6. Chapter 6
Chapter six
Day 2 Karaveht, Tajikistan
They took the M50 respirators off as soon as they cleared Karaveht, which made it easier to breathe. Aiden focused fiercely on the shushushu of the wind as it swept over his winter BDUs. The icy burn of the breeze slipped past his balaclava, numbing the bridge of his nose and his forehead. Thank Christ for the goggles, otherwise his eyes would be sealed shut. He’d unzipped the armpits of his tactical jacket to vent the body heat buildup from the hard climb up the hill, but sweat still trickled down his back and under his arms, which was never a good thing in cold weather ops. Still, the itchy sensation was a welcome distraction. Anything to avoid the what-ifs pushing against his mind.
What if he was infected? What if Karaveht’s insanity bug was spreading through his brain? Was he about to go crazy and slaughter his teammates—his best friends?
The squeak of boot treads against ice and snow drifted up from behind him. So did heavy breathing. Steam plumed through the mesh mouthpieces of their balaclavas. The path to exfil was steep and winding, slick with ice and snow. Still, the physicality of the climb shouldn’t tax them. They’d scaled more difficult paths dozens of times before. The only difference this time was the knowledge they might not have left the danger behind once they left town. They might carry the danger with them…inside them.
As that danger alarm in his brain insisted.
Squirrel was the best friend he’d ever had. But the rest of the men on his six were his brothers in every way that mattered. He’d covered their backs for years, just as they’d covered his. He’d attended their birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries. He’d hiked and fished with them, shared beers and barbeques.
The thought of snapping and putting a bullet into their brains was far worse than dying himself. He’d kill himself before he’d harm any of them.
Working up a sweat in sub-zero temperatures was a recipe for hypothermia. But the quest to put that doomed town and the horrifying possibility it represented behind them pushed them forward. They had extra warmies, thermal blankets and even puff jackets in their ditch kits. They could dry off and keep warm back at the exfil site.
Managing the threat of insanity was more difficult.
If they’d been exposed to a drug that caused psychotic behavior, wouldn’t they be symptomatic by now? The symptoms would have presented as soon as the body absorbed the dose. Karaveht was an hour behind them. Plenty of time for a drug’s side effects to show.
Infections, on the other hand, whether viral or bacterial, had incubation periods. Some were long, some short, but they all had them. How long was the incubation period for the sickness that attacked the inhabitants of Karaveht?
Hell, what were the early symptoms? It would help if they knew how long it took from exposure to the first incident in Karaveht.
He stopped walking and triggered his mic. Instantly, the cold pressed in. “Agent Dawson, have you received any new intel on what happened in Karaveht?”
“Negative, Alpha One.” The response came from Montana. “Any updates on you and your team’s condition?”
“Status quo,” he said after a beat of silence. “It would help if we had a timeline on Karaveht—an understanding of how long it took for the insanity to progress.”
“Understood, Alpha One.” Montana sounded sympathetic, which illustrated how serious the situation was. “I’ll reach out to our contagion crew, see if they have anything to offer.” The sympathy gave way to a harsh demand. “Keep us apprised of your team’s health.”
“Copy.” Aiden let go of the mic.
An hour later, hot and sweaty, they climbed the final hill to their evac site.
He knew his teammates as well as he knew himself. He’d recognize irregularities in their behavior. If any of them started acting…off…he’d restrain them. If he started acting weird, they’d have to restrain him. It was the only thing available to them until the chopper arrived.
“We need to take precautions.” Aiden stopped next to the cold weather rucksack he’d ditched behind a boulder as soon as they’d hopped off the chopper. He shrugged out of his assault pack and squatted to unzip the ditch kit.
The assault pack contained the essentials of an active op—extra ammo, distractors, frag grenades, flares, extra gloves, the M50 respirators, breaching equipment, and an extra radio. It was small, light, and easy to maneuver in. The ditch kit, on the other hand, was his home away from home. It was also heavy, bulky and unwieldy in the field. It was ditched at drop-off and returned to once the op was completed. It carried all the extras that made life bearable but weren’t necessary for an insertion: extra cold weather layers, thermal blankets, three days of water and MREs, a puff sleeping bag and jacket, a camp stove, and a rudimentary med kit, along with the ever-present ammo and secondary hand weapon. The ditch kit carried everything necessary for cold weather survival if exfil didn’t go as planned and they had to hunker down for a day or two.
“What’re you thinking?” Squirrel asked. He’d removed his goggles, and his brown eyes were grim as he shrugged out of his assault kit and lowered it to the ground.
Good question. Aiden’s fingers paused as they rummaged through the compression bag at the bottom of his rucksack with the thermal layers of clothing. Now that he’d stopped moving, the cold was getting grabby. Everything was separated by compression bags in the ditch kit. The lightest and fluffiest bags at the bottom, the heavier and bulkier bags towards the top.
“First step is monitoring ourselves.” Aiden grabbed a T-shirt and a dry thermal top to layer over it. “Anyone feeling…” He frowned before shrugging, “…different?”
“Different? Like how? Like I suddenly have a hankering to use the lot of you for target practice?” Benny asked, pulling his balaclava down to free his mouth. “I got ketamine in my kit. If anyone melts down, we can knock them out.”
Benny was their combat medic. In their years together, he’d patched them all up. He knew what drug would serve them best if someone went schizoid. But all drugs had their disadvantages. And ketamine took a while to work—not a long while, somewhere between two and five minutes, but those minutes would feel like forever if they were trying to hold someone down.
“We’d have to restrain until the drug takes effect,” Aiden said, pulling his balaclava down as well.
Which presented a problem. Restraining a dude in peak physical condition, a dude who’d been taught a dozen ways to kill someone without the use of a weapon, a dude caught in an “excited delirium” state…
He grimaced. Hell, that sounded like a surefire ticket to death.
“We’d be better off removing our weapons and hiding them, then restraining each other now, while we’re stable, while we can cooperate,” Aiden said, his voice reasonable, knowing with absolute certainty that his brothers would hate that suggestion.
He wasn’t fond of it himself. Taking such extreme action would leave them vulnerable. Not just to each other, but to any shitkicker regime patrolling the area.
But which outcome was more likely, death by an enemy that might be in the area, or death by each other, if any of them carried the contagion that had decimated Karaveht?
“No fucking way,” Grub snarled as he yanked his balaclava over his head and tossed it toward his ruck. The dude’s thin beard appeared to shimmy in agitation. “We don’t even know if we’re infected. If we are, we don’t know when the insanity will hit.” He threw his assault kit to the ground hard enough to pop the bolt cutters out. “For all we know, those poor bastards were infected days, even weeks ago.”
Aiden shrugged. “Once the chopper reaches us and returns to base, medical can screen us. But if the insanity hits before the chopper arrives, we need to take preventative measures, for the exfil crew, as well as for each other.”
“By restraining each other?” Grub snapped. His fists slammed down on his hips, and his wiry body seemed to radiate frustration and fury. “By leaving ourselves vulnerable to any motherfucking local who passes by? Hell no. We keep our eyes peeled and act when necessary.”
Act when necessary?
The hairs on the nape of Aiden’s neck shot up. He stood and angled closer to get a better look at his teammate. What did Grub mean by that? Only two possibilities came to mind. Restrain the affected or kill them. God help them if Grub meant the latter.
They better tie him up now.
Aiden ran a hand over his head and studied his buddy. The dude’s face was jumpy as hell. Grub was one of the cooler guys on his crew. When shit went south, he reacted with caution. He assessed the situation. He was a stone steady kind of guy. Aiden had never seen him so worked up before.
His gaze settled on the twitch at the corner of Grub’s left eye.
That was new.
But then Grub had never faced the possibility of insanity before. That shit could stir up stress. How were they supposed to differentiate an abnormal response from a fear-based one?
You don’t. You tie him up and let the docs sort it out.
He wasn’t the only one focused on Grub. Squirrel and Benny were too. Both men had discarded their goggles and were watching Grub closely. Lurch was crouched over his rucksack, ignoring the lot of them. And Hutch…where the hell was Hutch? The dude had disappeared.
What the hell?
Aiden returned his focus to Grub. The corner of the guy’s eye was twitching even worse. Like a grotesque wink. With careful, slow steps, Aiden edged toward his pack and the 550 cords. Flex cuffs wouldn’t hold Grub. He’d snap them within seconds. It was much harder to escape from 550 cord and tight knots.
“Where the hell are you going?” Grub asked, an edge sharpening his voice.
Aiden stopped and twisted to face him. “Just getting my thermal blanket. He held the thermal underwear up as evidence. “It’s getting cold.”
“Liar.” There was no humor in Grub’s tense laugh. “You don’t get cold.” His rifle lifted. “Don’t fucking move.”
Aiden froze, his gaze locked on Grub’s hands. The cold weather gloves wrapped around the rifle grip were twitching, too, like his fingers were flexing inside the leather.
“Calm down, bro,” Squirrel said in a soothing voice. He took a cautious step forward, moving between Grub and Aiden. “We’re just talking. No need to get riled up.”
As Grub’s gaze shifted toward Squirrel, Aiden eased toward his pack again. He needed the damn cord, and he needed it now. Although…how the fuck was he going to restrain Grub when the dude was armed up the ass and twitchy as hell?
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced over. Benny was closing on his pack, no doubt going for the ketamine.
“Stay the hell away from me.” Grub’s voice rose until it was close to a shout.
Fuck. Grub didn’t raise his voice. Never. Until now.
He should have restrained everyone as soon as they escaped Karaveht. Exfil could have come to them. But with evac delayed, they’d needed their cold weather kits. Besides, how was he to know the insanity bug would hit so soon?
“How about this, you prick? How about you give me that rifle before you kill someone?” Squirrel snarled.
Aiden jerked. Where the fuck had that tone come from? Nothing soothing or placating about it at all. He shifted to face his two deadlocked squad mates. The step Squirrel took toward Grub was predatory. His rifle rose.
Squirrel glanced back at him. It was just for a second, but long enough for Aiden to get a look at his eyes, his muddy, bloodshot eyes, the corners of which were twitching.
No! Fuck no!
His gaze dropped to his best friend’s fingers. Twitching.
Motherfucker.
“Fuck you,” Grub snarled, his rifle rising higher. “Nobody is restraining me. Nobody is stealing my ability to defend myself. I’ll see you all dead first.”
Squirrel lifted his rifle, his feet squaring up. “Of course you’d see us all dead, you selfish prick. You’ve always been more me than us .”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
As his two teammates squared off, Aiden scanned his remaining three teammates for help. Twitching fingers and bloodshot eyes. All of them.
Son of a bitch .
How had this happened so fast?
He keyed his mic. “Base. We’re infected. Early signs are twitching faces and fingers, and bloodshot eyes.” He dropped the call as voices exploded over his comm. How to stop this brewing blood bath? They were about to shoot. He could feel the animosity crackling in the air all around him.
He gathered himself, about to tackle Squirrel. “Benny,” he yelled. “Take—”
Lurch, the squad’s sniper, suddenly charged his bickering teammates. Dimly, it registered that Lurch, his teammate most proficient with rifles, had left his M4A1 carbine hanging.
“Lurch!” Aiden roared, putting every ounce of command he could muster into his shout. “Stand down!”
In unison, Grub’s and Squirrel’s rifles turned toward their attacking teammate. They bypassed his chest, which was protected by ballistic plates, and aimed at his face. Between one breath and another, rifle fire lit the exfil site.
Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.
Lurch flew back, a cloud of brains and blood where his head used to be.
No! Aiden’s scream was silent and useless.
Grub and Squirrel turned their weapons on each other.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
They knew where to target for maximum damage. Above the armor. Below the helmet. Both men’s heads reared back, and vanished in a mist of blood and bone. Their bodies dropped to the ground.
Thump. Thump.
What the hell…what the hell…what the motherfucking hell…
Aiden sucked in a choking, wheezing breath. He rocked back on his heels as the ground seemed to buckle beneath his boots.
This can’t be happening.
“What did you do to them?” Hutch screamed.
Aiden pivoted. The movement felt slow…clumsy. Like his body was two steps ahead of his mind. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast.
“Alpha One, Sitrep! Sitrep!” Montana’s voice thundered through his headset. “Someone give me a damn Sitrep!” Like the bastard wasn’t watching this shitshow through those damn cameras.
Hutch had pulled off his balaclava, exposing his red, sweating face, his lips, eyes and fingers twitching. There was a blind sheen to his bloodshot gaze, the same sheen Grub and Squirrel had worn before they’d killed each other.
“You killed them! Why did you kill them?” Hutch screamed, spittle spraying from his mouth. He lifted his rifle, targeting Aiden’s face.
Aiden dropped to the ground. The muzzle of Hutch’s rifle followed the movement. He rolled.
Crack.
A stinging pinch hit Aiden’s left thigh. He rolled again. Hutch shook his head, slow to respond, slow to re-sight.
“Drop it! Drop it!” Aiden spun onto his knees, ignoring the screaming agony in his left leg the movement unlocked.
He lodged the rifle stock against his shoulder, steadied the M41A with his right hand on the rear grip and his left on the fore stock, only to hesitate.
No. No. Don’t make me do this.
Images of barbeques and birthdays flashed through his mind. Glass bottles clinking at The Bottoms Up Tavern. The slow stretch of Hutch’s lips as he said, “One more rotation behind us.”
Hutch’s chin lowered. His blind gaze locked on Aiden’s face. The muzzle of his rifle dropped.
No.
Crack. Crack.
Hutch’s face disintegrated. He wavered on his feet for a moment, then fell backwards.
His breath lodged in his throat. Still on his knees, Aiden trembled. His rifle wobbled. Had he pulled the trigger? He didn’t remember pulling the trigger.
Jesus, what have I done?
Movement to his right snapped him back to the present. He twisted, his rifle scope following his eyesight. A distant, sharp pinch dug back into his thigh. Benny stood slightly behind him; his rifle muzzle locked on Hutch’s splayed frame. Had Benny fired on Hutch, or had Aiden? Did it even matter?
Aiden’s gaze lifted to Benny’s bare face. It was twitching. So were his hands. But the bloodshot eyes that held Aiden’s own were aware. The blind, blank sheen was missing.
“Tell the docs it started with a tingle, an electrical buzz in my brain.”
Aiden found his voice. “You tell them. You’re still you. Fight it while I get the rope.” He tried to spring to his feet, but his left leg buckled. He hit the ground again. Grunting, he rolled back to his knees. That dull pinch was getting sharper by the second. “Fight it, brother. You can beat this.”
“No time.” Benny’s face twisted. “I can feel it taking over. The rage. The paranoia. The certainty I need to fire on you before you can fire on me. I don’t own my mind anymore.” His hand dropped to his holster and drew his sidearm. “Find out who did this to us. Make them pay.”
When Benny’s hand rose, Aiden was too numb, too stunned to evade the shot. Only Benny didn’t aim at him. He stuffed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
And then there was one.
Aiden ripped off his helmet, tipped his head back, and howled his grief and rage into the dark sky. When he fell silent and looked down, his hands were twitching.