EMERGENCE: Incursion Page 9

  The bearded guard approached them and patted down each man methodically, like he’d performed the act a thousand times before. He stepped back to the right, unslinging the Remington 870 shotgun from his shoulder and fixing the barrel on Porter’s chest. Porter watched the thirty-something woman approach, her honey-blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her stern face affixed to his. She set down her med kit then removed a pen flashlight from her shirt pocket, flicking it on and blinding Porter as she gazed into his eyes, then at his nailbeds and skin color.

  “Have you come across anyone who is infected or any of the parasitic creatures?” She moved over towards Reisner and did the same check.

  “You mean in the past ten days or just last night?” he quipped. Porter always let Reisner do the talking, as he knew his own mouth often got him in trouble, but he couldn’t resist being sarcastic. Humor and sarcasm had always helped him soothe his jangled nerves and right now, he was beyond fried.

  “Answer her,” the bearded man yelled as he thrust the shotgun out.

  “We killed a few dozen creatures in a battle two hours ago near Figueroa Street and another hundred or so before that on a building near East L.A.,” said Porter. “I’ve got a selfie of it all on my phone if you want to see it.”

  “Just the four of you, eh?” said the bearded man. “You must be some shit-hot survivalists.”

  “There are actually five of us. The other one has a red dot on your chest right now,” said Reisner.

  The bearded man tucked in his chin, looking below at his button-down shirt, where a red bead was fluttering. He snapped his head back up, his eyes trying to penetrate the streets ahead.

  “Listen, we’re not here for a fight. We’ve had enough of that on the streets of several cities already,” said Reisner, who was going over the mental script he had rehearsed earlier from one of dozens he had used over the years dealing with such situations abroad. “We’re a federal rapid-response team that was sent here to search for survivors, and we got separated from our unit. We need to use your radio and see if we can get through to our people.”

  “Get through to this, shitbird,” said the guard, shuffling forward, holding his shotgun like it was a spear. “We’re doing just fine on our own here without the feds sticking their…”

  “That’s enough, Wyatt,” said a woman’s voice over the intercom speaker mounted above the gate. Reisner recognized her as the woman whom he had spoken with earlier on the walkie-talkie.

  “Are they clear, Doctor Beaumont?” said the woman.

  The woman in blue scrubs had just finished inspecting Morgan and Blake, and stepped back towards the gate. “Yes, there are no signs of wrigglers beneath the skin. The younger one appears to be dehydrated or anemic or both, but he’ll survive.”

  “Bring them inside and show them to my office,” said the voice on the speaker.

  Porter looked back over his shoulder, hoping that Nash would be alright while they met with the decision-makers inside. They needed one man on the outside to provide overwatch of the region and keep an eye out for Ivins or a rescue party in the event things went south in the prison. Hang tight, buddy.

  As the doctor opened the steel door and moved through, Wyatt motioned with the barrel of his shotgun for the group to walk ahead of him. Moving into the main compound, Porter saw a central utility box mounted on the wall next to the gate. Once everyone was inside, another guard flipped the red lever on the box, which electrified the fencing along the outside perimeter again. The walkway led up to a four-story building that had a plaque with the words Los Angeles County Sheriff. Attached to the right side was a small parking garage and several one-story buildings spread around the twenty-acre grounds. Occupying the center of the compound was a fourteen-story building with drab brick walls without any windows that Porter surmised was the actual jail. Porter’s eyes widened when he saw a large areal antenna and satellite dish. He nudged Reisner with his elbow while thrusting his chin up to the roof.

  “I’m starting to feel like a kid at Christmas,” Porter said. “Who’d have thought being inside a prison could warm one’s heart.”

  “Christmas is a month away,” Reisner said.

  “Why you gotta ruin it for me—this is a good turn of events, I think.” He glanced at Doctor Beaumont walking in front of him, his eyes lingering on her hips. He snuffled in a breath through his nose. “I think I might have a cold coming on, so I better make sure that doc looks me over again.”

  “She’s been holed up in this prison with God knows how many other men—I think it’s going to take a lot for her to notice you, amigo.”

  “You underestimate my Southern charm, plus she’s probably grown weary of all the apes here.”

  “Stop talking and keep walking,” snapped Wyatt, like he was humming out a tune.

  Porter lowered his voice, glaring back at the burly guard. “I correct myself. I didn’t mean to insult apes, I meant Neanderthals.”

  The doctor peeled off to the infirmary on her right while Wyatt grunted out instructions to enter the lobby of the building ahead, which was unlit. The cavernous building was silent inside, and Porter had to strain his eyes to see the faint light seeping in through the louvered windows up high.

  Wyatt told them to head down the stairs to the right, which led to a long hallway filled with offices. He stopped at the end, dragging a key-card across a security pad, which caused the steel door to open. They descended three more flights of steps, and Porter saw a faded yellow sign with a biohazard symbol indicating that it was a designated fallout shelter. Beside the sign was a large utility box that was humming so intensely that Porter felt the vibration running through his body as they walked by. The placard above it indicated it was the power source for the electrical perimeter fence.

  Moving through the last door, which was secured in an open position, Porter saw a massive concrete-lined dome which was a hundred feet in diameter, with boxes of supplies, canned goods, pallets of water, and cots. Enough to sustain a group of a few dozen people for six months or more, he calculated.

  Wyatt motioned for the group to move to the right, where a fifty-something woman with brown hair was talking to eight other people. The woman, in blue dress slacks and a collared white shirt, stood up from behind her desk and moved around the other side, extending her hand and issuing a strained smile as they introduced themselves.

  “Congresswoman Erica Healey—welcome to MCJ.” When she had finished shaking hands, she motioned for them to sit down and then resumed her position behind her desk while the rest of her staff scurried away without making eye contact with the new arrivals, which Porter found odd. She brushed a lock of hair from her heavily made-up face and stared at Reisner.

  “You’re the one in charge of your little group, I assume,” she said. “I was watching the security cameras as you all walked up and saw how everyone kept looking at your reaction, so am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  Porter kept his right hand close to the left sleeve of his jacket, where he had a small concealed blade. While he didn’t sense anything amiss, he wasn’t sure what was about to unfold and whether he would have to rush Wyatt and open up his throat. He knew Blake would probably cover him, while Morgan was most likely to cower in the corner. Porter figured that beyond Healey’s porcelain exterior there must lie a tough lady to be in charge of this place and to have weathered out the past ten days as the city consumed itself. He would let Reisner handle her while he would keep tabs on the guard.

  “You’re the first survivors we’ve seen on the streets in days,” she said.

  “And you’re the first place we’ve been where it seems like nothing has happened that would make one think there’s a global pandemic outside.”

  She smiled, her bottom teeth revealing a smoker’s yellow color. “A necessary façade to boost morale, Mr. Reisner. We also have a few prisoners in the jail, and they have no idea what has happened in the world—to their families, their spouses, or to this city. And until I
figure out what to do with them, we need to keep things running smoothly, so my staff and the dozens of civilians we rescued last week on the streets all have a job to do.”

  “Have you reached out to anyone? Any other law-enforcement agencies still intact in L.A.?”

  “We are it.” She swirled her right hand in the air. “And the communications tower on the roof of the jail is damaged from a storm we had last week, so unless you are an engineer and can fix it, we are out of luck. All of my efforts have been in the form of providing some form of leadership to the dozens of people behind these walls. Our stockpile of food and supplies in this chamber provides for our physical needs, while a daily schedule helps people maintain some semblance of sanity.”

  “And you’ve not had any creatures breach the walls since this started?”

  “That’s correct. We’ve been fortunate our electrical fence and strong perimeter defenses have kept us safe. Of course, we keep all the lights out at night up top and monitor things from here with our security cameras.” She pointed her finger at three rows of small closed-circuit television sets to the left. “We’ve had some close calls for sure, but we’ve adapted and have survived.”

  She looked past Reisner at Morgan, who was coughing into his sleeve. “Young man, why don’t you go see Doctor Beaumont in the infirmary. She can maybe give you something for that nasty cough.” Healey nodded at Wyatt to take the man.

  Reisner pointed his thumb over at Porter. “And you should let Porter here take a look at the antenna. He’s had some engineering training of sorts. We need to get in touch with our people on the outside. They’re looking for us—it’s high priority. We have a helicopter inbound shortly.”

  She sat straight up, a smile creeping out from her lips. “Wonderful news.” Healey interlaced her fingers and nodded at Wyatt as he was walking away with Morgan.

  “Very good. I can have one of my guards escort him up there shortly, but first,” she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms, “tell me more about what you are doing in L.A. and what’s going on in the world. Other than the initial news reports, we’ve been in the dark.”

  Or you’ve kept people in the dark, Porter thought. Her tone made him feel she was being evasive. And why wouldn’t she jump at the opportunity to get the antenna fixed now. He wasn’t sure what was going on here but he was getting impatient, knowing that Ivins would be arriving in the city shortly without any indication of where to locate them.

  As Reisner briefly recounted select events, Porter focused his gaze on the areal antenna on the security monitor to his right, noticing that it appeared completely intact, without any indication of damage from wind shear or lightning. Suddenly, Healey’s office seemed much smaller than when he first entered, and he wondered just how safe they were behind these seemingly impregnable walls.

  Chapter 21

  As the Lachesis slowly chugged east, Runa stood outside the laboratory, staring at the comatose figure of the alpha and the mysterious vials of fluid on the desk behind it. What the hell are those for? He wasn’t sure if he was more confounded by the nature of the fluid or the fact that the alpha had actually been carrying the containers in a pouch slung over its shoulder. The few alphas that he had encountered from a distance or he had read about in after-action reports from other operators at MacDill didn’t indicate anything about the ability for advanced planning or the presence of such objects. This had to be a first, and he needed the guidance of someone extremely well versed in medicine and science if he was going to identify the contents of the vials.

  He looked at the digital clock on the wall inside. They would be arriving off the coast of Florida by midnight, which gave him plenty of time to confer with Doctor Selene Munroe, who should have arrived at the CDC in Phoenix. He needed answers, and she was just the person to help.

  Chapter 22

  The thin rays of sunlight streaking in through the front window cast their yellow fingers upon Roland’s face. His eyelids fluttered open and his vision immediately focused on the sight of his sister Katherine standing beside him. Or what had been Katherine. Like him, she had been transformed by the virus into something else—something far superior than anything he could recall experiencing in his past life as a human. The change in him had only occurred a few days ago but his strength, perception, and mental abilities were increasing with each passing hour. The metamorphosis had initially left him drained, perhaps because of his body’s previously weakened state resulting from a lifetime of debilitating illness. Now, he no longer felt a need to rest. His senses bristled and extended beyond the large living room he was sitting in. Initially, he had surmised that the entity growing in his neck and slowly weaving its way up through his cerebellum seemed to have an intelligence of its own, but that division between him and the creature had since dissolved, and Roland felt a comforting union coupled with a burgeoning sense of perception and mental aptitude.

  He glanced beside the leather couch at the lifeless body of a young woman lying on the ground that his sister had dragged in thirty minutes earlier. The delicate creature succumbed to her wounds quickly, but not before Katherine had shown him how to extract the nourishing fluid from her adrenals. When he had finished feeding, he wiped the viscous fluid from his lips, then stood. He felt like his nervous system had been jolted by a lightning bolt that seared through his skull, penetrating the depths of his spinal column and filling him with boundless energy. The former enervation that epitomized most of his frail existence was gone, replaced by the vitality that he had once felt during his youth.

  Instinctively, he put out his right hand, reaching for his cane out of habit, but then realized his posture was grounded. He smiled and looked at his sister, her lips still soiled with blood. Roland was about to reach out to her when he felt a tremor of movement at the base of his cervical region. A pulsing sensation that made him feel like his neck muscles were going to burst through his skin. A moment later, the undulation stopped, and his vision shifted from his immediate surroundings to a vast assortment of images from around the world that flooded through his psyche as if he was glimpsing a large tapestry quilted from myriad scenes of other alphas like himself. Only he sensed they weren’t like him at all. They were swift, smart, shrewd creatures whose intelligence he could sense, but theirs paled in comparison to his. It was as if he was standing on a pedestal above them as they looked up in earnest for his guidance. Roland felt his entire being surge and his chest expand as he took in the breathtaking sight. Such power—so many lives to rule over. And in that moment, he even saw the face of his sister below, though he knew she was still standing beside him, his mind dividing its attention between two distinct spaces in time.

  As he glanced at the throngs of thousands of alphas below him, some of them suddenly disappeared, their beings obliterated in a rivulet of black smoke just before they shrieked out in pain. He felt their loss, their pain as they perished, followed by a hollowness in his chest. Roland narrowed his focus on another alpha to his right, which was writhing its limbs in pain, and he could see through its eyes the horror that was unfolding as men with rifles and flamethrowers cornered it in a shipyard near the ocean. It was as if he was standing on the salt-caked concrete landing, feeling the bullets tear through the flesh of the alpha until there was nothing left to kill. After it was destroyed, his mind snapped back to the crowd below him as if an electrical cord had just been severed from its source. He gasped for air, trying to control his breathing as dozens of other images of his alphas engaged in battles around the globe filled his consciousness. In each case, he observed the details then catalogued the outcome, relaying information to the others, who then took an appropriate course to adapt their tactics against their own enemies at hand.

  Roland felt his sister tugging on his arm, and he pulled back from the entrancing kaleidoscope of alphas to re-focus his attention on his location inside his estate. He knew they needed his guidance, his help, but the overwhelming flood of information was staggering. Roland pointed to his upsta
irs den and began walking towards the ornate wood staircase in bounding strides, where he had previously taken twenty minutes to accomplish the same feat under great duress to his body. His sister followed behind him, waiting on the landing. Once inside, he began studying the framed world atlas hanging on the east wall opposite his floor-to-ceiling library. He dragged a finger across the United States, focusing his attention on each of the larger cities he knew his alphas were residing in. They must find sanctuary somewhere else other than in buildings and tunnels. But where? He dragged his finger across the outlying areas, his gaze focusing on the locations where he knew military bases, federal buildings, and nuclear reactors were located. He could feel the full force of his considerable mental faculties returning as he probed each region for a fortified area to protect his brood. A few minutes later, he stepped back and took in the entirety of the map, his lips parting and the angular head of a large parasite emerging. It fluttered with excitement as Roland’s eyes widened, his mind shifting back to the crowd of alphas as he instructed them on their next move.

  Chapter 23

  After he escorted Morgan down to the infirmary, Wyatt looked at his watch and realized he was getting behind schedule. He quickened his pace as he walked across the compound to the jail. Once he had made the familiar stroll through the automated security checkpoints with his key-card, he entered the first-floor wing, which held thirty-seven minimum security felons. Wyatt motioned to three of the guards on duty to accompany him as he handcuffed six prisoners through their cell openings and then told them to step out into the hallway. The guards kept their electric stun batons steadied before the inmates and motioned for them to move down the corridor towards the north exit.