Vampire's Day (Book 2): Zero Model (17 page)

62. Dawn

By three o'clock in the morning the battle had reached its climax - rockets and mines exploded almost continuously. The civilians in the bunker panicked and demanded to be let out, but there was no answer. And then from all sides motors roared, and it seemed that over the concrete roof flew hundreds of helicopters, like in Apocalypse Now. Boris heard the familiar sound of a Crocodile.

And then all was quiet, as if the war had been canceled. Machine guns fired for a long time, and mines periodically exploded, but no more helicopters roared and the shelling had stopped. Boris hugged the quietly crying girl and closed his eyes.

“Get up!”

“Where we are?”

“Natasha, get up, we need to go. The war is over, at least for now.”

The girl looked around the bunker, and her hands were shaking.

“Lord, so it was all real - I was hoping that it had been a nightmare. Let’s get out of here, I can’t breathe!”

Reeling, she climbed the stairs and reached the surface, where a quiet morning reigned. Boris stood behind her, spending some time getting used to the bright light and fresh air after the musty gloom of the trench.

“Holy shit!”

The fires had already been extinguished, but the consequences of the night battle were impressive. One of the barracks behind the runway was half destroyed, while the nearby hangar was nothing but a pile of charred metal. The air smelt of gunpowder. The refugees’ tents had survived, but the canvas walls were riddled in many places by small fragments, from shells exploding nearby.

“Lord!”

Donahue pointed to the next trench, Boris looked at the broken concrete slabs and spit on the ground. That was from the huge explosion, when he’d thought that they would be buried. As he’d suspected, the concrete slabs didn’t survive a direct hit on the neighboring shelter. Maybe someone inside had survived, but, judging by the long rows of black plastic bags at the entrance to the ruined shelter, the chance of that was very small.

“Go back to your tent!”

Boris noted the half-empty ammunition vests on the marines and bandaging on fresh wounds. He saw the scattered shells and the empty boxes for mortar mines. An armored Hummer was entangled in the break in the defense wire, and a machine gun was directed into the field, where black smoke rose over the burned cars. Looking around the field of the night battle, he can’t understand what happened. It was like something from Mad Max, and they had repulsed the attack of Humungus and his automobile horde of fighters.

“A containers again!”

A new landing container slowly descended, swaying under huge parachutes. They’d won the battle, but, as yesterday, the command was supplying them by dropping parcels from aircraft. They had no external assistance: the airfield was empty, and there were no ships in the harbor. A Hercules stood near the control tower; next to it was another aircraft that Boris hadn’t expected to see here - MI24 with strange identification marks.

So he had not been mistaken yesterday, when he heard the familiar roar of Crocodile engines. The helicopters had really come through with aid; it was most likely that the majority of burned cars in the wasteland were their work. This helicopter was apparently damaged and an emergency repair was being conducted - he could see mechanics on the runway. It was nice to see at least something familiar in this place, cut off from the rest of the world.

At that moment, Colonel was hosting the Crocodile pilot. In Latin America, an Asian mercenary flew the Russian helicopter. The pilot was about fifty, while his operator was also a long time out of flight school, Richardson thought, considering the pilot’s documents. Nguyen watched as Colonel compared the photo in the passport. Of course, he was seeing the pilot for the first time, but Nguyen knew him from photos and videos.

He had no doubt that the documents would not let him down; his Chinese comrades had made very realistic false papers, with the entry of fake names in the entire necessary database. Colonel returned a passport without question, and Richardson then thanked the pilot for his combat work, stressing that the Crocodile’s squadron had appeared in the nick of time. Then he briefly mentioned the damaged helicopter, which stood on the runway - the Crocodile would be restored as soon as possible, the mechanics were already working on it. But unfortunately they couldn’t fly immediately after the repair, because the quarantine hadn’t been lifted.

“We caught up with your commanders; they know that you have safely landed on my airfield. It has been agreed that, until further notice, you’ll be under my command – we might need your flying tank again. In the meantime, rest, and thanks again.”

Nguyen didn’t argue about this, he is well aware that he has no choice.

When the squadron was raised in the air, he thought that maybe the battle had been a grand fake, which the Americans organized for some unknown reason. But winning in a short but fierce night battle, and then landing on this military base, Nguyen was convinced of the reality of what was happening. He saw numerous destruction and fires, the hospital with dozens of wounded, many dead.

There was destruction and death everywhere and only near the mobile complex did a suspicious silence reign. He had seen this strange building on satellite images, and knew that it appeared here recently, at the same time as the epidemic outbreak started in the valley. Nguyen had no more doubts that the epidemic was real; he realized it when the enemy infantry continued to attack despite the heavy fire from ground and air. A mentally healthy person wouldn’t do this. So Mr. Lao, he thought, don’t worry - this wasn’t a coup, what was happening here was much more serious.

63
.
Risks and Opportunities

“The containers with ammunition and medicines have been delivered.”

“Just in time,” said Richardson angrily, lighting a Cuban cigar. This procedure wasn’t simple, as his fingers were trembling badly. He must get some sleep; it was his second day awake, and he’d started seeing double from the stimulants.

The commanders delivered ammunition now, when it was all over. Yesterday the infected had nearly overrun their defenses, and if not for the Crocodiles attacking, the enemy would have broken into the base territory. No, the infected were eager not to get to the base, but to the refugee camp, as had been clearly stated on the radio. Give us the civilians, that are what they had demanded. Why did they need those civilians? And what if he gave them the civilians – would the infected really retreat?

“The second batch of food for the refugees and spare parts will arrive at three o'clock.”

“How many helicopters can be restored?”

“Number 3 was shot down in yesterday's battle, and the entire crew killed – the bodies have already been evacuated. Number 1 was severely damaged during the shelling, and the mechanics say restoring it isn’t possible. Number 5 was hit by a machine gun, and the shooter seriously injured, but they managed to make an emergency landing; the helicopter will be repaired today before night. The remaining helicopters are all in order.”

So, now he had three combat-ready helicopters and three crew, with another helicopter soon to be in service. The drones had suffered small losses; their ammunition would soon be refreshed, but the pilots needed to rest, they had been on duty for thirty hours.

Yes, now they all needed to rest, at least until the evening. The infected army, close to victory, had been destroyed almost completely. Some of them managed to escape to the city, and the marines couldn’t pursue them. Not all the infected retreated; some continued to move forward no matter what, but without the mortars and rockets supporting them they couldn’t do anything, and were killed by machine guns. They wouldn’t get a second chance - they had lost nine-tenths of their force, and now would not be able stand against the Bumblebees and armored vehicles.

How many enemies had they killed yesterday? Ten to twelve thousand. How many lost? Thirty-seven of his men were killed and another forty-nine wounded. Colonel was still only counting his losses, although he knew that Bronson had also lost two of his men. And there had been civilian casualties: fifty-six people were killed in a trench. Out of two dozen wounded, three, maybe four, would die, because they couldn’t get them to the hospital. He had no morgue, so the bodies would have to be temporarily buried in a common grave. The wounded would be more difficult. They could become a major problem in the near future - the small medical center was just not ready to receive such a number of victims, particularly after the death of almost all the staff.

The quarantine mode was still in place; the commanders required them to remain in place and wait for further instructions, intending to eliminate the spread of the virus, even at the cost of the wounded, which could still be saved if rushed to the hospital.

He could hear machine guns again, as another group of infected tried to break through. They didn’t stop their attempts to get into his base; Colonel couldn’t see any sense in this. They weren’t trying to get out of the valley, and again made suicidal attacks. Palmer said that the virus caused them to attack those who aren’t infected, in a clever mechanism to accelerate the spread of infection. But she also said that they would quickly go crazy, and Colonel doubted it. They had a plan; they were well prepared and had been close to victory. He didn’t understand what they wanted.

The marines took captives, picking up some wounded and shell-shocked with great caution from among the broken cars. But they couldn’t interrogate them due to complete insanity. The prisoners weren’t allowed to attempt escape and attack the marines with their bare hands, but they weren’t fit for a meaningful conversation either, so the marines had to shoot them. He couldn’t find out who had directed the attack. And this was necessary, so that he could understand what was happening. Richardson instinctively felt that Palmer couldn’t be trusted, the red-haired bitch playing some cunning game he had to solve, with serious consequences if he didn’t manage it.

Sooner or later, this story would pop up to the surface; they couldn’t muzzle these civilians for long. And then it would be necessary to find a scapegoat, and he risked taking this place. He needed to know what was happening, so it was necessary to interrogate prisoners, those who still had their minds, those who had fled to the ruined city. But how to extract them out there? It was necessary to contact a drug lord and send him to the city, before he went to get some sleep.

64. Side effect

“I insist that the quarantine should be abolished, and we must resume air communication with the base.” Walt took a stimulant with mineral water, frowned and continued, looking at the gray expressionless eyes of the coordinator. “As soon as possible.”

The man didn’t answer immediately. Walt knew his manner was to ponder important words, and he thought he was used to it, but now the short delay caused him to suffer a bilious tide of anger.

“There is no need to rush; quarantine is reliable
.
This is our opinion.”

Another familiar habit - an answer in the plural. The coordinator didn’t consider himself a regal persona, it wasn’t a fad, and he really did express the opinion of many - those who determined the actions of Walt and his team. Those who had financed the Prometheus project. Those who owned everything.

“It will be safer to wait for the complete destruction of the infected, before resuming regular flights, Mr. Berenger. The risk is too great.”

“The risk is justified - we can’t work under such conditions. You need results, but how I will get results without Z-Model? It’s foolish to wait for the successful completion of the operation, when you have no patients on the operating table.”

“Palmer has everything she needs at the site. The mobile research complex is equipped to a high level, and you know it, Mr. Berenger, you designed it. We didn’t consider the costs, hired the best specialists, and now rightly expect that they will cope with their responsibilities.”

“The mobile complex was designed to study the lander in case of an emergency landing, and it has served its purpose. It wasn’t planned to be a permanent base. Palmer had the task to pick up the capsule and open it safely under supervision, after which the lander should be promptly sent into the main lab. But this didn’t happen. Her team has a severe shortage of materials and equipment and can’t perform all the necessary studies; they are at the limit of their capabilities. And now, when most of the infected are dead, or will die soon, we are facing a real threat of losing the Zero-Model forever, which makes our long-term work meaningless.”

The Coordinator pointed to the screen instead of answering.

“Here, enjoy.”

It was the reports of major newspapers. Terrorist attack on the largest natural gas field. Fate of civilians unknown. Further escalation of the conflict could lead to a resumption of civil war. Officials declined to comment. And so on.

“At the moment we are trying to find out where the leak occurred, but that isn’t so important. The world already knows that there is something unprecedented in this valley. The local authorities, supported by the Chinese, are sending drones there. The Russians have changed the orbit of one of their spy satellites, and now it passes over the valley, providing them with high-resolution images. The relatives of the soldiers and civilians are inciting panic on social networks. And you are now suggesting we cancel the quarantine? We will have to return the civilians, and they will not keep their mouths shut, about all they have seen. News of a dangerous disease is our only effective cover for what is really happening. And this will be smashed to small pieces if we resume regular flights.”

“I'm a scientist and engineer, so management of public opinion isn’t my specialty or responsibility.”

“We know that. But we remember that the Prometheus project wasn’t just extremely expensive, but also extremely secret. And now all the secrecy has gone to hell.”

“Well, if that is so, then it makes no sense to delay. We must remove Z-Model as soon as possible and deliver it to my lab!”

“Recently, there have been some doubts among us about the desirability of the project continuation. In the end, what have we got, Mr. Berenger? Seven years of hard work, financial costs that is comparable with the lunar program, and what for? It isn’t my opinion, but some of us believe that it isn’t worth bringing another type of biological weapon to Earth, however interesting it is.”

Walt tried to think who it might be that believed the project didn’t bring any positive results. Who was it, exactly? He didn’t know everyone among his superiors; the Investors had never visited the area, acting through the Coordinator. He had met with three of them, but there were about a dozen, Walt couldn’t say with absolute certainty which of them intended to throw the towel in the ring, and which was ready to continue the fight. Most importantly, the defeatists had not yet achieved a majority; otherwise they would have to close the project. Majority want to continue working, rightly deciding that it was too late to stopeverything
.
This was what he had to focus on – it was too late to retreat.

“Everything that is happening at the moment – these are the possible side effects caused by the emergency landing. We still haven’t see the Z-Model in action, and don’t understand what it’s capable of.”

“Side effects? What is the major effect then?”

“I don’t know and will not know until I have studied it personally. Everything that is happening is a consequence of very bad luck - the situation didn’t go as planned. I am sure that the Z-Model was left there by its creators for someone who would find it and carefully examine it. We found the sarcophagus, and we should explore it, but this normal research hasn’t happened yet. Some tend to think that this is a weapon, but I would give you another hypothesis, comparing the Zero Model to medicine, for which the user manual is lost. If you try it at random, without knowing the exact purpose, dosage and precautions, nothing good will come of it. But if you understand how it works, the results are quite different. The accurate use of penicillin didn’t happen at once either.”

“So, I say to them that it is medicine and we are waiting for the results of its actions?”

“Tell them that the Z-Model retained biological activity after seven hundred and fifty million years. I think they will realize what this could mean.”

Finally - a clear glimpse of interest in the expressionless gray eyes. The message had reached the target.

“OK, I will tell them everything. But the quarantine will not be raised soon, not until the extinction of the infected. Richardson and his men are working on it.”

“While the quarantine is in operation, we can’t take anyone out of the valley. But what if we send in another group, together with additional equipment; I’m ready to lead it. If we will not be able to explore the Zero Model here, then we can work on the base. I repeat that the time factor is now the most important thing for us.”

“I understand you; I think it can be arranged. Be ready, the answer will be given today by five o'clock this evening.”