where he stood that the hull had broken.  The boat would still float
because of the inflated tubes that ran along either side, but it was no longer
seaworthy.

“Guess we’re
finding a new ride,” he said to Sam.

They had set
off in a diamond formation, the four SEALs creating a bubble around Stag and
Kanger.  The Doctor was still drugged and unsteady on his feet so Stag had to
put his shoulders under one of Kanger’s arms and support him as they moved.

The area was
open, with good sight lines, and the SEALs were regularly engaging females that
charged at them.  Some of them screamed but most sprinted silently. 
Fortunately they didn’t have to go far before reaching a small marina.  A few
boats were still tied up to the weathered dock and it didn’t take Stag long to
get one started.

It was half
the size of the RIB but they squeezed in and sailed out into the open lake, the
boat’s asthmatic motor wheezing as it battled the wind and small waves.  Their
destination, The Allen Institute for Cell Science, was on the southern shore
and they arrived in fifteen minutes.

Lieutenant
Sam had called ahead to the rest of his team who was securing the facility and
four of them met the boat at a small dock.  Dead infected, both male and
female, were scattered across the sloping lawn that led down from a modern
looking four-story building.  They had carried Kanger up the slope and dumped
him on the couch in a well-appointed office to sleep off the morphine.

“What do you
need, Lieutenant?”  Kanger’s voice came over the intercom speaker mounted above
the sealed glass window.

“There’s a
Colonel Crawford that want’s to speak with you,” he answered.

“He’s
here?”  Kanger said, surprised.

“No, sir. 
Radio relay from Pearl Harbor.  I don’t know where he is.”

“What does
he need?  It will take me ten minutes to decontaminate and get out of here.” 
Kanger still hadn’t forgiven the team for what he termed “kidnapping” him, then
tasering him to get him on the boat and drugging him to keep him on it.  The
irritation in his voice was clear.

“He says he
has a man who might be immune,” Sam said after speaking on the phone that was
relayed through the satellite link on the roof of the building.

Rachel
stared at the huge wolf, aiming the flare gun at it.  She kept her eyes locked
on the animal as she fumbled around Bill’s unmoving form, searching for the
pistol by feel with her free hand.  Finding it, she dropped the flare and aimed
the weapon up the slope using both hands like John had taught her.

The wolf
stood unmoving, watching her, then turned and disappeared over the backside of
the crest.  Rachel’s heart was pounding and she was having a hard time breathing
she was so afraid.  She recognized that the animal was spawning a fear in her
that she didn’t experience when around the infected.

Yes, she was
afraid of the infected.  Respected how quickly they could kill her, but for
some reason there was a primal terror of the canine predator buried deep inside
her and it had roared to the surface the first time she’d seen the animal. 
Hands shaking, she tried to calm her breathing. 

She knew
that if it had charged the odds of her stopping it with the pistol were slim at
best.  Maybe John, who could place his shots where he wanted them, but she’d be
lucky to even strike the target let alone find a vital area that would bring
the big wolf down before it tore her open.

Giving it
several minutes she checked all around to make sure it wasn’t sneaking up
behind her, frequently turning her head to look at the exposed ridge.  She
didn’t think for a moment that it had gone away.  It had been hurt by the flare
and was being cautious but that probably also made it even more dangerous.  She
didn’t think it would approach close enough again for her to take a chance on
trying a shot unless it was attacking.

The snow was
picking up, wind driving it almost horizontally, and once she convinced herself
that an attack wasn’t imminent she turned her attention back to Bill.  Even
though they were partially sheltered underneath the trees, snow was already
piling up on top of him.  They needed to move.  Needed to get to the lake and
get a fire going before they both froze to death.

But Bill was
out from the morphine and the lake was at least a mile away at the bottom of a
very long slope.  She could start a fire where they were, but they both needed
water and with the wolf stalking them there was no way she could leave an
unconscious man while she went to the lake. 

And even if
she could safely leave him she wasn’t sure how easy it would be to find him
again.  Rachel was a city girl and before the attacks had hardly spent any time
away from civilization.  Leaving the injured pilot behind wasn’t an option. 
But how to get him down the slope?

Thinking,
Rachel fluffed the snow out of her thick hair and put it into a tight braid,
hoping to keep it as dry as possible.  She was shivering from the cold and knew
that if she got wet it would accelerate the onset of hypothermia.  Looking
around in frustration her eyes stopped when she saw the remnants of Bill’s
parachute lying on the ground.

Hers was
still on her back and she quickly shrugged out of it and set it down in front
of her.  Pulling the tough nylon canopy free she spread it out on the rough
ground, making sure the lines that secured it to the harness weren’t tangled. 
Moving on her knees she supported Bill’s broken leg as much as possible and
rolled him over onto the edge of the canopy.

Rachel
rolled him three more times until he was on his back in roughly the middle of
the expanse of white fabric.  Standing, she tossed the flare gun onto the
canopy with Bill and looked around for the wolf, but it was snowing heavier and
she couldn’t see more than thirty yards.  The crest above her, where she’d last
seen the animal, was now only faintly visible.

Unzipping a
pocket on her flight suit she shoved his pistol in then lifted and shrugged
into the empty parachute pack.  She adjusted the straps and walked down the
slope until the lines connecting her to the canopy Bill rested on went taut. 
Taking a breath she pulled, feeling the smooth nylon begin to slide over the
carpet of pine needles.

She had to tilt
her body forward to keep moving with the pilot’s weight holding her back.  At
first it had felt so unnatural to lean downhill that she’d hardly made any
progress, but as she grew more comfortable that she wouldn’t fall with the drag
of the man’s body resisting she was able to start covering some ground.

Despite the
assist from gravity the going was slow and arduous.  Frequently the canopy or
one of its lines would snag on a tree root or rock and she’d have to stop and
move to where it was hung up and work the material free. 

The slope
was steep in places, nearly flat in others.  Where it was steep she had the
problem of preventing Bill’s body from building too much momentum and sliding
uncontrollably.  Where it was almost flat it took every ounce of her waning
strength and determination to keep making forward progress.

After an
hour she stopped on one of the flatter areas, looking ahead through the trees. 
The blue lake was barely visible, not looking that much closer than it had when
she’d first started walking.  Turning to look up the slope she froze when a
ghostly figure crossed her vision.  The wolf was back.

Rachel
grabbed for the pistol but it was snagged on the lining of her pocket.  Using
two hands she got it loose, glad she hadn’t needed to bring it out in an instant. 
As she’d struggled with freeing the weapon she’d tracked the wolf with her
eyes.  It was moving across her track, pausing to look at her before
disappearing into the trees and snow.

Why was it
holding back?  She was vulnerable as she dragged the unconscious pilot down the
hill.  It could come up behind her, leap and take her to the ground before she
even knew it was there.  Had she frightened it enough with the flare gun that
it was trying to work up the courage to strike?

She didn’t
think so.  She suspected it was hurting from the injuries the flare had caused
and was just watching and waiting for what it felt was the right moment.  Maybe
it had encountered man before and at least had respect, if not fear, for
humans.  Or maybe it was just behaving like a wolf.

Keeping the
weapon in her hand, Rachel turned and resumed pulling the makeshift litter.  It
was snowing harder but as she’d progressed deeper into the valley the wind had
eased.  Whether from a slackening of the storm or because of the protection of
the terrain, she couldn’t tell.

She struggled
on for another half hour without seeing the wolf again, frequently looking over
each shoulder.  The lake was steadily growing larger in her limited field of
view through the trees to her front, but her pace was so slow because of the
load she was pulling it seemed to be taking forever.

Moving down
the steepest slope she had encountered so far, Rachel’s foot slipped on a
snow-covered rock.  She tried to recover but couldn’t stop the momentum of
Bill’s inert form.  Falling to the ground she tumbled down the slope, getting
tangled in the parachute lines as it rolled with her.

Finally
coming to a stop at the bottom of the slope she lay unmoving for a moment,
evaluating her body for injuries.  Other than a few bruises and a sore hip, she
was OK.  Starting to unwrap the lines that were constricting her legs, Rachel’s
head snapped around when she heard a deep growl.

The wolf was
less than ten yards away, slightly upslope, standing next to a tree.  Lips
curled back to expose yellowed fangs it lowered its head and took a small step
forward.  Rachel froze for a moment then grabbed for the pistol that had fallen
into the snow when she’d tumbled.  It wasn’t far, but when her body started to
shift as she stretched out to reach it the parachute lines brought her up
short.

Sparing a
glance at the wolf she kicked and lunged, trying to gain the extra inches she
needed as it took another, faster step in preparation to leap.  Scooping up the
pistol Rachel rolled and pulled the trigger as the muzzle came up in the
general direction of the animal.

The shot was
loud in the snow-quieted woods and still without aiming Rachel pulled the
trigger a second time.  She’d paid attention to one of John’s lessons.  If you
can’t get on target sometimes it’s best to put some rounds downrange anyway. 
You might get lucky and get a hit or scare off your attacker.

She knew she’d
never scare off an infected but when the second round struck a tree only inches
from the wolf’s head it turned and streaked away, flowing over the ground
without any apparent effort.  Not wasting the precious time she’d just earned,
Rachel fought her way free of the tangle and with renewed energy born of fear
resumed her journey down the slope.

Exhausted
and damp with sweat, she came to a stop on a flat area of the forest floor an
hour later.  The lake was five feet in front of her, the ground sloping so
gently into the water that there wasn’t a bank and hardly even a discernible
shoreline.  Tall trees grew right to the water’s edge and sparse grass stuck up
through the bed of pine needles she was standing on.

After a slow
and thorough scan for the wolf she released the parachute pack and let it drop
to the ground behind her.  Moving forward and falling to her knees she leaned
out over the clear lake.  Scooping with her hands she lifted water to her
mouth, concerned that her fingers were so cold they didn’t even register
contact with the frigid water.

Between
every drink Rachel checked over each shoulder, but as far as she could tell the
wolf had been scared away by the gunshots.  At least that’s what she told
herself to keep from panicking.  She knew that in reality it was very likely
still close, watching and waiting for an opportunity.  And as the clouds grew
thicker and the snow came down harder she knew it was going to be a very dark
night that would favor the predator.