V Plague (Book 16): Brimstone

  Brimstone

  V Plague Book Sixteen

  DIRK PATTON

  Text Copyright © 2017 by Dirk Patton

  Copyright © 2017 by Dirk Patton

  All Rights Reserved

  This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright holder or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a critical book review.

  Published by Voodoo Dog Publishing, LLC

  2824 N Power Road

  Suite #113-256

  Mesa, AZ 85215

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1979761772

  ISBN-10: 1979761779

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, brands, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Dirk Patton

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  Also by Dirk Patton

  The V Plague Series

  Unleashed: V Plague Book 1

  Crucifixion: V Plague Book 2

  Rolling Thunder: V Plague Book 3

  Red Hammer: V Plague Book 4

  Transmission: V Plague Book 5

  Rules Of Engagement: A John Chase Short Story

  Days Of Perdition: V Plague Book 6

  Indestructible: V Plague Book 7

  Recovery: V Plague Book 8

  Precipice: V Plague Book 9

  Anvil: V Plague Book 10

  Merciless: V Plague Book 11

  Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12

  Hunter’s Rain: A John Chase Novella

  Exodus: V Plague Book 13

  Scourge: V Plague Book 14

  Fractured: V Plague Book 15

  Brimstone: V Plague Book 16

  The 36 Series

  36: A Novel

  The Void: A 36 Novel

  Other Titles

  Coldfall

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for purchasing Brimstone, Book 16 in the V Plague series. If you haven’t read the first fifteen books, you need to stop reading now and pick them up, otherwise you will be utterly lost as this book is intended to continue the story in a serialized format. I intentionally did nothing to explain comments and events that reference books 1 through 15. Regardless, you have my heartfelt thanks for reading my work and I hope you’re enjoying the adventure as much as I am. As always, a good review on Amazon is greatly appreciated.

  You can always correspond with me via email at dirk@dirkpatton.com and find me on the internet at www.dirkpatton.com and follow me on Twitter @DirkPatton and if you’re on Facebook, please like my page at www.facebook.com/FearThePlague .

  Thanks again for reading!

  Dirk Patton

  2017

  Acknowledgements

  For quite a few books, more than I care to admit, I’ve been remiss in thanking the people who have helped me deliver a finished product. Whether through suggestions and ideas or beta reads and proof reads, I couldn’t do this without their assistance and input.

  I’ve got to put Katie at the top of the list because nothing would happen without her love and support, unvarnished critiques of my bad ideas and unwavering enthusiasm for the entire writing process.

  To Scott, Mischa and Lauren, thank you for your time, insightful ideas and keeping me from wandering too far afield from the core story.

  Also, I’d like to thank Rich Fiege for the great idea that gets John through a door in this book. Frankly, something that never would have occurred to me and when you read it you’ll see how clever it really is.

  Last but not least, thank you to all the readers who have stuck with me on what has become such an amazingly long journey. When Unleashed was first published, I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams that the series would become what it has, and it’s all because of you.

  Hello, darkness, my old friend

  I've come to talk with you again

  Because a vision softly creeping

  Left its seeds while I was sleeping

  ― Simon and Garfunkel

  1

  Igor and Strickland lay prone in the frozen forest, on a bluff overlooking the airport in Irkutsk, Siberia. Everything seemed normal in the late afternoon sun. Well, as normal as it could. The region might have escaped the wrath of the American retaliatory attacks, but people were still hunkered down in their homes. This was one of only a handful of outposts in Russia that, due to its geographical isolation and strategic unimportance, had not been devastated.

  “Where the hell is everyone, Ivan?” Strickland muttered. “Don’t see any damage. City looks intact.”

  “Russians not panic like Americans,” Igor answered.

  Strickland removed his eye from the rifle scope he’d been using for a better view and turned to look at the big Spetsnaz soldier lying beside him in the snow. After a moment, Igor turned his head away, but not before the SEAL saw a grin spread across his face.

  “Asshole,” he said under his breath before turning back to the scene below.

  Igor snorted a laugh.

  “You sure Hawaii said they’d pick us up at the coast?”

  “That what they say to Irina,” Igor nodded.

  “Where on the coast? And it’s like fifteen hundred miles. Got any bright ideas just how we’re going to get our happy asses from here to there?”

  “There is submarine waiting in Sea of Japan. We signal when we reach coast.”

  “Sorry, Ivan. I failed geography in school. What coast?”

  “Vladivostok, but not city. Much damage. Nerve gas. We go south.”

  Strickland thought about that for a minute, then his eyes widened in surprise.

  “South? Isn’t that North Korea?”

  “Da,” Igor said with a smile. “Not lot of people. Best place.”

  “How the hell do we get there?”

  Instead of answering, Igor pointed at the airport below them. It was hardly impressive by western standards, with only a handful of aging Antonovs scattered around the rough terminal and rusting hangars. All were twin engine prop planes, very similar in looks and capability to the American DC-3 that had been out of service for generations.

  Strickland spent a couple of minutes peering through his scope, surveying the aircraft that were available. Finally, he breathed out a low whistle.

  “Goddamn, Ivan
. Those things should be in a museum, not in the air!”

  Igor shrugged, then crawled away from the edge of the bluff so he wouldn’t be visible from below when he stood. Strickland watched him, but didn’t follow.

  “I’ll stay and keep an eye on things,” he said.

  Igor nodded, standing and disappearing into the dense forest. He moved quietly, but was pleased when Irina stepped from behind a tree with a rifle in her hands. She’d stayed alert and known he was approaching.

  “How does it look?” she asked in Russian.

  “Quiet. The city is intact and so is the airport.”

  Irina’s uncle, Admiral of the Fleet Shevchenko, approached, leading two girls they’d rescued from a life of forced prostitution with the mafiya. Igor met the older man’s eyes and nodded.

  “We are going to fly?” Shevchenko asked in surprise.

  “That is my plan,” Igor said, nodding. “I will convince a pilot to take us to the North Korean coast. Then the Americans can pick us up.”

  “And how will you do that, young man? In my experience, it is not a good idea to hold a gun to the head of the man in control of the aircraft. If he thinks he is going to die anyway, you cannot control him.”

  Igor held up a small bag and bounced it in his hand. The clink of heavy coins was loud in the silent forest.

  “In my experience, gold is a very effective incentive. And I think it will be, even in today’s world.”

  Shevchenko looked at the bag for a moment before nodding his agreement. Putting the gold away, Igor brought out the satellite comm unit and handed it to Irina.

  “We should check in with Hawaii. Make sure there is still a submarine waiting for us.”

  Irina took the device, punched in the unlock code and initiated the call. She paced a large circle as she waited to be connected with Captain West. Igor struggled to follow the English once she began speaking with Admiral Packard’s senior aide, but he could tell from her body language and expression that something was wrong. After several minutes, she ended the call and handed the device back to him.

  “There is a submarine waiting in the area,” she said.

  “What was the bad news?” Igor asked.

  “Barinov is alive. The nerve gas was released in Australia. He has left and they believe his destination is California,” Irina said, pausing and taking a breath.

  “John and Rachel?” Igor asked when she didn’t immediately continue.

  “Trapped in Barinov’s building in Sydney. At least that is what they think. Apparently, things are quite chaotic at the moment.”

  Igor didn’t respond and after several long moments, Irina reached out and took his hand. Worry creased her face and he could tell she was struggling to hold back tears of fear for their friends. Folding her into his arms, he held her for several minutes before finally stepping away.

  “It does not change what we must do,” he said. “Even with Barinov alive, there are options.”

  Irina nodded as she wiped moisture from her eyes.

  “I am going to go find a pilot and a plane. I will leave Strickland with you,” he said, butchering the pronunciation of the SEAL’s name.

  2

  I stared in horror at the TV screen as the Australian emergency broadcast alert blared over the speakers. Rooted in place, I flashed back to a hotel room in the Atlanta suburbs. Remembering. Experiencing many of the same emotions I’d had the night that started my waking nightmare. But now, I knew what was happening and what to expect. And I was pissed off.

  The scream of a distant female pulled me back to the moment, my head snapping around to look at the pair of exterior doors. They were standing wide open, just as I’d left them when I’d run inside. With a curse, I dashed across the lobby, slipping on the shiny marble floor as I came to a stop near the exit. Movement across the broad lawn where the Russian’s evacuation helicopters had landed caught my eye and I froze. Watching.

  A man appeared from where he’d been hiding around the corner of a building and sprinted across the street. I started to step forward and shout to catch his attention, but held back when a pair of females raced into view from behind a house. They screamed, the sound sending gooseflesh down my arms and lending wings to the man’s feet.

  It wouldn’t have mattered if he was an Olympic sprinter. An uninfected human is simply not going to outrun an infected female. If I’d had a rifle, I might have engaged the women, but I was completely unarmed. For another few moments, I watched as they swiftly closed the distance on their prey, then pushed the doors closed. I’d seen what was about to happen enough times. I didn’t need to witness it again.

  The doors closed with a reassuringly solid thud and I shot home the locking bolts at the top and bottom. They were thick steel and would stop anything short of a vehicle mounted ram or strategically placed high explosives. Their presence didn’t surprise me, considering who had lived here. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to face the lobby, my eyes briefly stopping on the bar before moving on. This wasn’t the time for a drink.

  Slowly moving forward, I intended to start searching the area to see if I could find anything useful, then came to a sudden stop. Fuck me, this was nerve gas! I was vaccinated against the virus that had been paired with it for the attacks on America, but that didn’t protect me from the chemical agent.

  Whirling around, I spotted two elevator doors and ran to them, slamming my fist against the polished wood veneer when I realized they could only be accessed with a key card. Another door to the side was secured in the same manner, most likely a stairwell to the upper levels. Without a way to open any of them, I wasn’t going up.

  Running to the center of the lobby, I started to slow, then hurried to the bar and began searching. Hoping there would be a card stashed somewhere in case the bartender ever had to deliver drinks to one of the floors above. I came up empty, but did find a good selection of knives that were there for slicing fruit. I kept the largest one, which was razor sharp, but the blade was only six inches. Not much more than the pocket knife I used to carry.

  But thinking about bar deliveries gave me an idea. This place received commercial food deliveries. That meant there had to be a kitchen. Somewhere. Pushing a swinging door open, I glanced into a small area where cases of liquor were stored. Ignoring them, I stepped out from behind the bar and took another look around.

  Beyond the TV was a pair of elegantly carved wooden doors. Running to them, I gripped the knife tightly and gently pushed through far enough to see the area beyond. A dining room. Two dozen tables with sumptuously upholstered chairs, crisp white linens, crystal drinkware and silver settings. I didn’t expect to find anyone in the room, so I went in without taking much time to check.

  A well-padded carpet muted my steps as I strode across the floor. A short hallway led to another pair of doors with small windows inset at head height. I paused long enough to peer through one of them, looking in on a high-end commercial kitchen.

  Going in, I searched the place, finding plenty of large, sharp knives to supplement the one I’d taken from the bar. But I didn’t find what I really wanted. A key card. There was a small office for the kitchen manager and I kicked the door in when the knob didn’t turn. The window in the top half shattered from the blow, raining broken glass onto the floor which crunched underfoot when I entered. I yanked all the drawers out of the desk and came up empty.

  With a curse of frustration, I went back through the dining room and out into the lobby. Standing in the middle of the room, I turned a slow circle, hoping to notice something I’d missed. Maybe an armory?

  The idea galvanized me. This place had been the Russian president’s home, guarded twenty-four hours a day by heavily armed men. They probably kept many of their weapons on their person at all times, but I couldn’t see there not being additional firepower and ammunition that was easily accessible. As I thought about it, it made sense they’d locate it on the first floor. There would probably be more available on the upper levels, but the priority
in the event of an assault would be to hold the lobby and stop an enemy from gaining access to the building.

  I walked the perimeter of the room, opening every door that wasn’t locked. And found nothing. But that didn’t mean I was wrong. In addition to the pair of elevators and the suspected stairwell, there were three more doors secured with a key card reader. If I was placing an armory in a residential building, I’d make sure it was tightly locked yet easily accessible by the security staff. An electronic lock was about the best way to do that.

  Dropping to my knees in front of the door farthest from the entrance, I looked over the locking mechanism. I didn’t even bother to glance at the key card reader. Without Johnson, who hadn’t met a lock he couldn’t defeat, I was left with the old school method. Brute force.

  But first, I had to find a way to remove the plate that protected the gap between the door and jamb where the locking hasp was located. It was attached to the solid wooden slab, four carriage bolts with domed heads securing it in place. It could only be removed once the door was opened. Glancing at the high security hinges, I immediately dismissed them.

  I looked it over for another few seconds before snorting and getting to my feet. The plate was made of heavy steel, easily more than a match for even the large butcher knife in my hand. Grumbling to myself, I walked slowly to a bank of windows that looked across a lush garden toward Sydney Harbour. From certain spots, I could catch a glimpse of the lights on the Harbour Bridge, but nothing else.

  Turning back, I went to the TV and clicked through channels, surprised when I found a news station that was broadcasting. I listened as a breathless reporter relayed the horrifying details of what was happening to Australia.

  Every city of any size had been the victim of the nerve gas. Nearly the entire east coast, the most heavily populated area of the continent, was in chaos as the infected tore through the surviving population. The Australian Defense Force was setting up a refugee center in the Blue Mountains, to the west of Sydney, but I had little hope it would do any good. People just weren’t going to make it out of the cities.