“So I hope you see, not everything is as it appears. This is real life, not the movies. You don’t get to sell your soul to the King, and kill the President, then get to run away with a field house whore just because you think you fell in love. I hate to break it to you buddy, but in life, there are no happy endings.” He raised his pistol up towards Tommy before continuing, “Also, while you were taking a shower, I emptied that pistol. Mine is the only one that is loaded. Sorry.” His final word almost sounds sincere, honest and kind. Even if it wasn’t, it didn’t really matter, it would be the last words heard by Tommy in this life. Mr. Edict pulled the trigger on his pistol, firing a single suppressed shot, hitting Tommy just at the top of his noes. The round killed him instantly, as Tommy’s limp hand released the grasp on the useless weapon, allowing it to fall to the floor.
Cherry, who despite being in intense pain, was still alive and had just witnessed it all. She knew there was nothing she could do, she couldn’t fight, run or reach a functioning weapon. All she could do was lay there and scream. So that’s what she did. She rolled over onto her back clinched her fist into tight balls and screams as loud as she could. All the sadness of the blackout, the regret of a life waisted, love lost and innocents dashed. It all came out of her at that very moment. Her scream was that of a thousand souls, ones who to late, realized they had lost it all.
Mr. Edict casual made his way over to her, making sure not to step into any of the blood streaks on the floor. Then as he stood there, he cocked his head some as he looked down at this once pretty, and intelligent woman. Someone who was going to make a difference in the world, all those days ago, before the lights went out. Now, now she was a nobody. Soon her body would be burned beyond recognition and the very room she was in will be reduced to ash. A few months, a few years, no one will ever even realize that this place ever was. A decade from now, all evidence that she ever had existed would be erased from this earth forever. It was sort of sad, Mr. Edict thought, but he never let his feelings get in the way before, and he wouldn’t know.
As he stood there over the body of Cherry, who was still screaming and crying, he leveled the pistol at her head before pulling the trigger one more time. There was a little-suppressed pop, then nothing. The smell of blood expelled excrement and death now mingled with the dense stagnant air that occupied the small roomed cabin.
He turned, walked out of the room, picked up the two five-gallon gas cans he had waiting outside and proceeded to bathe the interior of the cabin with the fuel, ensuring to give extra attention to the bodies. Eventually, he made a line which flowed out the door. Once done, he lit a single match and dropped it at the end of the inflammable trail. By the time he reached his car the flames were already dancing around the inside of the cabin and even poked their heads out of some of the windows as well.
Soon, the entire cabin, inside and out, would be covered in flames. Everything and everyone left inside would be devoured by the ravenous heat, leaving nothing behind but chard resemblances of a life that was never to be lived.
32 The Devils Den
The Hole
It’s the small details that usually cost the most. When the Hole retrofitted the abandoned silo into a state of the art research facility, they never suspected that the loss of power would be their ultimate downfall. The large service pipe, which ran directly into the Hole, had been blocked off, the thought for good, by the construction of a gas station, and was never thought of again. It was there that the strike team, consisting of the Commander, Dave, Conall, Thumper, and Miguel, began their assault.
This particular gas station had one of those automatic car washes, where you pay your five bucks, sit back and go for the little drive through washing service. All the used water, per the government regulations, had to be filtered and reprocessed, to ensure only a minimal amount of water would be pushed on to the cities sewage lines. It was here that they would gain access to a line of plumbing, separate from the car wash, which the local town had put in to supply water and such to the nearby missile silo. Normally these lines would have been filled with high pressure water, running for miles in all directions. That fact alone made this form of infiltration into the silo a non-factor. But what they didn’t take into consideration is the fact that when power is lost, so is water pressure as well as all city water pumps. Then you throw in a conflict such as the Fox War, and these once ignored pipes sat unguarded and open for anyone who knew where to find them.
Typically these labyrinths of cement pipes would have been imposable for most to navigate. A little-known fact though allowed such the opportunity for the strike team. There was a special service pipeline put in for the missile silo and entrance could be gained into this service line, at this very location. This location, the now abandoned gas station, and its useless carwash were picked as an emergency easement into and out of the silo, in case of nuclear emergency. However, over time, and when this silo was transferred from the military to a privet company, the entrance was blocked off, by the water tanks to filter and reprocess the used water from the car wash. Then just like that it was forgotten about and deemed no longer a viable threat to the security of the silo.
The team entered the service pipe and after walking for a bit through a damp and darkened line of piping they finally found themselves at the end of the line. In this case, it was a cramped storage room. There, at the end, was a ladder which lead up to a small circular grate, about three feet in diameter. Miguel was the last one to exit the pipe and enter the hidden room. He crawled out and stumbled to his feet as he looked around the room. His gaze picked up the assortment of equipment that had been stuffed into the room. Ever since they left Alberto in a shallow grave, he has been more or less in a daze. His mind was functioning enough to keep moving forward, to respond when called upon and to follow the others, but at this point, that was the best he could do. He physically, mentally and emotionally felt numb.
“Hey, Miguel,” Dave said as he came up to Miguel. “You with us buddy?”
“Yes,” Miguel heard himself say. The words sounded distant and foreign.
Dave looked at the man, who was always so full of life. Now, he looked ten years older, aging a decade in a day. Dave reached out, placing his hand on Miguel's shoulder, “I promise you, we will find those behind all of this, and I will make sure they pay.”
Miguel didn’t have the will to say anything, he just nodded and continued to stare at the cement wall just beyond Dave. But in his mind, he knew that he was to blame. He helped put all of this together, he was at fault, just as much as the King or anyone one else. Alberto’s death was his fault, it was God punishing him for his sins. They say that in wartime fathers bury their sons, and Miguel could testify to the validity of such a statement. How was he going to face his wife again, his other children, himself?
“Big Blue, Big Blue, this is Lansing how to copy?” Thumper called out into his radio. He paused a moment as only silence greeted him. “Big Blue, Big Blue, how copy over, this is Lansing.” He waited again but pulled his attention from the radio to the Commander. “We might be deep, I don’t know if the signal can get out.”
The Commander looked at the radio, a bit disappointed. “We’ll have to figure something out. I don’t want to be down here longer than needed. Keep trying, and keep an eye out, we might come across a radio room or something we could maybe use.”
“Rodger that,” Thumper eagerly replied.
“Alright, everyone stays tight, keep your eyes open and remember, there are no friendlies down here. But if we can get in and out without sounding any alarms, let's do that.” The Commander said, allowing a bit of an excited smile to creep up.
No sooner had the Commander finished talking, then Thumpers radio showed signs of life. A choppy and crackly voice came over as it called out, “Lansing, this is Big Blue, how copy?”
Thumper quickly snatched his radio, as he pushed his words into it as fast as he could, “You’re a bit choppy, but I got you. We are in the den, getting r
eady to breach.”
“Copy, you are getting ready to breach. Everything looks clear here. We will be launching from one hour right now. If things change call it out. Big Blue out.” The voice said it’s words hanging momentarily within the cement room, before being absorbed into the gray walls.
Thumper clipped the radio back onto his LBV before looking at his watch. He pushed the necessary buttons till it displayed the countdown timer. He set it for one hour then started it. He watched as the seconds began to tick downward, towards zero. Once he knew the countdown and began he looked back at the Commander, “We’re all set. We have one hour, if they don’t hear back from us by then, they call in the air strike.”
The team once again lined up, Thumper at the front, his hand on the doorknob, the Commander was next in line, then Conall, then Dave and finally Miguel. All, except Miguel, had an M4 shouldered tightly, held at low ready. Thumpers gloved hand, slowly turned the knob, till it reached its peak. Then he pulled the door inward, and slowly exposed the sterile hallway that laid just beyond.
Dave turned his head slightly, as he threw back a command towards Miguel, “Keep your hand on my back!” Before he prepared for the unknown that awaited them beyond the door.
The team made their way out, like a deadly snake, they slithered down the hallway, moving quickly and with purpose. With the assistance of the plans printed off from the dark web before they arrived, they were able to smoothly make their way to a stairway and followed it straight down. It took them nearly fifteen minutes, from when Thumper started the countdown till they finally reached the level they needed. They were able to get past all the other levels without any real issue. Twice they had to pause and hide while someone was in the hallway talking. Otherwise they arrived undetected.
Thumper paused outside of the door, as he turned back towards the group. “Stay tight. We are going to the right, then we take the first right and at the end will be a door leading into the server room. Hopefully, the passcode provided still works.” Then with that bit of encouragement, he smoothly pulled the door open.
The group slid out of the stairwell and into the exposed hallway. Dave turned to ensure that Miguel shut the door, but only saw Miguel standing there, still grasped onto the back of Dave’s shirt. “Miguel,” Dave softly whispered. “Switch me places.” The two men switched spots on the line, so that Dave would now be bringing up the rear, and protecting the team's backside.
Instantly they realized the difference between this hallway and the one they had already traversed up on the entry level. While the previous one was lined with exposed cinderblock and galvanized steel piping, this level displayed highly polished concrete floors, painted walls and rows of LED lighting. It was bright, clean and clearly part of the inner sanctum of the facility.
Everything was smooth and covered. The hallway they stood in ran nearly fifty yards straight out in front of them and another fifty straits back. There were a pair of double doors at the end of the hallway in both directions. Occasionally another hallway would branch off sharply and there were doors sporadically spaced out along the way. As they moved along, they quickly realized that they were in a very defenseless position.
The air smelt sterile and old, like an abandoned hospital. There was a chill that hung in the air, thick and mostly undisturbed. Every other hallway within the facility would have been filled with hurried bodies, moving from one location or another, intermingled with random security patrols and such. However, this was the server level. Almost every room here was filled with servers and wiring. Thus the hallways were empty and relatively quiet. Sounds of fans humming beyond the closed doors bounced off of the painted cinderblock walls, then fell to the ground to die a slow death. The only other sound was that of the strike teams breathing, and the sound of their feet cautiously walking in step. They were almost to their destination, a hallway that branched off to the right just a few steps ahead when a new sound was introduced to the surroundings.
Ten yards further down the hallway a door opened to one of the rooms. A flood of noise came pouring out into the vacant space, filling it up to near capacity. The sounds of computers humming and two men having a loud conversation leaped from the opened door and bounced from one wall to the other, like a supersize rubber ball. Thumper instantly dropped to his right knee, pulled his weapon in tight to his shoulder and peered through is Trijicon scope, planting the red dot squarely on the first mans back. The rest of the strike team followed the lead, as all dropped to a knee and pressed up tight against the wall next to them.
The two men exited the side room, and allowed the door to swing smoothly shut behind them. They paused their conversation long enough to ensure that there was an audible beep, indicating that the digital lock had re-engaged, securing the server room. Once they felt that it was safe to, they picked up where they had left off at. Both men, dressed in dark blue jumpsuits, and each with a tool belt slung around their waist, turned to their left and continued down the hallway. Neither had any clue, that if they would just turn around they would have seen a half a dozen armed men ready and willing to kill them instantly. Instead, blissfully lost in their one world, they went on about the best football team that ever had played the game. There were mentions about how by the end of the existence of the game, it had become to highly regulated by the officials, taking away the raw and primal aspects of the game that made it so fun to watch in the beginning. They continued their conversation and eventually vanished behind the double doors at the end of the hallway.
Once the pair dissolved behind the double doors, Thumper rose, and once again continued to lead the team. It was only a few more steps before they made the sharp turn to the right, and ran directly into a locked door. The door sat in an alcove, maybe three feet deep from the hallway. There was just enough room for the men in the strike team to all smash themselves into the confined space, and be out of sight of anyone who might throw a glance down the hallway.
Thumper yanked the paper he had stored in his left thigh pocket and glanced down at the dozen six-digit codes on display. He feverishly pushed the number keypad above the lock on the door. His right index finger coded out the six numbers, 379811 then ENTER. The lock gave an angry beep, as an indicator light flashed red three times in a row. He proceeded to push for the next set of numbers, 559271 ENTER, and again the angry beep and the red flashing light. He entered the fourth, the fifth and the sixth. Finally, he entered the final one listed on the paper, 305836 ENTER, and again the keypad scolded him and the red flashing light mocked his attempt. Now frustrated Thumper turned and threw an agitated glance towards the Commander. “Now what?”
The Commander let out a disappointed sigh, as he looked back momentarily at Miguel. He then turned back toward Thumper and simply asked, “How much time do we have left?”
Thumper rotated his left arm, looked at the watch as the digital numbers continued their countdown, “Just under forty minutes.” He looked back at the lock and stated, “I guess I can try to hack it.”
“What other option do we have?” The Commander said, more of a matter of fact that an actual question.
Thumper no sooner turned back towards the mocking lock, that the silence of the corridor was broken again. Yet again a sound of a door opening and shutting followed by a conversation could be heard. This time though an extra noise was added to the medley, the sound of high heels clicking on the polished flooring. The sound grew louder and louder, in a smooth staccato towards where the group was huddle within the alcove of the doorway. As they grew louder and the conversation of the newly arrived guest crawled closer, one particular word could be heard over and over. The simple word of ‘No’, was being said loudly and forcefully. It was continually used to push its way into the conversation. Like a toddler who insists on being included in everyone activity that their siblings partook in.
The two walking down the hall were so locked into their own debate that they completely walked by those huddled in the small doorway. Their debate carrying them alo
ng, blinding them to any other activity. The ever-present ‘No’ continued to push itself into the conversation.
The strike team let out a collective sigh, as they watched the two white lab coats walk by. As they listen to the fading clicking sound of the high heels, they grew more and more relaxed. It had appeared as if they had dodged another near miss when they heard something completely unexpected. The noise shattered the stiff air, as it pushed its way out into the hallway and reached out for the pair who had just walked by. Nearly instantly the clicking of the heals upon the mirrored floor stopped, as well as the joint conversation.
Miguel freed himself from the confines of the huddled strike team, as he slipped around the body of Dave and Conall who were standing guard. His body felt weak, his mind was awash with confused thoughts. It couldn’t be, clearly the tragedy of watching his son die, was still causing his thoughts to swim within the realms of hysteria. Yet there she was, alive! As he was huddled there, fearing for his life, nothing would have prepared him for what he would see walk by. There, alive and as beautiful as always, Dr. Amy, along with Dr. Klaus, walked pass, deep within a conversation between one another. Then without any self-control, Miguel called out, nearly screamed out towards them. He screamed the first thing he could think of, “STOP!”
Muster Page 32