Kill Zone

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Unsettled, Victoria Doyle also stared at van Dyckman, but he huffed. “Once the lockdown is lifted, you’ll see the whole facility soon enough. We intend to show you everything as part of the review. We’ll pick up where we left off.”

  “We’re just going to continue the tour?” Garibaldi said in disbelief. “Mrs. Garcia was in mid-sentence when the first alarms went off. You want us to go back up there, open the vault door, and let her keep speaking?”

  Pulaski moved to the opposite door and looked through the wire-embedded safety glass, peering down the tunnel that led to the lower level. Van Dyckman joined him, speaking in a low voice. “He’s right, Senator. These are unusual circumstances, and our review group couldn’t see everything we needed them to see. Maybe you can postpone the Intelligence Oversight Committee hearing, sir? Valiant Locksmith is still a viable program.”

  “Unfortunately, my hands are tied.” Pulaski sounded discouraged. “This is not what you promised me, Stanley. I have everything on the line here.”

  “So do I,” van Dyckman mumbled.

  Garibaldi pushed the second chair out of his way and leaned against the wall. He scrubbed his hands through his already unruly hair, which didn’t improve his appearance. “Better yet, stop generating more and more nuclear waste, which only exacerbates the problem. Shut down the power plants until you figure out what to do. Nuclear energy will always be dangerous, and it will always generate deadly by-products.” He looked at the others confined in the small room. “You know nuclear power is a dead end, like burning coal. Better to focus on the longer term. There are dozens of promising options for clean power already. They just need to be scaled up and supported.”

  “That’s a pipe dream, and you know it! No alternative can be deployed on a scale that would be remotely useful to U.S. energy needs,” van Dyckman said. “Wind, solar, geothermal, algae—they’re all for show. Not to mention their drawbacks: how many birds on the endangered species list are killed by rotating wind vanes? Right now, nuclear power provides a fifth of our nation’s electricity, and it should be more. Plus, it’s clean and it’s safe.”

  “Not safe enough, or clean enough,” Garibaldi said. “I don’t see the need for any top-secret repositories for the waste generated by wind turbines!”

  Even Adonia had heard the idealistic arguments, which were fine in conception, but unrealistic for the immediate future. “We need a combination of technologies, including nuclear, Dr. Garibaldi. You can’t just turn off all those power-generating plants.”

  “I can dream, my dear Ms. Rojas, and dreams are how progress is made. We will never win the race if we don’t leave the starting gate. Somebody has to keep pushing for it—and that’s why I founded Sanergy.”

  “Which riles up crazy people and makes them fly planes into Granite Bay,” Pulaski said bitterly, looking to Adonia for support.

  Garibaldi responded with clear indignation. “Sanergy was not responsible for that! He was a lone wolf and mentally unstable. I can’t be blamed if some extremist distorts my message. I want to safely shut down our nuclear plants, not blow them up!”

  Victoria Doyle responded with a sour expression. “For once Stanley got it right, Garibaldi. Your solution is unrealistic. Even if you phase out nuclear energy over the next twenty years, your green technologies can’t deliver twenty percent of our national power needs, on demand, at the drop of a hat when there’s no sunlight and no wind. Do you really think that battery and energy-storage technology can advance that quickly? A combination of technologies is needed, and nuclear is one of them.”

  The older scientist stroked his chin and slumped back with a sigh. “I know, I know—but we should still be trying. I am not a Luddite or zealot against the nuclear industry in general, although I’ve certainly had unpleasant experiences working in the field.” A troubled expression crossed his face.

  Adonia broke in, “Even if you had a magic solution to produce all the energy we needed, and we could retire every plant like Granite Bay, we’d still have to deal with the existing nuclear waste. You can’t just wrap a chain-link fence around all those casks and cooling pools and call them safe.”

  “But ignoring the necessary transition because it is difficult doesn’t help either. We have to start addressing the issue rather than kicking the can down the road. If we had worked seriously on this problem two decades ago, the crisis would no doubt be solved by now—”

  “It was solved,” Doyle said icily. “Yucca Mountain was available decades ago, but people like you prevented the facility from opening.”

  “And now we have Valiant Locksmith,” van Dyckman said. “We know how to safely store the dangerous waste.”

  “Well, well,” Garibaldi said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “we’ve seen how well that works.”

  “It does work!” van Dyckman insisted. Sweat sparkled on his forehead. “If anything, today’s debacle shows that our safety and security systems are too thorough.”

  “The waste stored here isn’t going anywhere,” Shawn said.

  “And neither are we,” Adonia said.

  The intercom clicked, and Harris’s voice came back, sounding excited. “Good news! We were able to remotely deactivate the active-denial defenses, since that was one of our newer DOE systems. You won’t have to worry about being exposed to millimeter waves anymore.”

  Senator Pulaski swiveled his chair. “So we can leave this room and get out of here? Head back up the tunnel?”

  Harris hesitated. “Not exactly, Senator. Please stay where you are until the facility’s completely back online. Just a few hours more, and our emergency teams can get to your location. My sincere apologies for the inconvenience.”

  “But why do we have to wait here? Six of us crammed in a place built for two.” Pulaski looked around the room. “There isn’t even room for me to elevate my injured ankle.”

  “Use this, Senator.” Van Dyckman rolled the second chair across the floor, but he pushed too hard and it knocked over a toolbox in the corner, spilling screwdrivers, a wrench, box cutters, and a tin of screws.

  Pulaski gruffly refused. “It was a rhetorical question, Stanley!” He got to his feet and hobbled over the spilled tools without bothering to pick them up. Adonia imagined he was the sort who never closed the toilet lid when he was through with the bathroom or added new paper when the printer tray was empty. He leaned close to the intercom speaker. “Harris, are you sure your heat ray has been disengaged?”

  “We’ve deactivated the phased-array antennas, sir. They won’t be operational, but—”

  “Then at least let us walk back up the tunnel so we can meet your rescue team as soon as this lockdown is over.” He limped toward the portal door. Apparently, his grievously injured ankle wasn’t as painful as he had implied.

  Harris responded sharply, “No, Senator. The shelter in place was designed for personnel to ride out any threat. With our systems still unstable, it really is the safest location—”

  Garibaldi said, “I thought you told us Mrs. Garcia was in the safest place, locked up in that isolated chamber. Or was that just lip service?”

  Anxious to get out of the claustrophobic guard room, Pulaski pushed against the exit door, but it didn’t budge.

  “Leave it alone, Senator!” Victoria snapped. “The lockdown’s still in place, and we’d need to go through the full shutdown protocol before we exit. There are … other countermeasures out there.” She sounded as if she knew much more about this place than she should.

  Pulaski made a rude noise. “And look where that got us! We’re stuck down here, and that poor woman is trapped in a chamber full of radioactive waste.”

  “Waste that you assured us was safe,” Garibaldi said again.

  Victoria spoke with an acid tone. “We’re all in this mess because you couldn’t resist using your phone. You leave this portal and you’ll trigger more countermeasures.”

  Pulaski reddened. “Bullshit. You heard the site manager. He’s turned off the microwaves—�
�

  “Ms. Doyle is right, Senator,” Adonia said. “Rob switched off the active-denial measures, but legacy defenses could still be active, systems that were installed before Valiant Locksmith was put in place.”

  Victoria continued, “This portal was designed as a last line of defense to prevent a malicious insider from reaching the lower level of the Mountain. That’s why two guards are usually stationed here, and why the back and front exits can’t be open at the same time. If you do that, you’ll trigger more countermeasures—”

  “And probably reboot the system,” Garibaldi interrupted, “which will set the clock back another six hours.”

  Pulaski jerked a thumb to the rear of the portal. “The back exit isn’t open, so we’re good to leave.” He scrutinized the LED control panel, spotted the door’s emergency release. “I want to meet the rescue team at the main door as soon as they get inside.”

  Adonia intervened. “Senator, we just need to ride this thing out. It’s not that long to wait.” She had never seen anyone so blatantly ignore a directive and place so many people in jeopardy. “Stay put.”

  Defiantly, he pushed against the metal crash bar. She grabbed his arm and tried to stop him, but Pulaski used his weight to shove harder, ignoring the chorus of angry shouts. But when he opened the door, no screeching alarms activated, no blast of heat from millimeter waves filled the guard room.

  With a huff, Pulaski spread his arms into the surprising silence. “See? Are you going to follow me up to the exit, or am I the only one who’ll be rescued?” He stepped gingerly outside the portal and slowly shuffled up the tunnel.

  He had taken three steps when, with a loud whoosh, a torrent of dull, bloodred liquid gushed down from conduits in the ceiling just outside the portal. Upon contact with the air, the fluid immediately coalesced, fusing into a hard, crystalline froth, like whipped cream turning into cement.

  The viscous foam doused the Senator, splattering his head, his shoulders, and his shoes. He lurched backward, tried to stagger into the guard room, but the sticky material glued his foot to the ground. He flailed his stiffening arms, tugged at his jacket. A look of terror filled his face as he tried to fall into the portal chamber. “I’m stuck!”

  Adonia smelled the overpowering scent of starch as red foam crawled into the portal, expanding like a flood of crystalline suds. Once, when she had been alone for the first time in a college apartment, she had added too much soap into a dishwasher, and the resulting storm of froth had filled half of the small kitchenette; now, the red foam grew unchecked, gushing from the spray outside in the tunnel and expanding layer upon layer, hardening in seconds.

  Shawn shouted, “Pull him in! It’s sticky foam. He may suffocate if he’s covered!”

  The Senator clawed at his face, peeling the hardening material away from his eyes and nose. When Adonia grabbed his arm, her fingers curled around the foam, and her own hand was stuck as she pulled. The foam swelled into the portal, covering everything, like hardening red meringue. The mess filled the tunnel outside and roiled into the guard shack as it expanded through the open door.

  Shawn seized Pulaski’s shoulders and pulled as hard as he could, yelling for Adonia to do the same, but even together they could not yank him loose from the flash flood of sticky foam. The bubbly sludge crawled forward like a B-movie blob, setting as it was exposed to the air.

  Looking wildly around the cramped portal, van Dyckman grabbed for the scattered tools that had spilled from the box. He snatched the box cutter in one hand, a screwdriver in the other, and started hacking away at the hardened foam, slicing off chunks that had set around the Senator’s legs. “Try it now!”

  “Pull!” Shawn said. Pulaski’s feet came free with a loud sucking sound, and all four of them stumbled into the crowded guard shack, where Garibaldi and Victoria caught them.

  But with the door now jammed open, the sticky foam oozed into any available space. The red liquid continued to gush from nozzles on the tunnel wall and ceiling, and the sticky foam swelled, bubbled, coalesced, engulfing the chamber.

  Behind her, van Dyckman shouted over the noise and commotion. “We’re trapped! It’s going to suffocate us! We’ve got to get out!” Crouching, he held out the box cutter as if to ward off the advancing foam.

  Garibaldi batted away at the encroaching substance that covered his chest. “Can’t breathe. No place to go.”

  “Move to the back of the room!” Shawn fought through the billowing mountains of hardening foam. He grabbed the open door and tried to pull it shut, but the petrified airy material blocked the hinge pistons and the jamb. He kicked at it, tried to clear a path, but more foam filled the gap, cementing the door open.

  Adonia knew that if they didn’t get out of the cramped portal, they would be swallowed in deadly foam within seconds.

  At the opposite side of the guard chamber, Garibaldi looked through the mesh-embedded window of the second door. “The lower level’s clear of foam! We have to go out the other side.”

  “Don’t!” Victoria tried to pull him away. “You’ll trigger another system! We have to close the other door first—”

  “Not possible,” Shawn said, exhausted. “The foam’s blocking it.”

  As the waves of sticky foam kept gushing into the small chamber and the people were crushed backward, Garibaldi threw his full weight against the emergency release of the back door. The rear exit swung open and slammed against the rock wall.

  Instantly, another alarm started clanging, and a rotating magenta light flooded the cramped portal. Adonia’s ears popped, and a rush of cool air swept into the guard chamber from below.

  Garibaldi tumbled out into the lower tunnel, and the others struggled after him to escape.

  Van Dyckman, Doyle, and Pulaski fought their way to the exit, their shoes sticking in the expanding foam. Shawn and Adonia were the last to tumble out into the relative safety of the passageway that led into the lower level of Hydra Mountain.

  Bright LED lights in the ceiling filled the passage with a sharp, intense glow. Senator Pulaski still pawed at the thick residue of foam that covered him like chewing gum. He peeled his jacket off and cast it aside in disgust, then picked at the hardened globs on his face and in his hair. He took several steps, but the gunk coating his wingtips kept adhering to the concrete tunnel floor.

  “Take off your shoes,” Adonia said, indicating her own bare feet. Her red dress was also caked with the hardened foam.

  The Senator dithered over which was more unpleasant, but opted to take off his shoes, leaning on van Dyckman’s shoulder while the other man used the box cutter to slice off chunks of shell-like spume. The laces were cemented together, but van Dyckman cut them, one at a time, and then peeled off the man’s shoes.

  Pulaski looked displeased when he looked down at his socks, flexing his toes, while van Dyckman retracted the box cutter’s sharp blade and then pocketed the tool.

  Garibaldi placed his hands on his hips and regarded the portal they had just left, the masses of foam, and the flashing alarm light. He looked like a captain at the prow of a ship. “Well, at least we’re safely out of that mess.”

  “No we’re not,” Victoria said, her voice shaking. “We’ve got to move down the tunnel, fast.” She pointed at the ceiling. “Look.”

  A new hissing sound filled the air and Adonia looked up. A plume of yellowish gas jetted out of ceiling nozzles inside the portal.

  21

  The noxious vapors curled around the top of the tunnel, then started sinking toward the floor—and them.

  “Not tear gas again!” Adonia groaned, hurrying them away down the tunnel. “We have to move.” They stumbled along, all of them spattered and coated with remnants of the hardening sticky foam.

  “It isn’t tear gas.” Victoria sounded beaten. “That’s halothane—an old, potent knockout gas. A big enough whiff, and it’ll drop you in your tracks.”

  “Going to sleep sounds better than getting fried by a wall of microwaves,” Pulaski said. �
��Kinder and gentler.”

  “If you don’t get taken out of the gas quickly enough, you might never wake up,” Victoria said.

  Victoria continued as they backed away, looking at the gas swirling down from the ceiling, “Halothane gas is one of the final-tier military systems to stop any intruders who might manage to get past the guard portal. I think the designers assumed that only a full-fledged enemy force could possibly get this far in, so these nozzles are spraying enough gas to diffuse down the tunnels and knock out an army before they got to the plutonium pits that were stored in the lower assembly area.”

  “Then we have to keep ahead of it,” Shawn said. “Get moving.”

  Garibaldi pointed back at the nozzles, frowning and preoccupied. “Halothane is colorless, an invisible old-style anesthetic, been around for years—and it’s deadly in large concentrations. But that gas is clearly visible. Are you sure it’s halothane, Ms. Doyle?”

  “It’s mixed with a smoke marker so it can be seen, a psychological edge to scare the hell out of intruders,” Victoria said. “Like I said, it was DoD’s last line of defense inside the Mountain.”

  “I … I didn’t know about this!” van Dyckman said, looking from person to person. “Or about the sticky foam either. I swear.” He shook his head. “And this is my Mountain!”

  “Have your arguments later,” Adonia said. “Since we can see the gas coming, let’s avoid it.”

  The vapor wafted down from the nozzles, spreading out as it diffused to the floor. Adonia had no intention of dropping unconscious where she would lie for hours, breathing more and more of the dangerous gas. No rescue team could get to them in time.

  Tear gas was a standard deterrent with no lingering effects, good for crowd control; her own site at Granite Bay kept it on hand as a nonlethal defense in case a protest got out of hand. But since Hydra Mountain was designed to store nuclear weapons, its security systems would be much more aggressive against any intruder who managed to penetrate this far inside. She supposed it made sense, on paper.