Read Online Arisen : Genesis by Michael Stephen Fuchs - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Stephen Fuchs
Tags: Horror, Military, Zombies, CIA, Techno-Thriller, dystopian fiction, Zombie Apocalypse, Navy SEALs, SEAL Team Six, SOF, high-tech weapons, serial fiction, spec-ops, Special Operations, DEVGRU, CIA SAD
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provinces.
Though, of course, sometimes the outpost gets overrun .
He thought of Benghazi back in 2012. Not surprisingly, the two Agency shooters who had died there – who went down rescuing over thirty consular staff, and helping fight off a 400-strong militia all night – had been ex-SEALs. Zack knew they had also been buddies of Dugan and Maximum Bob, who knew them casually from back in the teams, and more intimately in later security work for the Agency.
Were lessons learned there? Zack knew SOF guys are learning creatures above all else. Even if government isn’t.
But we can’t stop trying. That’s when he figured he may as well try to do something productive – something that might get more attention on the implications of this outbreak, before those implications started kicking in their doors. It was pretty stupid worrying about the future, when it was his job to impact it.
He had already filed the spot report about the quarantine tent. But this was the bit where he really earned his paycheck – and maybe also put his ass on the line. Here’s where I put the anal in analyst , he thought with a mirthless laugh. Here’s where he’d actually analyze, connect dots, and put together his theories about the ongoing threat of bioweapons, alongside the threat of killer mutated viruses out of the African bush.
It was all speculative. But it wasn’t total bullshit.
For some reason, Africa was always the epicenter. And, as usual, the shit had to be coming down around their ears before anyone in the west noticed, never mind took action. CDC and WHO would be looking into it, and addressing containment. But no one infected with this new bug had yet hopped off a triple-seven at Heathrow or LAX. And no one would take it seriously until someone did.
At which point it might be too late.
Zack was alone in the TOC in the early morning, puffy headphones on, deep into his analysis document. He was writing it locally, and not uploading a draft until it was watertight – and minimally likely to turn into a CLM (career-limiting maneuver). This was when Maximum Bob stuck his head into the room. He rumbled a single syllable, which caused Zack to startle, then spin.
“ZACK.”
He pulled his head out of the headphones. “What’s up?”
Bob paused, and seemed to consider before speaking. Then he entered, pulled a rolling ergonomic chair across the plastic mat on the floor, and sat on it backwards. His tattooed, thigh-sized forearms lay crossed on the seatback.
“I just talked to an SF buddy of mine, an Eighteen-Bravo at Lemonnier. And he tells me Triple-Nickel went out with SNA yesterday not as a mentoring patrol. The were looking for another SNA unit. A platoon-sized element that went missing yesterday.” Zack arched his eyebrows at this. “ Just disappeared , dropped right off the map.”
“No shit?”
“None.”
“That is a little spooky.”
“Yeah. Like I said.” Bob smoothly levered his big bulk up. “I’m gonna go check the perimeter. Dugan’s on the horn to our oppos around the region, trying to get the scoop.”
“Knuckleheads outside,” Zack said, “cold shooting some hoop.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Carry on.”
As Bob left, Zack paused to notice how weirdly quiet it had gotten. Normally at this time of the morning there was a lot of street noise – somewhat muted, but regular, like an insect hive hum. Shops opening, stalls setting up, people getting their day going. Zack only noticed it now by its absence. And the shadows seemed to fall a little strangely in there. He guessed the days were starting to shorten. The safehouse seemed to press in on him.
But, hey, better safe in here than out there…
* * *
He’d only just gotten back into his document, when everything went to shit again. And everything in their intelligence and operational worlds went mental.
11/11 happened.
And the sons of bitches pulled it off on Remembrance Day , Zack thought. He was still a child of the
Though, of course, sometimes the outpost gets overrun .
He thought of Benghazi back in 2012. Not surprisingly, the two Agency shooters who had died there – who went down rescuing over thirty consular staff, and helping fight off a 400-strong militia all night – had been ex-SEALs. Zack knew they had also been buddies of Dugan and Maximum Bob, who knew them casually from back in the teams, and more intimately in later security work for the Agency.
Were lessons learned there? Zack knew SOF guys are learning creatures above all else. Even if government isn’t.
But we can’t stop trying. That’s when he figured he may as well try to do something productive – something that might get more attention on the implications of this outbreak, before those implications started kicking in their doors. It was pretty stupid worrying about the future, when it was his job to impact it.
He had already filed the spot report about the quarantine tent. But this was the bit where he really earned his paycheck – and maybe also put his ass on the line. Here’s where I put the anal in analyst , he thought with a mirthless laugh. Here’s where he’d actually analyze, connect dots, and put together his theories about the ongoing threat of bioweapons, alongside the threat of killer mutated viruses out of the African bush.
It was all speculative. But it wasn’t total bullshit.
For some reason, Africa was always the epicenter. And, as usual, the shit had to be coming down around their ears before anyone in the west noticed, never mind took action. CDC and WHO would be looking into it, and addressing containment. But no one infected with this new bug had yet hopped off a triple-seven at Heathrow or LAX. And no one would take it seriously until someone did.
At which point it might be too late.
Zack was alone in the TOC in the early morning, puffy headphones on, deep into his analysis document. He was writing it locally, and not uploading a draft until it was watertight – and minimally likely to turn into a CLM (career-limiting maneuver). This was when Maximum Bob stuck his head into the room. He rumbled a single syllable, which caused Zack to startle, then spin.
“ZACK.”
He pulled his head out of the headphones. “What’s up?”
Bob paused, and seemed to consider before speaking. Then he entered, pulled a rolling ergonomic chair across the plastic mat on the floor, and sat on it backwards. His tattooed, thigh-sized forearms lay crossed on the seatback.
“I just talked to an SF buddy of mine, an Eighteen-Bravo at Lemonnier. And he tells me Triple-Nickel went out with SNA yesterday not as a mentoring patrol. The were looking for another SNA unit. A platoon-sized element that went missing yesterday.” Zack arched his eyebrows at this. “ Just disappeared , dropped right off the map.”
“No shit?”
“None.”
“That is a little spooky.”
“Yeah. Like I said.” Bob smoothly levered his big bulk up. “I’m gonna go check the perimeter. Dugan’s on the horn to our oppos around the region, trying to get the scoop.”
“Knuckleheads outside,” Zack said, “cold shooting some hoop.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Carry on.”
As Bob left, Zack paused to notice how weirdly quiet it had gotten. Normally at this time of the morning there was a lot of street noise – somewhat muted, but regular, like an insect hive hum. Shops opening, stalls setting up, people getting their day going. Zack only noticed it now by its absence. And the shadows seemed to fall a little strangely in there. He guessed the days were starting to shorten. The safehouse seemed to press in on him.
But, hey, better safe in here than out there…
* * *
He’d only just gotten back into his document, when everything went to shit again. And everything in their intelligence and operational worlds went mental.
11/11 happened.
And the sons of bitches pulled it off on Remembrance Day , Zack thought. He was still a child of the
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