Tracking Blood: Episode 4

An apocalyptic serial

Table of Contents

Note: The main story is free to read for everyone, however paid subscribers will have access to many longer episodes that include extra scenes, characters, and sub-plots. Consider subscribing to enjoy the expanded story, as well as to support the author.

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Washington D.C.

Downtown

The Oasis

The cat with the missing ear had been stalking a rat for the better part of ten minutes. Its scrawny, black body hung low to the filthy ground. With shoulders hunched and eyes as wide as saucers, it moved along the stack of wet cardboard boxes until it was a few short feet from its unsuspecting prey. Then it tensed its paws, digging its claws into the ground.

It pounced. The cat shot out at lightning speed and fell on the rat, delivering a lethal neck bite before the creature could fight back. Within seconds, the rat went limp. The cat gave the dead rodent a quick shake before running off with its prize.

“I have to look into that HVAC thing,” Will grumbled.

The alley behind the club had been his own personal VIP room for nearly an hour. He’d gone directly there after getting the call from Crystal, telling him Theo had shown up. He’d hoped not to spend so much time waiting for Crystal to make her move, but patience was possibly the most important part of the job. It was alarming how quick the sickly sweet smell of rotten milk had become normal.

The club’s back door opened. Will tucked himself against the wall just behind a dumpster, holding his breath as footsteps echoed through the alley. Crystal’s breathy voice followed.

“Just wait for me here,” she said in her seductive tone.

“You’re coming back?”

“Of course I am, sugar. Just give me a minute to tell my manager I’m taking a break, okay?”

“Okay. Hurry back.”

The door closed, and Will carefully peeked out. Theo walked into view with a goofy grin on his pale, stubbly face. He was tall and skinny, like the picture in his file, but Will hadn’t realized just how tall and skinny he would be. In the light of the alley’s security bulb, Theo looked like Frankenstein in a hoodie.

Will almost felt bad for the guy. He’d come back there thinking Crystal was about to make all his wildest, dirtiest dreams come true, and instead he was about to be handcuffed, thrown in a car and taken to jail. At times like this, Will had to remember that this was what kept a roof over his wife’s and kid’s heads. There wasn’t a single person on the planet he would choose over them- especially some drug dealer with a stripper crush.

Will stepped out. “Theodore Weaver,” he started, getting ready to announce himself as a Bail Enforcement Agent.

Theo bolted. Will reacted, breaking into a run after the lanky bastard. He had planned for this, keeping the alley’s only easy exit to his back. Up ahead were a few dead ends and only one way out.

So many of them ran. And why wouldn’t they? If they were stupid enough to skip bail, they were certainly stupid enough to keep the mistakes coming, not to mention desperate enough to be dangerous. Will’s running shoes slapped the hard concrete as he breathed in and out in controlled rhythm, catching up to Theo in no time. It was almost as if Will ran three miles every morning before he left for work.

Theo chose the wrong turn and got himself cornered. He hit the wall and spun to face Will, who had already stopped ten feet back with his hand on the small canister of pepper spray hanging from his belt.

“Stay away,” Theo shouted. “I mean it!”

“Theodore Weaver, I’m making a citizen’s arrest.”

Theo blinked. “Wait. You’re not a cop?”

“I’m a licensed Bail Enforcement Agent.”

Theo chuckled like something Will had said was funny. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, flipping the blade out.

“It’s still a crime to pull a knife on me,” Will warned.

“I really don’t give a shit.”

“It’s also a mistake,” Will added.

Theo rushed forward, swinging the knife. He was a caged animal, and he acted like one, putting everything he had into a wild attack meant for nothing but escape.

A stream of pepper spray met him face-first.

Theo screamed, his eyes involuntarily clamping shut. He still had some fight in him, though, and he swung his blade wildly even as he stumbled forward, coughing. Will side-stepped the knife, grabbed Theo by the arm, and brought him down to the concrete.

Will bent the guy’s wrist back, forcing him to drop the knife. It clattered to the ground, and he quickly kicked it aside. The knife slid between a cluster of garbage pails and out of sight.

Will handcuffed the cursing, half-blind man and sat him up. Theo let out a long chain of insults and expletives, cursing Will and his ancestors and just about everyone he’d ever met.

“Are you alright?” Will asked when the guy had calmed down a bit.

“No, I’m not alright, you fucking maced me,” Theo spit.

“Technically, it’s pepper spray.”

“Same fucking thing!”

“Different thing, same outcome. Come on, get up.”

Will helped the guy to his feet, noticing his eyes were opening again. He walked his catch back the way they’d come, toward the alley’s exit where his car was waiting.

“Was it Crystal? Did she sell me out?” Theo asked, tears and snot streaming down his face.

“I didn’t give her much choice,” Will lied. There was no reason to bring up the phone call, or the finder’s fee she’d negotiated.

“Next time I see her, I’m gonna slit her throat,” Theo warned.

“I thought you were in love with her.”

“Snitches don’t get stitches where I’m from. They get killed. This is on you, fake cop.”

“Don’t go blaming everyone else for your problems. Next time, show up to court like an adult.”

With his hand around Theo’s neck, Will led him out of the alley. He couldn’t help but think of the one-eared cat from a few minutes earlier, giving its kill a final shake as it disappeared into the night.

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Washington D.C.

Brentwood

The last few hours had been intense.

Stanley had searched for Major Richards’ phone number, first through standard means and then through a military database. Once he found it, he used a lookup to figure out which carrier the Major used, then cross-referenced it with a list of default codes for accessing voicemail from an outside line. It was a tried-and-true method that relied on the fact that most people accessed their voicemail on the phone that received the calls, and the hope that the person never changed the default code for accessing their voicemail from an external number.

In short, it exploited the weakest part of every security system on Earth: people.

There were three default codes for the Major’s carrier. Stanley waited ten minutes between each attempt to stay below the detection rate of multiple attempts and avoid being locked out. On the third and final default code, he got in.

There were six saved voicemails, most of them meeting reminders, and one call from the Major’s wife, Connie. Nothing helpful, except for the message from someone in the IT department about setting up the Voice over IP mailbox he’d requested.

A while later, after some serious work, Stanley gained access to the Major’s private VoIP. There was a single message saved to the system. Stanley had one shot at hearing it. He started recording and hit enter.

“Major Richards, it’s Eric Mason. I have some troubling updates.”

Stanley opened a blank text file and started typing what he heard. On the off chance the recording didn’t work, he wanted to make sure he remembered every single word. He typed furiously.

Armatol combined with the Marburg virus … effects increased tenfold … has become contagious … travel to Fort Meade …

When the audio message finished playing, he immediately logged out and shut the window. He couldn’t take chances and risk hanging around for a second too long in case they detected suspicious activities on their server.

He took a breath. Then he checked the recording, praying it had saved.

It had. He listened to the audio file once completely through. This Eric Mason who had left the message had to be the voice he’d heard on the monitor, calmly instructing his team to terminate the subject. Stanley made a backup of the file in a separate location. Then, just to be safe, he made another one on a backup drive.

Stanley stared at the words he’d typed. The man whose voice he’d just heard had engineered a viral weapon by combining Armatol with the Marburg virus. An experimental drug that never saw the light of day, paired with one of the most virulent illnesses the world had ever known. Even on paper it sounded like a bad idea, so it wasn’t a surprise to hear the doctor was so concerned about the outcome.

He clicked back to the unnamed folder M. Zero had sent him and played the video file. Ever since that first viewing, he hadn’t been able to watch it a second time. He knew he should, to glean more details about the operation, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The whole thing unsettled him, from the tortured screams to the monstrous face to the slow, twitching death. This wasn’t some B movie. This was real. That was a human being on the screen- or at least it had been once.

Stanley was in shock. However bad he’d thought this thing was, it was ten times that. He opened the recording he’d made, clicked ahead, and listened to the doctor’s last sentence again. “I’m requesting permission to return to Fort Meade.”

Stanley didn’t need to look up Fort Meade to know why this Eric Mason was heading there. People in his circle were familiar with the place. It was the nation’s center for information, intelligence, and cyber operations. The post was home to all six branches of the military, as well as the National Security Agency, Central Security Service, United States Cyber Command, and the Defense Information Systems Agency. It was also allegedly a secret hub for the United States’ biological defense program.

Not to mention, it was about an hour’s drive north of Washington, D.C.

He had just started to pack his things when a knock came at the door. Stanley’s heart pounded. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and his landlord would never come over at this time unless it was an emergency. Even then, the man avoided Stanley as much as Stanley avoided him. He crossed the apartment in complete silence, walking carefully across the dark floor. He held his breath as he reached the door and brought his eye to the peephole, praying to God he wasn’t about to be riddled with bullets by a shooter on the other side.

He exhaled. It was Marco.

“Ready for court?” Marco scratched his beard absentmindedly. Stanley looked up and down the building’s hallway. “No one followed me,” Marco assured him.

“Just get in here.”

Marco moved inside the apartment, and Stanley shut the door behind him. Stanley redid the three locks, plus the deadbolt, while Marco squinted to see in the dark. He glimpsed the suitcase on the futon. It was stuffed full of warm clothing.

“Don’t say it,” Stanley said.

“I don’t think I have to.”

“You don’t understand, Marco. This time it’s different.”

Marco sighed. “It’s always different. You can’t keep running your entire life.”

Stanley continued to pack, throwing a sweater into the suitcase. “It’s not safe for me anymore. Not here. Not anywhere people know me.”

“When are you coming back?” Marco asked. There was a long silence. “Are you coming back?”

“I can’t say.” Stanley moved around the room, finding things to pack. “There’s something happening, something I need to tell people about, but doing it is going to paint a giant target on my head.”

“Were you even going to tell me you were leaving?”

Stanley paused. “I would have texted you.”

“Jesus, Stanley.”

“I don’t have the comfort of being nice.”

“I guess you never have. Why start now?”

Stanley zipped the suitcase shut. “These aren’t the old days, Marco. We’re not watching Johnny Mnemonic and writing viruses in your mom’s basement. This is life or death on a large scale. If I have to be an asshole to save lives, well, then I have to be an asshole.”

“I’ll make sure they put that on your statue,” Marco said. “You know, people keep telling me to ditch you, and I keep defending you like some dumb puppy.”

“Who did you talk to?”

Marco snorted. Stanley’s face softened, looking tired.

“Do yourself a favor, Marco. Get out of here, far away from the city, away from people. Don’t trust anyone. And until then, if anyone comes around looking for me, you tell them the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That you don’t know me.”

Marco studied his friend’s face. He’d never seen him this bad. “Shit, what the hell did you find, man?”

“I can’t tell you,” Stanley replied. “But it’s big.”

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