![]() Collection Agency-Part 2 of the Undead ChroniclesA Story by David Allen June Cherry![]() The second part of the series... A team of CIA agents is sent to Sudan to investigate an Ebola outbreak.![]() The small abodes of Sudan’s citizens slowly turned from
isolated dots into a small cluster of crude houses with dirt streets separating
them as the helicopter glided over the town, the rotors thumping through the
air as they rotated. The helicopter slowed down and drifted lower and lower to
the ground until the wheels of the landing gear sank into the dirt a little bit
as the weight of the machine displaced itself on the surface of the dirt. The
rotors continued to spin, sending flurries of dust out and away from the
landing sight, creating a fog like collection of dirt particles, hindering the
sight of any passerby or observer of the landing. The black metal of the
vehicle sent off radiating waves of heat amidst the atmosphere as the doors
slung open. Eight men filed out of the flying personnel carrier and ran over to
a line of trees that casted a sliver of shade across the landing zone. The men
were cladded in a new HAZMAT suit designed for combat situations by the
Department of Defense. The suit was
airtight and solar powered, the sun charging a battery to be used during
nocturnal operations. Kevlar lined the underneath and an internal fan breathed
cool air onto the body of the wearer. A tube ran from a water pouch on the back
to the mouth of the operator to allow easy hydration. The headgear filtered the
air to turn even anthrax infested oxygen particles into breathable oxygen
within a matter of seconds. Built in Bluetooth headsets allowed near instant
and easy communication. The men wearing these suits carried with them a
collection of metal suitcases and plastic satchels as they strolled into the
small town. After walking a few yards, the line
of men turned right down a narrow street. Wooden doors sparsely lined the walls
of the buildings with only small holes for windows. The living conditions were
utterly horrible in this town, as they were in most of eastern Africa, but the
team was not here on an aid mission; they were here for a research objective.
The team of CIA agents was sent here to collect water samples from the well of
the town and to collect blood and tissue samples from those infected with Ebola
IV. Scientists back in the US wanted to
dissect this new form of Ebola and find out what makes the virus tick and how
it can be spread between populations. It was unknown if the virus spread through
airborne or waterborne means but they were sure the exchange of bodily fluids
would instantly infect the victim. For the past three months, major cities in
Sudan have done their best to hinder sexual intercourse, to no avail of course,
and to monitor the water supplies and have only allowed foreign aid agents to
enter and leave the country. This series of regulations was requested of the
Sudan government by the United Nations after the first week of Ebola IV
reports. The team of US agents made their
way to the well, the solar powered fans did little to provide any source of
comfort in the heat but it was better than being in a confined space of still
air. Upon arriving at the well, near the center of the town, the team took
notice of the people, or the lack thereof. The town was almost completely
deserted except for the sounds of coughing and the blood red eyes staring at
the group of strangers that accompanied each window. “Davis, get the bucket and bring it
up from the bottom of the well. Nickols get out the viral containers and be ready.
The rest of you, move on to the Witch Doctor location and set up. We will
follow as soon as we are finished here,” instructed the commander of the
mission, Jacob Sizemore. The Witch Doctor location was the codename of the “hospital”
the town used to keep the sick, well the infected they could fit anyway. Most
of the town had come down with Ebola but the village’s doctor had already taken
samples for the team and only had to pick them up and examine a few patients. Daniel Davis, a former Marine and the
father of his newborn daughter, Cheryl, had come with the team as a bodyguard
of sorts just in case the mission went sour. He followed Sizemore’s orders and
grabbed the moldy rope that led to the bottom of the well. He began to pull the
bucket up to ground level as Alex Nickols, the team’s viral specialist got
ready to fill his containers with the supposedly infected water source. Once the
tubes were filled, the three operatives made their way towards the town’s
doctor’s office. The building was two stories but was in no better condition
than the houses the denizens resided in. Dirt and wood made up the walls and
the floor was a layer of straw. Stones held up pieces of wood to create beds
for the patients and the whole room smelled of urine and fecal matter, topped
with the smell of decaying flesh. The smallest of the eight, Kevin
Green, approached the old medicine man in the small hospital and shook his
hand. The latex glove of Kevin squeaked as it rubbed on the callused hands of
the native. They spoke in a foreign language, one Davis did not understand nor
desired to learn, and after a brief conversation, the doctor handed Kevin a small
goat-hide satchel of samples and led Kevin, Nickols, and two other medical
specialists of the team to a room in the back. Davis, Sizemore, Tannerson, and
Hopkins were left in the “lobby” by themselves, except for the sick and dying inhabitants
of the medicine man’s workplace. A few minutes passed and Tannerson,
the youngest of the group, alerted Sizemore and Davis, the highest ranking
operatives of the team, to a sudden stir of movement in the streets. “Sirs, the natives are starting to crowd
around us. It appears they think we are hostile for some reason. What do we do?”
Sizemore looked outside as Davis headed into the next room to find the doctors. “Pull out your billfolds ladies. We
may have a hostile situation on our hands. Do not fire until I give the order,
copy?” ordered Sizemore has he brought out his FMG-9 foldable machine gun, or “billfold”
as he had taken to calling them. The guns’ sights shot up as the stocks jutted
out and the clips fell into the hands of each agent. All eight of them were
ready at the door, prepared to make a dead sprint towards the helicopter. A
loud crash echoed throughout the building, causing Davis to turn around and take
notice of the slowly advancing group of infected patients. Davis turned around
and put his left hand up, symbolizing to cease movement. The sick horde kept
coming towards the line of Americans, deathly groans and stenches pouring out
from their mouths. Black fluid poured out of their mouths as blood began to
drip from their eyes and nostrils. The nearest one lunged at Davis, who,
disobeying orders, fired three rounds into the face of the attacker. A tap on
his shoulder alerted Davis to his teammates leaving the building. He followed
suit but not before firing a few more rounds into the crowd. The team was now in a full sprint
past the well when they ran into another crowd. Sizemore opened fire and the
others took that as the fire-at-will command they had been itching to hear.
Bursts of gunfire rang throughout the walls of the dirt shells that were the
buildings. Native after native dropped to the ground but they would shortly
rise back up to continue their advance. The team was losing ground and being
slowly backed into a corner when Kevin ordered everyone to follow him. He turned
around and placed his foot on the window sill of a building and pulled himself
up to the roof. He turned around and Nickols handed him the samples and
diagnostics of the patients. Kevin then helped pull Nickols up to the roof.
Davis soon followed, assisting Tannerson up the wall as well. When it came
Sizemore’s turn, the closest infected townsperson attacked him, slashing
through the back of his suit, cutting the lashes that held the Kevlar in place.
The slash was followed up by a bite to the forearm. Davis shot the assailant in
the face and pulled Sizemore the rest of the way up. Tannerson pulled out a red
flare and threw it up into the air. The team was out of ammo and the
horde continued to advance, now attempting to climb the building. Punches were
being thrown into the faces and abdomens of the people, the team making every
attempt to keep the crowd off the building. Tannerson lost a boot trying to
kick one of the natives back and another threw up onto his mask, forcing him to
take it off. Two of the suits had been compromised and one had been in direct
contact with the body fluids of an infected. The Blackhawk drifted over and hovered
above the building, lower a ladder down to allow the team to evacuate the
operation area. The suitcases were carried up first and then the rest of the
group followed and headed back towards Egypt where they would receive medical
attention. After thirty days of isolation,
neither Tannerson nor Sizemore showed any signs of infection. They were sent
home a month later than the rest of the team… © 2012 David Allen June CherryAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthor![]() David Allen June CherryPekin, INAboutYoung Highschool student who is interested in just about everything, From politics to fantasy, I know enough about it to at least make me sound like an expert. more..Writing
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