Plague Page 6

  They softly counted down and on three both men drove their combined girth into the door. It gave between the might of the two soldiers, shoving the dresser that was used to block it out of the way. The dank room was revealed…and so was the body it contained.

  “Ugh,” CJ said, looking around her brother and seeing the long dead, decomposed body. It was sitting in what passed for an office chair during that era and its empty, lifeless eyes stared back at her.

  The space was definitely another bedroom and very dapperly appointed, unlike the shared quarters next door. It also held a makeshift office, complete with desk and typewriter.

  Logan pushed the dresser aside, stepping in first. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and examined the square room. It was roughly ten-by-fifteen and was easily searched for dangers. There wasn’t exactly a lot of places to hide. Jan and CJ stepped in next. Jan stopped, staying near the open door, just in case, shotgun pointed out its opening.

  The right side of the room held a single bed along with a trunk at its foot. CJ stepped over to it and lifted the heavy lid. Inside were multiple sets of clothes, mostly undisturbed by age and dust. She quickly searched through it but found nothing of importance.

  “You see anything, Logan?” she asked, turning.

  Logan stepped up to the left wall, which was floor to ceiling with books. Most were titled in German, but a few were in English. They had titles featuring words like Biology and Chemistry and Anatomy.

  “Looks like they were definitely into some sort of experimentation just based on the subject matter of these books,” Logan said, shuffling to his right, continuing to read. “But most of the titles are in German. Jan, can you come over here and—”

  Logan’s foot struck something as he side-stepped again, spilling him towards the floor. He was halfway down when something arrested his fall. Leaning sideways, he looked up at what caught him, finding only the dead eyes of the man who had called this place home.

  “Great…” he said, lifting his dust covered elbow out of the person’s withered crotch. “That’s just great.”

  Using the deceased man’s thigh for a boost, Logan stood and noticed something. The Nazi had a hole in his temple. “This man was shot,” Logan said, looking back to the others. “Right temple.”

  CJ and Jan quickly came over to inspect the body. “Suicide?” CJ asked, looking to the two war veterans for confirmation.

  “Don’t look at me,” Jan said. “I was in demolitions. I wouldn’t know what to look for when it comes to—”

  “How ‘bout that?” Logan interrupted, reaching for the man’s right arm. As he pulled on the dried-out appendage, something else came with it, still clutched in the dead man’s hand. A gun.

  “It’s a Luger P-08,” Jan explained. “Standard issue Nazi-era pistol.”

  “Well that explains the bullet hole in his head,” Logan remarked.

  “But why?” CJ asked.

  Both men shrugged, but Logan noticed something else. He looked over the seventy-year-old corpse’s shoulder and saw that the typewriter still had a sheet of paper in its platen. He leaned around the body and carefully plucked the paper from the roller, careful not to damage it any more than Father Time had. He stepped away looking it over.

  More German, Logan mused.

  “Jan?” Logan asked. “Would you mind?”

  The German gently took the offered paper and read it aloud, translating the letterhead.

  7, May 1945

  On this day, I have heard of our forces surrender back home and I am saddened. We will no doubt have to leave our work here behind sooner than expected. If only we had more time, but unfortunately, we do not. There are reports coming in that Allied forces are incoming. I will do my best to deter them and send out false trails. If we cannot discourage them, the Wohn Tod will be no more.

  “The Wohn Tod?” CJ asked. “The scientific group?”

  Jan nodded. “The Living Death.” He looked back down and continued reading.

  The Gott Blut only needs some fine-tuning, maybe another month, before it is ready. But if my advisors are correct—and I hope they are not—it may be closer to another year before we get what we truly want. We are so close, I can feel it. Once finished, the Wohn Tod—not the Fuhrer and his band of fools—will be the ones to rule the Fatherland. We are the future of Germany, not them.

  “What the hell is he talking about?” Logan asked, goosebumps enveloping his body. “Who the hell were these people?”

  Jan shrugged. “Sounds like they were, indeed, some secret cult within the Nazi party, and apparently even Hitler himself didn’t know they existed. It wouldn’t be the first time a government had another entity within it vying for control.”

  Logan didn’t know if Jan was speaking from experience, or if it was just a belief, but he had to agree.

  “What’s Gott Blut?” CJ asked, getting them back on point.

  “It means, God Blood,” Jan said, translating the German text.

  “God Blood?” Logan asked. “From what you’ve read, it sounds like they tried to develop some sort of elixir or something.”

  “Yes,” Jan agreed, scanning more of the text. “And they were fairly close from what this says. It goes on to summarize that they were trying to enhance the soldier’s abilities and invulnerabilities, making them nearly invincible on the frontlines, but they never got to fully test it in live battle.”

  “Super soldiers?” Logan asked eyebrow raised. “So, it was an elixir of some kind.”

  “Sounds like it,” Jan agreed, continuing his recap of the letter’s body. “Listen to this… The only thing that could stop these Unsterblichen—it means ‘Immortals’—would be the destruction of the brain. Disconnect the power supply and they will fall.”

  “Like the poachers?” CJ asked.

  “The only thing that stopped them were headshots,” Logan added.

  “It continues stating that the earliest version of the serum—if that’s what it was—had a negative effect on the brain,” Jan summarized. “The damage done during the initial testing was irreversible and left the subjects primal and violent, craving flesh and blood like one of the predators of the region.”

  “Subjects? Do you think that’s what’s in the grave?” CJ asked, thinking aloud, nervously rubbing her arms. “I mean the animals and the people, you think those were failed experiments?”

  “Most likely, yes,” Jan said, agreeing with her assessment.

  Real life zombies, Logan thought, not believing what he was hearing, but knowing it to be true. The description of their behavior coincided with your run-of-the-mill undead type.

  “Also…” Jan said, continuing. “There is a mention of light sensitivity. Not quite sure if it’s referring to sight or skin, though. The letter doesn’t go deep into that particular research, just the traits of the…subjects.”

  The three of them stood there, lost in thought for a few moments, trying to figure out what to do next. But what could they do?

  “Is there more?” CJ asked, shuffling her feet back and forth. Logan thought she either had to pee or she was scared shitless.

  Probably the latter.

  “Yes,” Jan said, “there is.”

  The only regret I have over this endeavor of mine is that I will not be around to guide it to its end, and that is unfortunate for anyone who comes across the current state of the Gott Blut… Like myself. I have barricaded myself in my room, the plague has spread quickly down here.

  Be warned, the Gott Blut has the power to give great strength and near god-like invincibility, but at a cost. The side-effects our subjects are experiencing is something we have yet to decipher. It’s as if some primordial part of their very being is unlocking itself. Very troubling. The mammals of this land have responded poorly to our tests. Pray you don’t get in their way.

  “It’s signed too,” Jan said, his voice cracking as he looked down to the dead Nazi wearing one of the lab coats. He gestured to the corpse, sweat trailing down his templ
es. “I know who this is.”

  “Who?” Both the Reeds asked together.

  “This letter was written by the worst of them.” He then dropped the transcript to the dust covered floor.

  “The dead man,” Jan said, swallowing hard. “It’s Dr. Mengele—the butcher of Auschwitz.”

  12

  “Mengele… Josef Mengele?” Logan asked, shocked. “But I thought he escaped capture and lived out his days in South America?” That’s, at least, what was written in the history books Logan had studied.

  “Me too,” Jan agreed, “but it seems we—the world—have been deceived. He obviously came here instead.”

  “And never left,” CJ added. She then crouched in front of the corpse. “So, this is the man who was responsible for the atrocities in Auschwitz?”

  “Appears so,” Jan replied.

  “He committed some of the worst crimes against humanity ever recorded, experimenting on young and old, man and woman,” Logan said, recalling what he knew about the Angel of Death. “He even tested on twins, seeing if he could cause one of them pain while torturing the other. Most were kids.”

  “He was on a level with, General Shiro Ishii and Unit 731 with his measures,” Jan added, a look of disdain on his face.

  “Unit 731?” CJ asked. “They were the Japanese equivalent, right?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Most agree they were worse than the Nazis, though,” Logan explained. “They specialized in chemical and biological warfare, testing the weapons on human subjects. They operated like the Nazis, using anyone who fit the bill. Even their own people were fair game.”

  “While the Nazis death toll reached insurmountable heights, Unit 731 was still feared more,” Jan added. “They even performed surgeries on their captives without anesthesia, keeping them awake so not to risk decomposition to the organs they retrieved.”

  “Oh, God,” CJ said, looking sick. “That’s horrible.”

  “Yes,” Logan agreed, again looking to Mengele’s corpse. “Yes, it is.”

  “Can we leave now?” CJ asked, motioning to the door.

  Logan just nodded, heading for the door. “But,” he said, looking left, peeking around the corner. He then started to look to the right, “we need to search the rest of this place first and—”

  He was tackled by an unseen force, taken to the ground. The wraith was fast, leaping from the shadows. Whatever it was, it was strong and moved silently, like a phantom.

  “Saami, no!” CJ screamed, watching the man take Logan down. She also watched as Jan—who was following her brother closely—stumbled back into the room, banging his head against the bedside trunk. The German crumpled to the ground, unconscious, unable to help.

  Pinned to the ground by the much smaller man, Logan could barely move. The strength his friend now possessed was incredible—impossible to develop in such a short time period. It’s as if the man’s muscle density had doubled, turning his physicality into what most ape species around the world possessed.

  Unless, he thought, recalling what Mengele’s letter said about the God Blood. It gave its subjects super-human strength and a vicious disposition.

  Saami snapped his teeth at Logan’s face, leaning into the Aussie hard. The teeth were jet black, like his fingernails. The fangs reached a length of at least an inch and were razor sharp. Saami leaned in harder, pushing closer and closer, aiming right for Logan’s exposed neck. He wanted to end this quickly and he wanted it messy.

  The only reason Saami hadn’t sunk them into Logan’s flesh, was because, while getting tackled to the ground, Logan got his left arm up, in between the two men. He held the Saami-thing at bay, pinning his forearm under the dead man's chin, acting as a barricade.

  And he was dead. This wasn’t his friend anymore. This was something else entirely…

  Saami’s face was a gore-fest of clawed hanging flesh. His nose was completely gone and so was most of the skin on what used to be his bald, shaved head. The majority of it was exposed bone and dried blood.

  And the eyes. They too were blood-red and glowing. Logan couldn’t see the color of them in his green-tinted night vision, but he could easily see them radiating bright white. It was easy to assume that they matched those of the poachers from before.

  If the man had any wits left in that brain of his, Logan thought, glancing at the man’s hands. He would just use those claws and slice me to ribbons. But Logan wasn’t going to mention that. The primal aggression that Saami was displaying was the only reason Logan was still alive after all.

  Which means I have the advantage. I can still think logically.

  Logan knew he could hold off Saami for a little while longer, using his chest and arm muscles to neutralize some of his former friend’s new found strength. He just needed Saami to keep doing what he was doing and not change tactics. Thankfully, it looked like any and all strategic thoughts were gone. It was just primordial lust for his life.

  Slowly and cautiously, Logan reached to his chest, feeling for what he needed. Finding it, he shoved with all his might, lifting Saami up a few inches. He gripped his Bayonet, the same combat knife he’d used while a member of the SAS, and slid it quickly and silently from its sheath attached to his chest armor.

  “Sorry, mate,” Logan said, apologizing to what used to be his friend.

  Then, he relaxed and let Saami’s weight, and gravity itself, take over. With a slurp, the seven-inch blade sunk into the Kenyan’s flesh. It slipped in, like a hot knife through butter, puncturing Saami’s left lung and what should have been his heart in the process, burying itself to the hilt.

  But Saami didn’t stop, he didn’t even respond to the lethal attack. He just pressed his assault harder, still going for Logan’s jugular.

  “Shoot!” Logan yelled, starting to panic. “Somebody shoot the bastard!”

  “I can’t!” he heard CJ yell. “You’re too close!”

  Then his night vision goggles went flying, effectively blinding him in the pitch black of the underground bunker. The only visuals he had was CJ’s green glowing lenses and Saami’s devilish red eyes.

  Shit. Logan thought, not being able to see anything. But he could. He knew exactly where his enemy was and he knew what to do next. He needed to be careful, though. These things were obviously contagious. It’s how Saami got infected in the first place.

  Looks like I’m going to have to do this my way then, Logan thought. He just needed an opening to do so.

  It was then Saami gave him one.

  The dead man lunged at Logan, but not before he reared up, trying to add more force to the savage onslaught. This would be Logan’s only chance.

  He reacted immediately, yanking the tactical knife from Saami’s chest. As the creature dove forward, undoubtedly aiming for Logan’s throat again, he drove the bayonet skyward, aiming just below the set of eyes. The blade found its mark, piercing the underside of Saami’s chin where it buried itself halfway in.

  Now free of the thing’s weight, Logan snapped his right leg up and blindly kicked. His booted foot found the base of the knife’s hilt and drove it the rest of the way in.

  With an audible crack, the steel blade punched through the bottom of Saami’s skull, entering his brain. The fight instantly went out of the man’s eyes, as the body—disconnected like a puppet’s strings being cut—fell to Logan’s side. Dead…again.

  “Logan!” CJ yelled, rushing to her brother’s side. “Are you okay?”

  “I guess you could say that,” he answered, finding his goggles. He reset them and laid back, laughing at the absurdity of what just happened. “My friend—who happened to be a recently turned undead monster—tried to eat my face.” Jan appeared over Logan, hand outstretched, rubbing his head with his other hand. The Aussie took it and was pulled to his feet. “Besides that…” he said, dusting himself off. “I’m good, just another day at the—”

  A growl emanated from the direction they’d originally come from, startling the three into action. As the pou
nding of footsteps approached from around the corner, Logan, CJ, and Jan swung their respective weapons down the hallway—just as another form entered and turned their way. A form they recognized.

  “Pandu…” CJ said, recognizing the twin brother of Saami. “No…”

  Hearing CJ’s sorrow-filled, mouse-like voice in the still tunnel, the hellish form of Pandu bared his fangs and charged, claws spread. He too had the same crazed look emanating from his demonic gaze.

  When he was halfway to the group, they fired. As they opened up on what used to be their friend and comrade, each one of them bit their lips, doing their best to hold back the tears that threatened to blur their vision.

  Logan could feel the presence of Saami’s lifeless body near his feet as he again pulled the trigger. He knew the man’s brother would soon follow his lead.

  Sorry, mate.

  13

  The lion’s body fell limp, its head missing. It took three shots from each man to finally re-kill the beast. The damned thing was fast—too fast. It had cheetah-like quickness but in the bulk of a male lion’s body.

  Fitz and Mo, carefully inched closer to the carcass, weary of the creature, not trusting that it was fully dead. Neither man wore their night vision devices because of Kipanga’s exterior lights. That meant they were actually seeing this thing for what it was, and it made Fitz long for more ammo. They still had plenty of slugs left in their shotguns, though, but they didn’t have any extra on them. It was all in the helicopter. If any more of these things showed up, they’d need to hightail it back to the Blackhawk pronto.

  “Logan, come in,” Fitz said, keying his earpiece. “Dammit, boss. Please respond. Over.” He kicked at the dirt, frustration setting in. “Bollocks. I’m not getting through.”

  “You think something may have happened back at the burial?” Mo asked, thumbing behind him, pointing back in the direction they came.