Recovery: V Plague Book 8 Page 9

  “What are we going to do?” Rachel asked, holding her hands out to the warmth of the roaring fire.

  “We’ve got some serious weather coming,” Bill said, squatting next to her and looking at the northern sky. “We need to get a shelter built but we need water, too. We’ve already depleted my entire survival ration. When we were coming down I saw a lake northeast of here. We should move there.”

  “But how is anyone going to find us? Shouldn’t we stay where we came down?”

  Bill reached up and patted a bulge in the shoulder of his flight suit. “Distress beacon that was activated when we ejected. It’s transmitting our location every five minutes. They’ll be along to get us but it may take them some time. While we’re waiting it’s up to us to survive.”

  Rachel nodded, wishing for the hundredth time in the past few hours that John and Dog were with her.

  “Then we’d better get moving,” she said. “I don’t think it’s going to be long before that storm gets here.”

  Working together they smothered the fire with dirt scraped up with their bare hands. Flames extinguished, Bill gathered up their parachutes, shoving the fabric and lines back into the packs.

  “Why are we taking these?” Rachel asked, helping.

  “The canopies will make great weather breaks when we get a shelter built and the lines can be used for all kinds of things. They’re strong as hell and we’ll be needing rope.” Bill helped Rachel shrug into her chute.

  Parachute on his back, he shouldered the small survival pouch and after checking his compass headed across the clearing. He walked with the pistol in his hand, Rachel sticking close to his side with the flare gun in hers.

  “That was pretty impressive. The flare gun with the wolf,” he said as they walked.

  “I’ve got a friend who likes to say, “you fight with what you have”.” Rachel answered with a smile as she thought about John. “I’m just glad it worked. Did you see the size of that thing?”

  “I’m not sure how much damage my pistol would have done,” he answered as they reached the far edge of the clearing.

  They paused before crossing into the forest. Even with the heavy cloud cover the clearing was brightly lit, but the forest was much darker. Trees soared above their heads, thick boughs of pine branches spreading and blocking much of the weak light that made it through the overcast.

  “Think they’re around?” Rachel asked, referring to the wolves.

  “Yes,” Bill answered. “I doubt we’ve seen the last of them.”

  He stepped over a fallen tree and into the forest. Rachel followed, looking in every direction as she thought about the terror that she had seen the night before.

  “I thought wolves had been wiped out in North America,” she said a few minutes later.

  “Mostly, but the government started re-introducing them a few years ago. Maybe even longer than that. I remember reading something about it. They started in Montana and the ranchers were up in arms because the wolves were killing their livestock. Don’t know how that all got worked out. Guess there’s some here too.”

  The conversation died and they kept walking. The forest floor was rougher going than Rachel had expected. It was littered with fallen tree branches and the occasional rotting log. Most of them could be stepped over but occasionally they encountered a downed tree that was so large in diameter they had to walk around it. The going was slow and despite shivering from the cold wind she could feel sweat trickling down her back.

  The wind wasn’t as strong in the forest as it had been in the clearing, which was a relief, but the sound it made as it sighed through the trees was so loud that they couldn’t hear anything else. Their footsteps seemed muted and distant, covered by the noise from over their heads.

  Rachel had learned enough from John to realize the sound of any approaching enemy would also be masked and knew she couldn’t rely on her hearing as an early warning system. Constantly scanning around and behind them was tiring and slowed their progress. As they kept moving she was fairly certain they were being stalked.

  Every ten to fifteen minutes Bill would stop to check his compass, frequently adjusting their course. Staying on a steady heading in a forest is all but impossible without the aid of something that will reliably point north. On one of their stops Rachel held her breath when she caught movement at the edge of her vision. Snapping her head around she almost laughed when a large rabbit hopped over a tree branch to start munching on a stunted bush.

  “Hungry?” Bill asked, raising the pistol and taking aim.

  “Wait!” Rachel reached out and touched his arm. He lowered the pistol and gave her an irritated look.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about killing the cute little bunny,” he said with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” Rachel said, staring right back at him. “If you kill it, we’re going to have to take it with us to cook later. Right?”

  Bill nodded. “So?”

  “You shoot it, it’s going to bleed. You really think it’s a good idea to be walking around with raw meat? With wolves in the neighborhood?”

  “Shit!” Bill exclaimed, lowering the pistol.

  He was embarrassed and they didn’t have any more conversation for some time. That was fine with Rachel as the terrain steadily became more rugged. They were climbing and had already been at a higher altitude than she’d ever been in her life. It was hard to catch her breath in the thin air and she needed every bit she had just to keep moving.

  Bill stopped again to check his compass and Rachel noticed his watch. It was noon. They’d been walking for at least four hours and were still climbing. Where the hell was this lake?

  “How much farther?” She asked when he pointed at the updated direction for their trek.

  “You’re guess is as good as mine,” he answered, somewhat petulantly. Really? Still pouting because a woman had thought of something he hadn’t?

  “Well, I don’t have a guess. I didn’t see the lake, you did. So what’s your guess?” Rachel asked with as much patience as she could muster, realizing that John had spoiled her.

  He wasn’t worried about little things like whose idea it was or who might know more about something. She’d quickly forgotten how condescending many men were just because she didn’t have a pair of balls between her legs, and how threatened they were if she happened to be right about something.

  “Maybe another couple of hours,” he finally said and started walking without waiting to see if she was ready.

  18

  They pushed on throughout the afternoon, Rachel’s stomach growling with hunger and her mouth dry with thirst. The wind picked up as the day wore on, now strong enough to start snapping branches out of the tops of the trees. The first time one of them crashed to the ground a few yards to their right, Rachel had whipped up the flare gun and nearly pulled the trigger.

  She’d exchanged a look with Bill who was also aiming in the same direction then both of them looked up. The trees swayed against the darkening sky and Rachel had to look back down at the ground when the movement brought on vertigo. But before she lowered her gaze she’d seen that the clouds with the black, swollen bottoms were now directly overhead.

  “It’s going to start snowing soon,” she said.

  “Yes, it is.” Bill said, stepping over a thick, dead branch and continuing on.

  An hour later they passed out of the trees as they approached a narrow crest. There was no soil here, just bare rock. Moving cautiously they crept up to the top and looked over into a valley. A lake filled the lowest part of the valley floor, surrounded by more thick forest.

  “Told you so,” Bill said.

  It took all of Rachel’s self control to keep her mouth shut. The man was really starting to grate on her nerves and if she didn’t need him she wouldn’t be putting up with his juvenile attitude. But she did need him if she wanted to survive. Not only to survive the moment, lost in the wilderness, but she needed the distress beacon sewn
into his clothing. So, to keep harmony, she shut her mouth and let him have his little victory.

  Standing on the crest they were fully exposed to the weather. The temperature had dropped as the wind picked up, cutting through their clothing like frozen razor blades. Rachel wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to hold in as much body heat as possible. As they moved over the crest and started descending into the new valley the first snowflakes began to fall.

  They were large and heavy with moisture. There were only a few but before they moved back into the forest Rachel looked at the horizon. Other than the two peaks that were closest to them the rest of the mountaintops were completely hidden behind a wall of white. It was snowing like hell only a few miles to the north.

  “We need to hurry,” she said to Bill, pointing to the north.

  He looked up as he was stepping over an area of loose shale and missed his step. His foot slid out from under him and with a cry he tumbled down the mountainside. Rachel stood frozen watching him skid, picking up speed until he slammed into the trunk of a massive pine tree.

  “Oh shit,” she said to herself and began making her way down the slope as fast as she dared.

  It took her five minutes to cover the distance Bill had fallen in less than ten seconds. When she reached him he was moaning, holding his leg.

  “How bad are you hurt?” Rachel asked as she slipped to a stop next to him.

  “My leg,” he said, his voice tight with pain.

  “Move your hands and let me look,” Rachel said, gently pushing them out of her way.

  Nothing was immediately apparent with the flight suit covering the limb he’d been holding and Rachel didn’t want to slice it open to get a better look. It was cold, and only going to get colder, and they both needed every ounce of insulation they had. Carefully she placed her hands on his leg, immediately feeling the displacement of his shinbone.

  “Your tibia is broken,” she said.

  Bill grunted in pain when she pressed on the side and back of his leg.

  “I can’t tell if your fibula is broken. Not without an X-ray.” She said, reaching out and pulling his survival pouch off his shoulder.

  “How bad is it?” He asked as she pulled out the first aid kit.

  “Bad enough. You aren’t walking on it,” she said.

  Rachel opened the first aid kit and inventoried its contents. It was military issue, so was well stocked. Taking out what she needed she spread it on the ground.

  “I need to set the bone and it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch. Want some morphine?” She asked, holding a spring loaded syrette up for him to see.

  “You know what you’re doing?” He gasped out the question.

  “I’m a doctor. That’s why you were taking me to Seattle.” Rachel had grown tired of explaining she was only a fourth year med student when people needed help. It was easier to just say she was a doctor. That one magic word elicited immediate trust and shut down all arguments. When she was their only option she didn’t feel she was doing anything wrong by exaggerating her qualifications.

  “OK. I’ll take the morphine,” Bill said.

  Rachel jammed the needle into his thigh, triggering the syrette to push a dose of painkiller into his body. Almost instantly he relaxed, laying his head back on a carpet of pine needles. Putting the syrette away Rachel ran her hands over his leg again, pressing harder this time as she determined how the bone was broken. A couple of minutes later she was ready.

  Grasping his ankle, she gave a sudden jerk and twisted slightly. Bill grunted, but didn’t react in any other way. Checking her work, Rachel was satisfied that she had done as good as possible without modern medical imaging equipment to let her see the break and the results of her effort to realign the bone.

  Casting around she found two strong branches and dragged them over next to Bill. Taking his survival knife from the sheath on his vest she trimmed them smooth, creating two straight splints. Placing one on either side of his leg she pulled part of his parachute out of the pack on his back.

  He’d been right. She’d found a use for the nylon canopy and ropes. Working with the knife she cut off what she needed. First she used the fabric to wrap the makeshift splints to his leg, continuing to wrap until it was a thick bundle. Then she threaded a rope under and began tightly tying it off until the limb was bound from ankle to knee.

  Work completed, she checked his breathing and the pulse in his ankle. He was unconscious but the vitals that she was able to monitor were strong. The morphine would wear off in a few hours and he’d wake up in a lot of pain. And she didn’t know how the hell he was going to be able to walk in this terrain. It was hard enough with two good legs.

  While Rachel had worked it had continued to snow. It wasn’t falling fast, but at a steady pace and the ground was almost completely covered in white. Looking up at the crest Rachel’s blood ran colder than the snow when she saw a massive wolf standing there, staring down at them. Much of its fur was burned, in some places raw skin showing through its coat. It was the same one she’d shot with the flare gun the previous night.

  19

  There wasn’t a big selection of police vehicles in the rear lot. I had succeeded in finding keys for every one and began opening candidates to inspect them. I immediately dismissed two prisoner transport vans, moving on to a Chevy Tahoe. It was several years old and had a lot of miles on it. Over 200,000. I was sure it had been well maintained but wanted something that had better odds of being reliable.

  Resigning myself to the row of Dodge Chargers I went to the one parked in the slot with a small sign that reserved the space for the station commander. I suspected it would have the least miles on the clock and hadn’t been abused by daily patrols of hundreds of miles of open road.

  The car was almost new with only a few thousand miles recorded on the odometer. It even smelled new and clean inside, probably never having done anything other than transport the boss from home to work then back again. It was set up like police cars everywhere with a heavy-duty push bar on the front. A badge on the dash labeled it as “Police Special”. It sat low to the ground with fat, speed rated tires and when I started the engine it settled into the throaty, rumbling idle of a large displacement V8.

  “Find your toy?” Katie asked with a sarcastic grin.

  I revved the engine a couple of times, comforted by the sound of raw American muscle.

  “And it’s got a Hemi,” I grinned.

  Katie shook her head and turned away. Shutting the car off I popped the trunk and loaded in the ammo and weapons I’d taken from the armory along with the pump and hoses I’d need when it was time to refuel. Ready to go, I turned to Colonel Crawford.

  “Scott should be here within an hour,” I said. “Any more thoughts about what you’re going to do with the jail bird?”

  “Haven’t decided yet. Like I said, the Captain and I are going to try and find his arrest report and see if he’s telling the truth. Honestly, the more I think about it the more it’s bugging me that he hasn’t turned.”

  “Russian agent? Sent in ahead of time?” I mused. If that were the case he would have been vaccinated before the attacks, which would explain why he was still alive and normal.

  “In BFE Oklahoma? That’s a hell of a stretch,” Crawford said, shaking his head. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe once Scott gets here I’ll use the FSOC and have a conversation with Dr. Kanger in Seattle. Get his opinion about whether of not he might really be immune.”

  We spent another minute saying our goodbyes, the Colonel reassuring me they’d be following as soon as the Bradley arrived. I opened the Charger’s back door and Dog jumped in. Katie was already in the passenger seat fiddling with the navigation system built into the dash, trying to input the route Petty Officer Simmons had sent. Martinez wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek, then walked around the car and leaned in to hug Katie.

  Climbing behind the wheel I started the engine and let it idle as I got the seat, mirrors and ste
ering column adjusted to my liking. Fastening the seat belt I had to take a second to pet Dog when he shoved my arm with his nose. I guess the station commander didn’t ever transport prisoners, as there wasn’t a barrier between the front and rear seats. That was fine with Dog. He liked to stick his head into the front when I drove.

  “Nav doesn’t work,” Katie said, stabbing at the touchscreen.

  “The EMP. It’s what caused the Osprey to crash and probably took out all the GPS satellites. Nav won’t work without them.”

  “That’s just marvelous,” Katie said, exiting the mapping app and leaning back in her seat to stare at the small sat phone screen. “Wait a minute. How’s the Bradley navigating?”

  “It must be using the NSA satellite,” I said after a moment of thinking about it. “Don’t know how that’s working with only one of them up there, but the GPS system over North America is out of commission. I’ve been away from it for a while but I do remember that the military was looking at alternatives to the network of GPS satellites. Maybe they got something else I don’t know about.”

  Katie nodded and kept looking at the phone. I backed out of the spot and idled around the building, following Martinez and the Colonel who would open the gate to let us out. Reaching the front parking lot they walked to within a few yards of the chain link and Crawford raised his rifle and put down the small group of males who were banging against the fence.

  When the last one fell Martinez pulled the gate open, stepped through and dragged a couple of bodies out of the way so I didn’t have to drive over them. Not that rolling over a corpse should cause any damage to the Dodge or its tires, but why take the chance when you don’t have to.

  “Which way?” I asked, braking as we reached the highway.

  “Left,” Katie said without hesitation. “West for 104 miles until we pick up US highway 183, then we turn north.”