Jonathan Maberry - Patient Zero

“You’re one more smartass remark away from getting bounced off this team.” He blinked at that and snapped his mouth shut on whatever he was about to say next. I leaned close. “You’re a top-notch fighter, Ollie, and I’d rather keep you than lose you, but if you can’t follow orders then you are no good to me or anyone. Now I’m going to ask you only once and that’s it. Are you on my team or not?”

Ollie met my stare for a long ten-count and then he inhaled sharply through his nose and exhaled slowly. “Fuck it,” he said.

I waited.

“I’m in.”

“My rules, my way?”

He nodded and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Yes, sir.” No sarcasm this time.

“Look at me,” I said. He opened his eyes. “Say it again.”

“Yes, sir. Your rules, your way.”

I nodded and stepped back. “Then we won’t discuss this again.” I turned and walked away, passing Dietrich and Courtland without comment, and rejoined Echo Team. After a moment Ollie followed.

To the team I said, “I guess they’ll debrief us once we’re back in Baltimore. They’ll need to know everything.” I paused. “I have a friend, Dr. Rudy Sanchez. He’s a police psychiatrist, and he’s a good man.”

“A shrink?” Skip asked.

“Yeah. He’s at the DMS, and I want each of you—each of us— to take a few minutes and sit down with him.”

“Why?” asked Skip.

Top turned to him. “Tell me something, kid; when you woke up this morning did you think that by suppertime you’d be killing zombies and gunning down little kids?”

Skip dropped his eyes and looked dejectedly down at the floor.

Top laid a big hand on his shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “Believe me, Skip, you don’t want to go to sleep tonight with this in your head and no one to talk to.”

Ollie just stood there with his eyes glistening and his fists balled into knots.

Bunny said, “I ain’t ever gonna sleep again.”

The DMS Warehouse, Baltimore / Tuesday, June 30; 8:51 P.M.

A CHOPPER TOOK us back to the warehouse in Baltimore. On the way Grace told us that quarters had been set aside for each of us. “It’s not much,” she said over the whine of the rotor, “we had small offices converted into bedrooms. Mr. Church has asked that you and your men go to your quarters and wait until called for. He doesn’t want any of you talking to other DMS personnel until he’s had a chance to meet with you himself. Don’t worry, you’re not under suspicion, it’s just that a lot of the DMS staff are new and some have not been informed about the nature of this crisis. Security is paramount.”

We didn’t like it but we all understood and we flew the rest of the way in silence. I noticed that Top was pretending to sleep but was actually studying Ollie, who had turned stiffly away from Courtland and me and was staring out the window. When Top noticed me watching him, he smiled and closed his eyes. After that he really did look like he was sleeping, but I didn’t believe it.

IT WAS NEARLY dark when we landed. A guard met me as I debarked and took me to Church’s office. His face showed little emotion, and he sure as hell didn’t rush up to embrace me, but I could see his eyes behind the tinted lenses of his glasses as he gave me a thorough up-and-down appraisal. He waved me to a chair and then sat down behind his desk; and the guard poured me a cup of coffee before he left.

“Grace said that there were no injuries sustained by Echo Team.”

I almost said, “Nothing that will show,” but it was trite. He seemed to guess my thought, though, and nodded.

“And you managed to secure a prisoner.”

I said nothing. If he knew about Ollie—and I’m sure he did—he left it off the table.

“What’s going to happen with those kids?”

“I don’t know. They’ve all been admitted to the hospital with FBI protection. The Bureau’s taken over the problem of identifying them. Some of the children are too traumatized to even give their names. None of them remember how they were taken. A few had recent burns on their skin consistent with liquid Tasers, so we can assume they were taken unawares, perhaps randomly.”

“Experimenting on kids puts a whole new spin on this thing.”

“Yes,” he said, “it does, and I want to hear your full report on what happened today, Captain, but first I want your assessment of the crab plant. When is the absolute soonest you can hit it?”

“There’s maybe a slim chance that the hostiles in the other plant won’t know about the hit we just did. The cell lines were jammed, right? And you cut the landlines, right? It’s late in the day,” I said. “Communication between the cells would necessarily be at a minimum anyway. I think we have to hit it by noon tomorrow.”

“Why not right now? We have sufficient firepower to do a hard entry.”

I shook my head. “There are three reasons why that’s not going to happen tonight. First, you need to interrogate your prisoner. Second, the meat plant was full of kids. Who the hell knows how many civilians are in the crab plant. If you go in all John Wayne then you could get a lot of innocent people killed.”

“And the third reason?”

“Because that plant belongs to Echo Team and I don’t want anyone else jumping our action. Look, you hired us on to be your first team. Well, you got what you paid for. I know you had to be here watching the feeds from the helmet cams. So you know what we went through in there, and you know how tight my guys are. Alpha Team may be DMS elite or some shit but they were a half-step off getting to first base. They should have been in there faster. I shouldn’t have had to call them once things got hot.”

“Grace Courtland and Gus Dietrich are superb agents. As good as anyone on Echo Team,” Church said. “At one point all of them were, but… since St. Michael’s they’ve been showing signs of stress disorder. In the last two days their team drills are down by fourteen percent and their live ammunition drills show hesitation. None of that was there before St. Michael’s.”

Now I understood. I put my cup down and leaned my elbows on his desk. “So we understand each other here?”

“If what you saw in Delaware has taught us anything it’s that we are losing ground on this thing. I want the crab plant hit tonight. Now.”

“No way. My team needs to rest. You talk about reduction in combat efficiency, well, you put a top team into a critical situation without time to rest then you don’t have a top team anymore. You have tired men who will be off their game. Going right back out would get them killed. Twelve hours to sleep and plan the hit.”

“Two hours’ sleep and they debrief in the helo.”

After a minute, I said, “I see the science team. Then we go in three hours. That’s not negotiable. I won’t lead my team to a slaughter. I’ll go in alone before I do that.”

For a moment it looked like he was considering that as a suggestion. Then he nodded.

“Okay.” He took a vanilla wafer and gestured to the plate. “Have one.”

I had an Oreo. “Do you want reconnaissance or scorched-earth?”

“My science division needs data. Computers, lab equipment, pathogen samples… we need to leave the place intact.”

“What kind of backup can we expect?”

“The works. Alpha Team will be on deck and they’ll be first in if you need them; F-18s in the air, helo support for extraction if it gets hot. Special Forces strike teams can be inside in ten minutes; and the National Guard is on standby. If it turns into a firefight we have the edge. If the perimeter is breached we’ll take a closer look at the scorched-earth option.”