Nicholas Smith - Extinction Horizon

Beckham stood and motioned his team out of the Osprey and onto the wet tarmac. They followed the two men toward a cluster of well-lit buildings. A warm breeze rustled across the runway, quite the change in weather from North Carolina. The air felt good. Not as good as Florida would have felt, but better than what they had just come from in Afghanistan.

They crossed the tarmac swiftly, making their way toward an unmarked metal building. Two guards wearing the insignia of the Medical Corps stood outside with M4s.

Noble approached a set of double doors and swung them open for the team. Inside, Beckham expected to find a room bustling with activity, but instead a dimly lit space greeted them. Four metal tables had been set up in the center of the room, gear stacked neatly on top of them. There were gloves, helmets, and hazard suits.

Beckham followed his men over to the first table. Curious, he reached out and grabbed one of the suits. This one looked different than the one he’d trained in before. Thinner and more advanced.

Caster lowered his hand, motioning for Beckham to put the suit down. “We don’t have much time,” he said from the front of the room, looking down at his watch. “Our Blackhawk leaves in fifteen minutes. Major Noble will explain and help you into your gear. We can discuss the mission further on the flight to San Nicholas. Unfortunately, I don’t have much new data beyond what Colonel Gibson’s briefing already provided. We have attempted multiple communications with Building 8. All have failed. If anyone is alive, they aren’t answering.”

Noble stepped forward. He scanned the faces of the team individually, locking eyes with every member, stopping last on Beckham. Clearing his throat, he said, “Gentlemen, I never thought we would be in this situation. One of our most secure facilities has somehow been compromised. We don’t know what we are dealing with, but we aren’t ruling anything out. Could be an accident or could be an act of terror. We just don’t know. That’s why you are here. You are one of the best teams the U.S. military has to offer.” He paused and reached for one of the neatly stacked suits.

Beckham narrowed his eyes, focusing on Major Noble. “Sir, have you considered sabotage from within?”

The officer shrugged. “Like Major Caster said, nothing is off the table.”

Unfolding the suit, Noble continued, “This is the most advanced chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear suit available, designed with a new class of membrane. The manufacturer incorporated nanopores that are filled with novel ionic polymers. In short, it allows water vapor to pass through, so it isn’t so hot. You may also notice there aren’t oxygen tanks. The gas masks are state of the art. They filter out ninety-nine percent of any contagions you may encounter. They are a prototype, but…”

Riley wedged his way through the group. “Did you say prototype, sir?”

Noble nodded. “You heard right. Rest assured. You will be fine.”

Beckham waited for Riley to say something stupid, but to his surprise, the younger operator backed away.

“So what exactly are we going to need those for?” Doctor Ellis asked from behind the team. He was still standing in front of the door, hidden by the large frames of Beckham’s men.

“Ah, you must be Dr. Ellis with the CDC. Glad to have you here. I know this has all been very last minute. I understand you are a virologist?” Noble said, he pulled a notepad from a pocket and thumbed through it. “Yes, here we go,” he said narrowing his gaze. “You graduated at the top of your class from the University of California, Berkeley, in the Infectious Diseases Program,” he said and then paused. “I was class of ’95.”

“That’s right. Crazy coincidence, but what I really want to know is why am I here?”

“Some clause in a law written by politicians who have no idea about the nature of our business,” Caster said.

“Checks and balances,” Beckham added with a snort.

“Due to the top secret nature of this mission, there are certain things you aren’t supposed to know, but…” Noble began to say.

Caster took over. “With time being a concern, I’m going to say fuck protocol, so listen up. Our mission is to retrieve the work of Dr. Medford, the lead assigned to Section 4 of Building 8, I believe…” He glanced at Noble and added, “We believe that this isn’t a matter of sabotage or terrorism, but there may be hostages. A different type of hostage.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Horn exclaimed. “I thought you said you didn’t know what we are dealing with.” He pulled his skull mask away from his mouth.

“We did. It’s only a theory, but if I’m right it means we are dealing with a potential viral outbreak, one where ‘human hostages’ has taken on a whole new meaning,” Noble said.

Caster nodded. “As you know, Colonel Gibson received a message from Building 8. Medford explained they were working with VX-99 in an attempt to destroy the new Zaire Strain of Ebola. We think when he attempted to kill the virus, the chemicals bonded with the virus shell, mutating the strain into something else.”

Caster ran a finger over his right eyebrow. “Truth is, if things are as bad as I think they might be, then we are going to need more than your expertise and skill to retrieve Dr. Medford’s work. We are going to need some luck.”

“Wait a second,” Dr. Ellis blurted. “Can you explain that last sentence?”

“I believe Dr. Medford may have inadvertently created a new virus in his attempt to destroy the Ebola virus. And I believe his team may be infected.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Noble said with a hand raised.

Ellis ran a hand through his hair and blinked rapidly like he was trying to make sense of the situation.

Caster seemed to notice the man’s change in demeanor and said, “Can you handle this, Dr. Ellis? Legally, we are required to have you here, but you don’t have to go with the team if you don’t want to. We can’t force you to do so.”

“Yes,” Ellis replied assertively. His posture said otherwise. His shoulders sagged, and his thin frame seemed to shrink inside his jacket as if he was trying to hide.

Ten minutes later they were on the move with their gear in tow. The pale CDC virologist followed the rest of the team onto the tarmac. Like a child that had used up all of his energy, the doctor seemed defeated. Beckham spied a glimpse of the man’s face and could see he didn’t just look defeated—he looked terrified.

They climbed solemnly into the belly of the Blackhawk. Everyone on the team knew this was no longer a routine mission. They were up against an unknown enemy, unlike any they had ever faced.

Beckham took the seat closest to the cockpit and saw Chief Wright scrutinizing him for the second time. “Guess you aren’t dropping into a war zone after all. Now the extra hazardous duty pay makes sense.”

This time Beckham didn’t respond at all. He focused on the briefing and began the mental prep for the mission. By the time they were airborne, it was finally all beginning to sink in, and he couldn’t believe their luck.

Instead of paradise, he was preparing to enter hell—a hell that terrified him unlike any other he could think of. He remembered the first years of his training as a Delta Force Operator, back in the House of Horrors, the nickname for the training facility where he became an operator.

It was there that he had attended a week-long NBC course where experts explained the effects of the various nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons. He could still remember pulling that first gas mask over his face and the intense terror he’d experienced knowing he couldn’t see the enemy. He’d pushed through and learned to adapt to the equipment, but he would never forget how it made him feel—the tightness in his lungs, the shallow breathing.