Chapter 10- Ecotone

Chapter 10

Ecotone

Sat-Com, Somewhere in Virginia

“Just how bad is bad?” asked General Petersen.

“Bad.” Replied the voice on the end of the radio.

“That’s not very much for us to go on here.  We need an honest, no b.s assessment of the situation.” Petersen pushed his cap back and massaged his forehead.

“It’s bad.  Arctic blue is compromised, it’s possible that there has been an exposure.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Said Petersen.  An officer with a clipboard had been walking past at that point.  Petersen fixed him with a stare with grey-blue eyes.

“You want somethin’ Captain?” He asked.

“No Sir,” replied the Captain.

“Then get a fuckin’ move on,” Replied General Petersen.  He pulled his cap straight.

“Ok so we’ve got a possible exposure of an unknown biological weapon.  Just how communicable is it, if there is exposure?” asked Petersen.

“Very.” Came the reply.

“I need a bit more to work with here.” Said Petersen, repeating himself.  He picked up a cup of coffee, detected its cold and waved a hand.  A Staff sergeant took the cup out of his hands and went to refill it.

“General, once blue has been exposed to a major civilized area, it may be all but impossible to put it back inside it’s box.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Said Petersen.

“No I’m not.  But no one knows exactly how deadly this thing is.  The air force have been sitting on the report since the early eighties.”

“Perfect.  Ok, I need the files here ASAP.”
“That can be arranged.  They are scanty.”
“Right now that’s not much of a surprise.” Replied Petersen.  “I need to know what sort of containment I can set up.  I assume that a cover story can be generated?”

“Yes.”

“Well at what point am I looking at just throwing a fucking hammer at this thing?” Replied Petersen.  He touched his own dog tags briefly.

“To be honest General, it may be the only way.  Don’t expose any more people to the area than you have to.  We may not get any of them back at all.”

“God damn it.” Snarled General Petersen.  The staff sergeant left a hot cup of coffee in range and got clear of the General.

“General, you have full control over this and the support of the administration.”
“I don’t care about that shit.  Just make sure I have all the resources I need to shut this mess down.” Said Petersen.

“What do you need?” asked the voice.

“I want a AC-130 Spectre, loaded and ready.  I also want a squadron of F22’s fuelled and ready to go.  Finally I may need an extraction force.  I want the 1^st MEU tactical rescue force from Paris Island.”

“Give me five minutes but I believe you’ll get all those toys.”

“And I need one more thing.” Said Petersen.

“Name it.”

“If needs be, I will need the mother of all bombs.” He said, it wasn’t phrased as a request.

“That you can have.  I just hope you don’t need one.”

“Me too,” Replied Petersen.  He put the phone down.  He took a sip of coffee.

“Too hot,” He barked.  “Too fucking hot.”

Villa Cyranno, Venezuela

Captain Henry Barrow moved fast through the barn.  He kept the pistol low; he wasn’t here to shoot on sight.  None the less, he felt reassured by the heaviness of the sidearm.  There were three ponies in the barn along with a couple of goats.  But there was no sign of the missing man from the crash site.

            He hadn’t checked the hayloft, however.  He took a deep breath and began to ascend, rung by rung.  He used one hand to hold onto the ladder, the other held the pistol at his side.  If the missing man was up in the hayloft and it he was hostile, then Barrow knew he’d have almost no chance at warding him away.

            He looked up in the hayloft, there was barely even any hay, let alone the sign that someone had been here recently.  He took a quick rest and then descended from the ladder in one swift movement.  He brace3d himself on landing and sprung quickly back to his feet.  Where now?  Where was the second most likely place a missing and potentially wounded man would hide?

            Barrow looked out of the barn’s other door and saw a straight path leading towards the church.  “Yes.” Said Barrow to himself.  He looked to either side and then ran across towards the church.  Barrow was unaware of being followed at a discreet distance.

            Barrow had been trained to move quickly and quietly, trying to keep as low a profile as possible.  He was well aware of how out of place he would seem, army uniform and weapon.  But he also was aware that unless people were looking for him or just happened to be in the right place, they’d not spot him.

            The church was easily the biggest building in Villa Cyranno and even it wasn’t much to shout about.  A white stone building with a slate roof, a stubby tower jutted out of the top of it.  Barrow’s mind drifted back briefly to the old church in his hometown, a huge red stone building with a tall tower.  As a child he had thought you climbed that tower to go and meet God.

“No Heck, you don’t get to meet God while you’re alive” His mother had said.

“When do you get to meet God then?” he had asked back.

“When you die sweetheart.  But that wont be for a very long time”.

            He reached the church’s heavy wooden door and put a shoulder to it.  He caught his breath again and opened the door.  There was a long and loud creak and Barrow closed his eyes briefly.  So much for any element of surprise.  Barrow entered a small church, well he supposed it was probably closer in size to a chapel.  A bare dozen pews sat in from of a wooden cross and a simple dais.  There were a few bookshelves and the expected burning candles.

            There was a damp smell and Barrow felt uneasy.  There was a bible lying face down in the aisle between the two rows of chairs and it was open in the middle somewhere.  Barrow was about to pick it up when the Priest appeared.  Barrow had expected a small town like Villa Cyranno to have a village priest so this did not surprise him.

“Father,” he said, somewhat instinctively.  The priest looked at him impassively for a moment or two, his hands folded behind his back.

“Father, do you speak English?” asked Barrow.  The priest looked at him as if he’d never seen another human being before.  Barrow thought about the gun in his hand.  He moved the side-arm back into it’s holster.

“Father, do you speak English?  I’m a US army soldier,” He said, keeping his tone clear.

The priest edged slightly closer, as if to hear him better.  He shook his head.

“Damn it, my Spanish is terrible,” Said Barrow with a smile.

“That’s ok, I speak fine English,” Said another voice from the right of the priest.  Barrow spun quickly, his gun back in his hand.

            A non descript man in a priests robe was stood there.  There was blood spattered across his face.  The man gave him a reassuring smile. 

The priest collided with Barrow with a sudden violence that threw Barrow all the way back to the thick wooden door.  He pulled the trigger instinctively on the side-arm, a round exploding into the wall.

            The priest reached up with two surprisingly strong hands and grabbed hold of Barrow by the neck.  Barrow had time to turn the side-arm at him and fire.  A 9mm round exploded out of his back in a red cloud but the priest kept his death grip.  Blood was dripping from his eyes and nose in long trails.  Barrow felt his vision swim as the strong, hard hands choked off his air.

            He put the pistol into the mans stomach and pulled the trigger twice more.  There were a pair of muffled reports; a splash and the priest’s face changed.  There was a low moan from him, to Barrow he didn’t even sound human.   There was a terrible crashing sound as Barrow was slammed into the wall behind him, books falling from now broken shelves.  The two hands remained at his throat, sharp nails digging into soft flesh.

            Barrow fired one last time, this round exploding into the chest of the priest who no longer resembled a priest.  Blood ran freely from his eyes and mouth and his face seemed to buckle, to tear apart and separate.

            For Barrow, the nightmare-ish vision became unimportant and seemed to gently float away.  He barely heard the sharp cracking sound, nor the sound of a helicopter.  He didn’t hear the animal sounds in the chapel nor the sounds of tearing cloth.