Page 10 of Shadow Blind

Turned the kid over…

Ah, hell.

“No more touching them,” he ordered sharply. God only knew what had caused these people to snap, but if it was contagious…

He shuddered, staring down at his gloved hands. He was wearing his winter wear gloves, which were thicker, with more insulation, but still, he’d touched two bodies.

You’re wearing gloves. You’re fine.

Unless his gloves were contaminated and he’d touched his face, spreading the taint to his unprotected skin. But, hell—the contaminant could be airborne. They could be infecting themselves with every breath they took. He shook himself and regrouped. While there was still the chance these two instances of violence were aberrations, they needed to take precautions.

“Everyone mask up.” They all carried Avon M50 respirators in their packs. They’d be a tight fit with the balaclavas, but they’d make it work.

“Don’t touch your face. Before attaching your respirator, take your gloves off without using your hands. Once the M50 is hooked up, switch to a pair of fresh gloves. From here on out—don’t touch anything.”

He moved away from the second kill site. Far from the bodies and blood, he eased out of his assault pack. He used the toe of his boot to anchor his gloves and pulled them off. After plugging the M50 into the Electronic Communications Port, he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

Were their precautions too late? Had they already been infected by whatever caused these people to snap? The question sat like a cold, hard lump in his chest.

More bodies appeared as they advanced into town. They didn’t stop to investigate, but the bloodshed was incredible. Men…women… children. One guy had a shovel buried in his abdomen; another was hacked to pieces with a machete. The violence was unreal.

No fucking way was an outside force responsible for this insanity. The entire town had gone bonkers and slaughtered each other. Most of their weapons were household items. Several of them had used skillets to pulverize their victim’s skulls.

Had Kuznetsov tested a psychotropic drug here? Had it turned everyone insane?

“Jesus.” Squirrel’s breathing was choppy and sporadic. “That asshole used a goddamn chainsaw. He cut their fucking heads off.”

Aiden didn’t look. He didn’t need more horrifying images clogging his memory. “Keep your distance from the bodies.”

Not that anyone needed the warning. Nobody wanted to catch whatever had infected these poor bastards.

“We touched the first two sets of bodies.” Grub’s voice was hoarse, horrified. “We had our gloves on, but still.”

“Yeah.” Aiden shook aside his own dread. “Can’t do anything about that now. Focus. Get this job done and let’s get out.”

“Golden Eagle,” Aiden said, addressing his CO by the moniker the prick had chosen for himself. He could almost feel the bastard preening on the other end of the comm. But it was best to keep the ass pliable. “It’s too dangerous to bring anything back from here, nor can we evac. Whatever caused these people to snap could be contagious. We can’t risk infecting base.” He paused, his voice tightening. “We need a CDC risk assessment team.”

A small town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere would make a perfect test site for a viral, bacterial, or psychotropic weapon. Was that what Kuznetsov was up to in Karaveht, testing something new and horrific? Had their camera feed been ordered to record the aftermath of the test? Was that the real reason they’d been ordered to run a continuous feed? Were they part of the goddamn test?

If that was the case, then he had a big problem, because someone within WARCOM had to be calling the shots.

Rage coiled in his gut, vibrating like an angry rattler.

This whole situation felt like a damn set up.

Kuznetsov’s house was exactly where Dawson said it would be. Its door stood open. The interior was dark. Complete silence from inside. They assaulted into the building low and quick, rifles up and sweeping. Pure muscle memory at work.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Clear,” echoed through the silent rooms.

Their search of the house revealed nothing.

No Kuznetsov. No signs of habitation. No computers. No cell phones. No drone specs or drone prototypes. Nothing but empty rooms and layers of dust.

“Golden Eagle.” Aiden’s voice echoed through the silent house. “Our target is cold.”

---