Nicholas Smith - Extinction Horizon

“Colonel Gibson, we have grave news. The virus is at pandemic levels and has reached Europe, South America, and Asia. Due to the rapid speed of the infection, our initial projections were off considerably. Here is a new and more accurate depiction of what we can expect if you are unable to develop a vaccine in the next week.”

Jensen watched as a map of the world emerged on the screen. A caption at the bottom showed the date of 22 April. Red dots illustrated the infection. The United States was already peppered with red blotches. Europe, South America, and even Asia had small clusters of the virus showing up in major cities. As the time lapse began to work, Jensen watched in shock as the entire world hemorrhaged red. No corner of the globe was safe. It all disappeared under the shroud of red within a two-week time frame.

“Jesus,” Smith said from behind them. He was pacing back and forth nervously.

“Move on to the next one,” Jensen ordered.

Benzing clicked on another video and activated it on the right monitor. This was from one of the Joint Chiefs, a general named Richard Kennor. He was old, nearing seventy-five, and it showed in his wrinkled face.

“Colonel Gibson, we have deployed all of our resources to the outskirts of every metropolitan area in the nation, with the National Guard supporting active military units. Bombing runs will commence through 23 April. Hospitals and areas identified with major infections will be strategically located and eliminated. Our troops will then move in to clear out remaining cases.”

Jensen swallowed a mouthful of chew, his throat catching on fire as it trickled down into his gut. He coughed and tears filled his eyes. He’d stood by and watched the chopper full of refugees explode over the island, and he’d heard the bombs going off in New York, but he still couldn’t believe that it was happening worldwide.

A sudden moment of fear paralyzed Jensen. What had Colonel Gibson done?

Feeling the sensation of being watched, he snapped from his trance. His staff was all staring at him, scanning him for support or strength or God knew what. Jensen felt sick.

“Keep playing them,” he mumbled, his world spinning around him as everything sank in.

The next video was dated 23 April. It was taken in what looked like a bunker. Concrete walls surrounded a small command center that appeared to be staffed by officers from all branches of the military. Deputy Director Frank emerged on the screen seconds after the video started.

“Colonel Gibson, we need to know the status of your work. Things are collapsing out here. The military has started retreating from major cities; their perimeters aren’t holding. The infection is spreading faster than we ever imagined. Those that aren’t sick are on the run. The military simply doesn’t have enough troops to destroy the infected. They just keep coming.”

The next videos were much of the same. Explaining how the military was withdrawing and on the run. Europe, South America, Asia, it was happening everywhere.

Hearing just how grave the situation was hit Jensen harder than he thought it would. Shit, it hit everyone in the room hard. The other three officers were quiet, waiting for his orders.

Crossing his arms, Jensen walked to the window overlooking the ocean. “I’ve heard enough. I want to meet with Dr. Lovato before the briefing. Hopefully she can give us some good news.”

The moon vanished behind a cluster of dense clouds as he spoke. A spotlight from one of the guard towers swept the skyline, illuminating angry storm clouds rolling in. Jensen closed his eyes. The irony wasn’t lost on him. The Hemorrhage virus was a combination of Mother Nature and man—the perfect storm—and he doubted there was anything they could do to stop it.

There was no cure.

Kate cupped her helmet in her hands and peeked through a fort of gloved fingers at her computer monitor in the lab. She’d worked through the night. Testing several rhesus monkeys infected with the Hemorrhage virus.

Finding a cure in the past would have meant simply dealing with the virus, but there were two parts to the microscopic weapon tearing the world apart. The VX-99 hybrid nanoparticles had resulted in permanent epigenetic changes. And with the nanoparticles self-replicating they were spread every time the virus was passed to a new host.

A flashback to the creatures in Atlanta reminded her that the infected were no longer people. They were monsters, and there wasn’t anything she could do bring them back.

The sound of crunching plastic pulled Kate away from the results on her computer.

Ellis stood a few feet away, stretching in his space suit. “What are we going to do?”

Kate blinked, trying to focus on her colleague. Her eyes were glazed, her vision blurry. She was tired and tense. Her thoughts were a muddled mess of potential theories. And they all circled back to the one she didn’t want to admit.

“In order to kill a monster, you have to create one,” she muttered.

“What do you mean?” Ellis said.

Pulling her gloves away from her visor, she stiffened. “Maybe Michael was right,” she said. “Maybe there is no way to cure the Hemorrhage virus. Maybe we need to create a monster of our own.”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this,” Ellis said. Dark bags rimmed his exhausted eyes. He brought a finger to his visor and rubbed the panel, like he was trying to scratch a phantom itch.

“A bioweapon,” Kate whispered. “If I can create a viral vector system to target the endothelial cells in the infected, then perhaps we can find a way to stop the virus after all.”

Ellis stared back at her with an incredulous look. “You’re talking about a weapon that will cause the victims to bleed out? To hemorrhage internally?”

Kate pursed her lips to respond, but instead bowed her helmet to the floor and nodded.

“I better tell Lieutenant Colonel Jensen,” Ellis said. “He wanted a progress report before the briefing.”

Kate nodded, but she was hardly listening. “A monster of our own,” she whispered. “A monster of our own.”

Beckham sat across from Horn and watched the man’s chest move up and down as he slept. He’d taken the news of Fort Bragg much like Beckham thought he would—by punching the nearest wall. It had taken Beckham and Riley’s combined effort to restrain Horn from going apeshit and waking up the entire room of sleeping soldiers.

When Horn had finally calmed down it was close to midnight. He’d woken up several times during the night, leaning over to Beckham and asking if the news about Bragg was really true.

Beckham felt the overwhelming sadness trickle over him as he thought of Horn’s two daughters and his wife. He’d told Horn they would be safer at Bragg, and now he was responsible for their fate.

But he wasn’t going to give up on them yet. Maybe by some miracle they had survived and escaped Fort Bragg. If they were alive somewhere, Beckham would find them.

At 0715 the PA system barked to life.

“Attention, all personnel. Please report to the mess hall for briefing.”

Beckham poked Horn in the arm. He grunted and shooed Beckham’s hand away.

“Horn, briefing,” Beckham said.

Riley jumped out of his bed a few feet away. “We’re going to be late.”

Beckham hesitated, knowing that Horn was not in the mood for an argument, but he wasn’t going to let the man just lay there either.

“Horn, get your ass up,” Beckham said sternly. “Your family could still be alive. Sitting around moping isn’t going to help them.”