Recovery: V Plague Book 8 Read online

  “There’s a head on the way, sir. Now, please. We need to move.” Sam turned and began purposefully striding towards a door in the back wall of the hangar. Kanger fell in behind him, failing to notice that the other three men formed up in a protective bubble around him.

  After a quick restroom break in an adjacent building they climbed into a waiting Humvee. One of the other men, who hadn’t been introduced, was behind the wheel. Sam and a man sporting a shaved head and an impressive beard sandwiched Kanger between them in the backseat, the fourth riding shotgun.

  The man drove fast and sure, quickly leaving the aviation area of the installation behind and driving down a gentle slope towards a large harbor. A variety of small Navy ships were tied up, but in Kanger’s opinion all of them looked too small to be going out into the rough seas he’d seen just before landing.

  The Hummer wheeled into a spot at the entrance to a long, wooden dock. On either side floated a ship, grey hulls rising well above his head. OK, maybe they weren’t so small after all.

  Climbing out, Lieutenant Sam held the door for him then led the way through the rain. Kanger expected to be boarding one of the two ships that he now realized were each over a hundred feet in length but Sam strode past their access ramps. He kept following the younger man, coming to a stop when the only vessel remaining came into view.

  It was a small boat, no more than thirty feet long, with a pedestal that held a steering wheel and throttle about twenty feet from the stern. There was a short windshield for the driver but the entire boat was open.

  “What the hell is that?” He asked.

  Sam stopped and turned around, his face a mask of professionalism.

  “It is a RIB, sir.”

  “A what?”

  “A Rigid-hull Inflatable Boat. That’s how we’re getting to our destination, sir.” He said patiently.

  “Seriously? Have you seen the waves out there?” Kanger gestured at the mouth of the harbor where white caps were clearly visible. “Don’t you have a helicopter or something?

  “A helo would just draw unwanted attention to our destination. I’m fully aware of the weather and we’re well within the operational parameters of this craft. Now, we need to move to catch the tide.” Sam stood staring at him, not even blinking as the wind driven rain pelted his face.

  “There’s got to be another way. Maybe one of those,” Kanger said, starting to take a step back and gesturing at the larger ships.

  Sam moved forward until he was standing very close to him. “Doctor, there is no other way. I don’t have time to explain all of the requirements and limitations of this operation to you. You’re going to have to trust me and get in that boat.”

  “I don’t have to do anything!” Kanger said, fear causing his voice to raise several octaves.

  He loved to fly and had thoroughly enjoyed the ride in the F-15 Falcon, but he couldn’t swim and was terrified of water. He got nervous standing at the edge of a lake and just being on the wide dock was causing him to start hyperventilating. The thought of going out in that tiny boat onto the wind tossed ocean petrified him.

  The man who had been standing at the wheel of the RIB stepped up onto the dock and began walking towards the small group. He was older than all of what Kanger suspected were SEALs. As he drew closer the Doctor could tell he was quite a bit older, probably in his early sixties. He had broad shoulders with a powerful chest and arms despite his age and walked with the rolling gate of a lifetime sailor.

  “Sir, I’m Coast Guard Boatswains Mate Master Chief Mark Stag.” He had pronounced Boatswains as ‘Bosuns’, and held his hand out in greeting after pushing past the younger men.

  Kanger automatically extended his and Stag grabbed it in an iron grip, pulled them close together and pressed a Taser against the Doctor’s neck. He held it there briefly before quickly shoving it in a pocket and gently lowering Kanger to the dock. He pulled his hands behind his back and secured them with a zip tie.

  “Think you ladies can get him on the fuckin’ boat now?” He turned and glared at Lieutenant Sam. “We miss the goddamn tide we aren’t going in until tomorrow.”

  Sam gestured at two of the men and they moved to each side of Kanger, grabbing him under the arms to lift him to his feet. Stag led the way to the RIB, the SEALs following with Kanger in tow.

  “Goddamn squids,” Stag muttered as he started the engines.

  “You remember I’m an officer?” Sam said as the men got settled and strapped Kanger to an empty seat.

  “You remember I’m retired and don’t have to put up with any shit from wet behind the ears kids?” Stag growled, feeding in throttle as soon as one of the men released the last line that was securing them to the dock. “Better have a seat, sonny. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  With the bow pointed at the open water of the harbor, Stag shoved the throttles forward and the RIB leapt ahead. The harbor was sheltered but the water was still choppy. It was nothing like the eight and ten foot waves breaking in the open water of Puget Sound.

  The rain was coming harder and as they approached the transition to unprotected sea the weather picked up and Stag had to turn the wheel into the teeth of the wind to keep them on course. Adjusting his speed he timed it so that they exited the harbor into a trough between two waves, cutting the wheel hard left and feeding in more throttle to get the small boat in sync with the water.

  A large storm was pushing down from the Gulf of Alaska, bringing strong winds and lots of rain to the region. The wind pushed on the surface of the Sound, lifting it into rank after rank of waves rolling south towards Seattle. They were moving fast but Stag wanted to move faster. Once they reached Seattle they would have to enter a ship canal and then transition through a series of locks into Lake Union. Their destination was on the south shore of the lake.

  The locks were the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks, or the Ballard Locks to the locals, and had been built by the Army Corps of Engineers. They separated several large fresh water lakes, Lake Washington the largest, from the salt water of Puget Sound, keeping the level of the lakes several feet above the sea.

  Boats moving from the Sound into the lakes, or vice-versa, could pass through and be lifted or lowered to the level of the water they were transitioning to. Unlike the ocean the lakes didn’t have tides. As the water level in Puget Sound went up and down with the position and phases of the moon, the difference in levels controlled by the locks changed significantly.

  High tide was in another ninety minutes and if they didn’t get there in time they wouldn’t make it through. Without the higher water level brought by the tide, and to a lesser degree the storm surge, there would be too much of a difference in levels between the canal that was open to the ocean and the lake. There was no electricity to run the powerful pumps once a boat was in the lock, so they needed every inch of height they could get from the ocean side.

  The massive gates that controlled the locks could be manually operated, but if the water levels were more than a few feet different, transition through would be too dangerous. As they approached the first gate they would be floating on water open to the sea. The SEALs could crank the big wheel that would open the salt-water side gate, letting the lake level water trapped inside the lock flow out until it equalized with the sea.

  Stag had already made a scouting run and knew the current water level in the lock. When the outer gate opened the extra water would come surging out in a flood, but he could have the boat far enough away that it would only be a ripple when it passed under his hull. The height would now match sea level and he could motor into the lock. Once the SEALs closed the outer gate, they could open the inner.

  At high tide there was approximately a two and a half foot difference between sea level and the lake surface. When the inner gate opened, a thirty-inch high wall of lake water would rush into the lock, hopefully not smashing the RIB into one of the concrete walls with enough force to damage it.

  Thirty inches didn’t sound like a lot, but Stag had li
ved and worked on the water his entire life and knew how deceptively powerful and devastating it could be. The small lock they would be using was thirty feet wide and one hundred fifty feet long. Thirty inches of water depth meant more than eleven thousand cubic feet of water would come boiling in as soon as the inner gate was opened.

  A cubic foot of water weighs about sixty-three pounds. Conservatively, Stag estimated, there would be about seven hundred thousand pounds of water come crashing in when they opened the lakeside gate. And the fucking squids wondered why he was in such a goddamn hurry to get there at high tide.

  22

  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.

  23

  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.