4. Chapter 4
Chapter four
Day 2 Karaveht, Tajikistan
They were still two klicks from Karaveht when Aiden’s get-the-fuck-out-now alarm started screaming. It wasn’t a premonition, at least not like the ones Wolf got. It was more like a feeling that something was wrong…or about to go wrong.
His breath steaming from the mesh mouthpiece of his balaclava, Aiden stopped to scan the jagged peaks surrounding them. Their target was just over the next rise. The scrubby, snow-crusted terrain surrounding them was a luminous green beneath his NVDs and cold weather goggles. No furtive movements up ahead. No shimmer of metal as snipers lined up their shots. The steep, rocky hill above them looked barren. No sign of a welcome party. No sign anyone was out and about.
What the hell was he picking up on?
The night huddled around them—hushed and still. Even the tread of their boots against the snow crusted path sounded muted, instead of crunchy. That was when it clicked. The night was too quiet. Unnaturally so.
“Alpha One, problem?” Grub’s question was a flat growl through Aiden’s comm. They all knew voices carried in the cold, crisp air.
“Possibly,” Aiden said in a toneless whisper. “Anyone getting the willies?”
A pause traveled the line, followed by Montana’s cool response. “Alpha One? What’s the problem?”
Aiden scanned the hills again. Still no signs of life. No indication of an ambush.
“Alpha One.” Montana’s voice again, this time with a hint of impatience. “Is there a problem?
Aiden frowned. The prickle down his spine sure thought so. But his eyes saw nothing concerning. “Unclear.”
“Target is over the rise. Two klicks away,” said Dawson.
“Copy that.” Aiden scanned the hills again. His internal danger alarm was getting louder and more insistent. “Any new SAT intel?”
Another pause crawled over the comm. Then, “Pulling.”
Minutes ticked by while his team shifted uneasily behind him. As they waited, the cold dug in, chilling skin previously warmed by adrenaline and exercise. They needed to get moving again. Movement was their best defense against the sub-zero weather—at least until they returned to their exfil site and dug into their cold weather kits.
“The newest images are consistent with the earlier ones,” the spook said. “Nothing concerning. We are a go. Repeat, we are a go.”
Aiden stepped forward, forcing his resistant muscles to move. Something sure had his bowels in a twist.
When they reached the summit, they went belly down on the rocky, snow-smudged ground. Karaveht lay dark and silent below. A chill skated down his spine as he examined the messy rows of houses. Not a damn light on in any of them. Sure, it was late, barely zero-three-hundred, but you’d think someone would have left a light on.
His chest, abdomen, and legs tried to root themselves into the ground. Christ, he didn’t want to go down there.
Just do your job.
He forced himself up and over the ridge. The ground was rocky and slick. They took their time, testing each step, descending as stealthily as possible. By the time they reached the outskirts of Karaveht, his danger alarm was shrieking nonstop.
They moved forward, rifles up. A dozen paces in, his scope fell on a huddled lump in the middle of the street. They slowed, cautiously approaching. The smell of blood was faint at first but grew stronger with each step. It was minus ten degrees. There had to be a lot of blood involved for him to smell anything at all. In subzero temperatures, the olfactory system had trouble detecting and categorizing scents.
The lump separated into two forms as he got closer. Humans. Both dead. A lake of red surrounded them. No one could survive losing that much blood. One body lay face down, the other, face up. He tapped the heel of his boot against the pool of blood. It crunched and splintered. Frozen. Which meant these two had been dead so long ago their blood had cooled and froze.
The body facing up was a male in his sixties, with a gaping split across his throat. A bloody serrated knife still touched his fingers. Squirrel squatted beside Aiden, watching him turn the second body over. It was female. Younger than the male. She wore the traditional straight dress, trousers, and colorful embroidered shawl of a mountain woman.
Squirrel used his rifle barrel to nudge the tatters of her dress aside. “She was stabbed. Repeatedly.”
Grubb scanned the scene. “If someone killed them and left, they’d leave bloody footprints behind. There are none, and the knife is next to him. Looks like he used the knife on her first and then slit his own throat.”
Had this asshole killed his wife and then himself? Suicide by slitting your own throat was unusual. Plus, they’d been dead for hours. Why hadn’t anyone moved the bodies out of the road?
“Let’s find Kuznetsov, collect the drone shit and get out.” Aiden rose to his feet.
According to their intel, their target’s residence was a narrow, one-story mud-brick building in the middle of town. They moved toward it, clinging to the shadows, their boots crunching against the crusty snow. The door to the second house stood wide open. And the blood smell was even stronger than up the road. Aiden’s chest tightened. An open door in the middle of February? In minus-ten-degree weather? Along with the scent of blood? This could not be good.
He skirted the door and froze at the sight of the bodies behind it.
A whole damn family. All dead. All bloody as hell.
“Fuck. She’s just a kid.” Aiden squatted next to the closest child and turned her over. Eight or nine years of age, with a bloody hole in her forehead. Her tattered, tiny dress and pants were iced with blood, indicating she’d suffered more than just the gunshot wound. His gut churned. It was always hard to see a dead kid. So senseless, so much lost potential. But this…
He rose to his feet, turning to the other bodies. Squirrel and Grub had flipped them over until they faced up. Their bodies were covered with frozen blood, half their faces and heads gone. A rifle and two handguns lay on the ground among them. The carnage was senseless. This hit hadn’t come from a terrorist sect. Shitkickers didn’t waste ammo.
“What the fuck happened?” Benny asked, his wiry body rigid.
“Again, no footprints walking away.” Grub’s voice was thin. “And these wounds are close range.” He glanced at the guns on the ground. “Looks like the adults killed each other and the kids.”
A single lover’s quarrel was one thing. But a mother and father killing each other , and their kids? Plus, the sheer violence of the scene. It looked like the couple down the road and this family here had gone fucking crazy and slaughtered each other.
Something was very wrong in Karaveht. Was Kuznetsov behind the bloodshed? That’s when he remembered the live camera feed.
“Base,” he said. “You see this?”
“Affirmative.” Montana sounded nonplussed.
“You know anything about this?” Aiden’s voice went hard, accusatory.
What were the odds they’d walk into something so messed up while testing this new continuous video feed? Had someone up the ladder known his team would stumble into this shit show?
“How the hell would I know about this?” Montana sounded pissed, like he’d picked up on Aiden’s unspoken accusation. “Get the drone intel and get out.”
Aiden glanced down as Grub rose from where he’d turned one of the kids over.
Turned the kid over…
Ah, hell .
“No more touching them,” he ordered sharply. God only knew what had caused these people to snap, but if it was contagious…
He shuddered, staring down at his gloved hands. He was wearing his winter wear gloves, which were thicker, with more insulation, but still, he’d touched two bodies.
You’re wearing gloves. You’re fine.
Unless his gloves were contaminated and he’d touched his face, spreading the taint to his unprotected skin. But, hell—the contaminant could be airborne. They could be infecting themselves with every breath they took. He shook himself and regrouped. While there was still the chance these two instances of violence were aberrations, they needed to take precautions.
“Everyone mask up.” They all carried Avon M50 respirators in their packs. They’d be a tight fit with the balaclavas, but they’d make it work.
“ Don’t touch your face. Before attaching your respirator, take your gloves off without using your hands. Once the M50 is hooked up, switch to a pair of fresh gloves. From here on out— don’t touch anything .”
He moved away from the second kill site. Far from the bodies and blood, he eased out of his assault pack. He used the toe of his boot to anchor his gloves and pulled them off. After plugging the M50 into the Electronic Communications Port, he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.
Were their precautions too late? Had they already been infected by whatever caused these people to snap? The question sat like a cold, hard lump in his chest.
More bodies appeared as they advanced into town. They didn’t stop to investigate, but the bloodshed was incredible. Men…women… children. One guy had a shovel buried in his abdomen; another was hacked to pieces with a machete. The violence was unreal.
No fucking way was an outside force responsible for this insanity. The entire town had gone bonkers and slaughtered each other. Most of their weapons were household items. Several of them had used skillets to pulverize their victim’s skulls.
Had Kuznetsov tested a psychotropic drug here? Had it turned everyone insane?
“Jesus.” Squirrel’s breathing was choppy and sporadic. “That asshole used a goddamn chainsaw. He cut their fucking heads off.”
Aiden didn’t look. He didn’t need more horrifying images clogging his memory. “Keep your distance from the bodies.”
Not that anyone needed the warning. Nobody wanted to catch whatever had infected these poor bastards.
“We touched the first two sets of bodies.” Grub’s voice was hoarse, horrified. “We had our gloves on, but still.”
“Yeah.” Aiden shook aside his own dread. “Can’t do anything about that now. Focus. Get this job done and let’s get out.”
“Golden Eagle,” Aiden said, addressing his CO by the moniker the prick had chosen for himself. He could almost feel the bastard preening on the other end of the comm. But it was best to keep the ass pliable. “It’s too dangerous to bring anything back from here, nor can we evac. Whatever caused these people to snap could be contagious. We can’t risk infecting base.” He paused, his voice tightening. “We need a CDC risk assessment team.”
A small town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere would make a perfect test site for a viral, bacterial, or psychotropic weapon. Was that what Kuznetsov was up to in Karaveht, testing something new and horrific? Had their camera feed been ordered to record the aftermath of the test? Was that the real reason they’d been ordered to run a continuous feed? Were they part of the goddamn test?
If that was the case, then he had a big problem, because someone within WARCOM had to be calling the shots.
Rage coiled in his gut, vibrating like an angry rattler.
This whole situation felt like a damn set up.
Kuznetsov’s house was exactly where Dawson said it would be. Its door stood open. The interior was dark. Complete silence from inside. They assaulted into the building low and quick, rifles up and sweeping. Pure muscle memory at work.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
“Clear,” echoed through the silent rooms.
Their search of the house revealed nothing.
No Kuznetsov. No signs of habitation. No computers. No cell phones. No drone specs or drone prototypes. Nothing but empty rooms and layers of dust.
“Golden Eagle.” Aiden’s voice echoed through the silent house. “Our target is cold.”
This house hadn’t been occupied in months, maybe even years.
They’d been set up.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The litany went on and on in his head.
“Copy, Alpha One.” Montana’s voice was muffled as though he were consulting with someone to the side. “Light it up and search the town.”
They left the house with Grub releasing the M14 grenade and rushing out to join them. The explosion rocked the eerie silence behind them. A ball of flames and debris leaped into the sky. Nobody came to investigate. They searched the entire town, their bodies tense, their breathing choppy, their silence ripe with fear. They didn’t find Kuznetsov, or the drone specs, or any survivors. Whatever hit this town had a 100% fatality rate.
If he and his brothers were infected…
Don’t think about it. Focus on the job and get out.
“Golden Eagle, target is cold,” Aiden announced into his comm once they’d searched the last house.
“Copy,” Montana said. “Hold for orders.”
“If these new orders involve collecting samples from this hellhole, they can go fuck themselves,” Lurch muttered.
Aiden grunted in agreement and hoped his buddy had turned his comm off.
“Alpha one.” Montana’s voice sounded tense. “Head to exfil. Be aware, evac is delayed. We have a CDC team en route. Keep us apprised of any changes to your team’s health and mental acuity. ”
Montana’s terse order shortened Aiden’s stride. Translation. Let us know if you, or any of your teammates, go nuts.
Aiden flinched.
Fuuuck .
Did base think this insanity bug came on so fast it would infect his team within hours of leaving town? How soon had it affected the villagers? When had they died? The subzero temperatures made it difficult to assess time of death.
He keyed his mic. “Agent Dawson. You said the latest SAT images were consistent with earlier ones. Did any of the images pick up the dead bodies? Any evidence of when they died?”
“No. There were no bodies on the SAT scans.” Dawson’s voice sounded defensive. But then, he knew how fucked that was. The bodies should have been visible…unless someone had scrubbed the images before sending them on. “I’ve sent them in for analysis.”
Aiden grimaced. Great. It would take days for the Farm to issue a report.
As they scaled the hill toward their exfil site, the ice-shrouded grass crackled beneath each footfall. Aiden listened to the harsh breathing of his teammates as they climbed beside him. Never had their breathing been so loud, or their tension so sharp, after completing a mission. He could taste the fear in the air—both his and his brothers’. The sharp, metallic taste of it filled his mouth. They all knew their lives were at risk the second they hopped off a chopper—hell, even before their boots hit the ground sometimes—and that each mission courted the ultimate sacrifice—the giving of their lives.
But not like this. Not through insanity and violence. Not through the ultimate betrayal and the slaughter of his brothers, the men he’d sworn to protect. He wanted to believe that wouldn’t happen, that his team had escaped whatever had driven the inhabitants of Karaveht crazy, driven them to kill each other.
But he couldn’t push the fear aside, because that damn internal alarm was still screaming in his head, warning him that the danger was far from over.