Return

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Lynn gathers her team along with Drescoll’s and Horace’s and proceeds across the hot, black-tarred ramp toward the parking lot; her boots stick slightly to the pavement with each step. The heat has risen to the point that the tar in the pavement is seeping to the top. Her thoughts center on her route and a game plan on arriving at the CDC. Wanting to come up with a plan now but knowing it will have to wait until she actually sees the campus and structures.

Arriving at the parking lot, thankful for the open gate in the chain-link fence that separates the ramp area from the rest of the world, she sees several vehicles parked about. The ones they observed from the air. The vehicles vary in their size and type but the ones that catch her attention are the three pickups, standing out like beacons in the dark. These will be perfect, she thinks pointing them out to the others. She hears the first engine starting from the aircraft on the ramp behind her, the roar filling the still air.

“Let’s do a quick check for keys in those,” she says to Drescoll and Horace standing beside her, her finger pointing to the trucks.

They do not locate any keys hidden under the seat, in the glove box, on the visor, or any place else. At least the doors are unlocked, she thinks. Not that it would actually have been much of a hindrance. A short time later, with three steering columns pried apart and wires joined, the three pickups head out of the parking lot, the beds filled with soldiers, each team to a truck. The whirring of the rubber tires on the hot pavement accompanies the teams along the road with the sun streaming in the windshield turning the cabins into ovens. A check in her rearview shows the two other trucks following behind in intervals.

The buildings and trees lining the road pass by slowly as she makes her way to the first turn towards their destination. The heat inside the truck dulls some of the adrenaline starting to key up inside her as she draws closer to the campus. The turn takes her into a residential district, the trees lining the road on both sides, giving some shade from the swelter of the day and providing a scenic drive. With the windows down, a scent pervades the otherwise pristine area; a hint of rot and decay. Smelling like the side of a stream following a salmon run where fish lie on the banks rotting in the sun. But here, it is the smell of hundreds and thousands of bodies in the houses around that is drifting into the streets. This is just the beginning, Lynn thinks wrinkling her nose at the assault on her senses.

The sound of the aircraft that was droning faintly in the background from time to time grows louder. The deep-throated rumble soon overrides the sound of the truck engine as they progress through the decay-filled neighborhood. Looking out of from the open window as she rides in the passenger seat, she sees the olive drab 130 pass overhead, rocking its wings slightly before making a gentle turn back towards the airfield. The sight of it brings her mind from the stench permeating the area to the mission ahead.

The three soldier-filled trucks make their way through the neighborhood, the road transitioning from a neighborhood street to that of a five-lane road, the middle lane for turns in either direction. A large, blue, curved CDC sign to the right identifies the main entrance into the campus. Taking the turn, a large number of multi-storied buildings come into view giving evidence to the absolute enormity of their venture. The picture on the ground is completely different from that in the air. So much larger in scope than I imagined, Lynn thinks as the trucks proceed slowly down the entrance road.

A checkpoint appears shortly after making the turn; two lanes leading up to the now, empty check-in facility. An exit road circumvents the checkpoint to the left.

“Take that road around,” she says to the soldier driving.

They pass around the checkpoint and come to a T intersection. Turning left, a large glass building looms over them stretching high into the blue sky behind. This must be the main facility building, she thinks as the trucks come to a stop in front and park alongside the curb. Lynn opens the door and steps out into the heat, shielding her eyes with her hand from the glare of the afternoon sun bouncing off the glass front of the building. She checks her watch as the other teams disembark and gather around her.

Lynn looks at the size, immediately knowing it will take all of the teams to cover this one building alone. She hopes for an ounce of luck that what they seek is within this structure of steel and glass. The broken glass littering the pavement in front of the main entrance doors, glittering as the sun strikes the various angles of the shards, gives her warning that night runners may lurk within. Having faced them many times before and hearing the stories emerge from the encounter inside the BX the previous day, she makes up her mind that if they encounter any large force of night runners, they will retreat back outside. She is in agreement with Jack that they cannot engage in a battle of attrition. That battle will be easily lost and lost quickly.

“Okay everyone, here’s the skinny. We’re all going in together. That broken glass by the door indicates that there may be visitors inside; of the ugly kind. Our first task is to find a reception desk of some kind and locate a directory. If we find the director’s office location, we’ll then proceed there. The interior will dictate what formation we’ll use and what order we’ll go in so listen up on the radio,” Lynn says turning to the team members. “Everyone understand?”

“Hooah, First Sergeant,” they respond as one.

Walking in the lead, Lynn steps up to the shattered front doors and peers inside. A wide, tile-floor lobby opens up immediately inside the doors with lush, cherry wood walls stretching up the entire height of the two-story lobby. The tiled floor, once buffed to a high sheen, now shows a lack of tender care as a fine layer of dust fans out from the open door. Dried, bloody footprints show for a short distance both on the tiled floor inside and the concrete sidewalk beside them. The indications of which are very clear; there are definitely night runners within.

Nestled against the far wall sits a large, wooden reception desk and security station fashioned of the same wood and color as those lining the walls all around. Large, broken glass doors, situated in the middle of the far wall, open up into a hallway leading further into the building. The lobby is flooded with the light from outside thanks to the glass window front, darkening quickly in the hallway across from them. That should help us on the higher levels as well depending upon the floor layout, Lynn thinks hoping they won’t have to go too far into the structure.

“Everyone lock and load. Drescoll, take your team and cover the hallway,” Lynn says.

The metallic sound of multiple charging handles being drawn back and released reaches her ears. The scrunch of boots on glass echoes in the once silent building as Drescoll and the rest of Green Team enter inside, taking up position in a line facing down the hallway.

“Horace, take the doorway here and watch for anyone approaching the building. Keep an eye on the other buildings for movement in the windows,” Lynn says watching Green Team cross the lobby. “Black Team on me.”

Stepping inside and crossing the lobby, Lynn walks to and around the reception desk. Several monitors are embedded within a panel spanning the desk, their screens dark. Two reception phones lay on a surface void of clutter; their usually lit buttons forever out. No blinking lights with a multitude of calls on hold that must have once dominated this work space. No calls to forward to the various individuals that once inhabited this building, biding their time and doing their job until retirement. Retirement came early for all of them but without the gold watch or plaque. The only thing left is the forgetting phase that begins shortly after walking out of the retirement party; the retirement party coming in the form of the Cape Town virus and subsequent vaccine.

A thin, blue book lies beside each phone with the words “CDC Directory” embossed in gold on the front. That’s fortunate, the thought crosses through Lynn’s mind as she opens up the directory. Pages tucked inside clear plastic denote names and numbers by department, and, further back alphabetically. Looking under ‘Administration’ on the first page, she sees Director, CDC. Room 500, Crap, she thinks. There goes our luck. We’re going to have to climb to the fifth floor. Hopefully the office in question is in one of the lit areas of the building.

“Looks like we’re going to the fifth floor,” she says over the radio. “Drescoll, what do you have?”

“A bank of elevators to the left and right in the hallway as far as I can see. It gets dark in there pretty quick,” Drescoll answers.

“Alright then. Must be a stairwell nearby. We’ll use that. We only have 12 NVG’s so it’ll be Black and Green Team in the interior. Horace, you take and cover the lobby,” she says into the mic once more.

“I’m with you,” Drescoll’s voice sounds in her ear piece.

“Roger that, First Sergeant,” Horace responds.