Masks of Ash

by Adrian J. Smith

  Lisa and Zanzi shielded the children from the dead bodies and herded them down the hall into the school cafeteria. Once there, Lisa pulled Zanzi aside.

  “Get some food for them. I’ll make sure our friends don’t come back from the dead.”

  “Copy that.”

  Zanzi smashed the glass fronts of both vending machines and handed out snacks and drinks – not the best food, but all they had right now. None of the children spoke as they ate. Their vacant, distant stares said it all. Already traumatized by the combusting, Adam and his two brothers, Cooper and Sawyer, had kicked them while they were down. At a time when everyone needed to help each other, these men had done the opposite. Her hand itched on the M4. Never had she been gladder to kill another human being. Some deserved their end. But not all.

  The woman with the bruised face checked on all the children, moving between them, sometimes hugging, sometimes kissing them on the cheek. She appeared to know them all and their faces lit up in response. One or two spoke, but their voices were too quiet for Zanzi to make out what was being said.

  Having checked on the children, the woman made her way to Zanzi. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “You don’t need to say anything else. I’m Zanzi. The other woman is Lisa.”

  “Jolene. You guys military?”

  “Lisa is.”

  Jolene looked Zanzi up and down with her good eye, her brow creasing as she locked on the rifle and combat vest.

  “I’ve had some training,” Zanzi said.

  “How did you know we were here?”

  “I found a couple kids in the bakery up the road. Rabids had them cornered, then those creeps showed up and said the kids were theirs. It went south from there.”

  “Rabids?”

  “People with the milky eyes; you haven’t seen them?”

  Jolene shivered visibly. “They came on the first evening. We locked the doors and waited for help. Instead, those other assholes turned up.”

  “When?”

  “A day after the…” Jolene fell silent as tears ran down her cheeks.

  Zanzi grasped Jolene’s shoulder. She didn’t have to ask why. She had seen the heart-wrenching scenes in the playground. The tiny piles of ash. The games left unfinished. That day, everything had stopped. Not only lives lost and shattered, but one’s perception of the world.

  “Is it just Portland?” Jolene said.

  “I’m not going to lie to you. Everyone deserves to know. This is worldwide.”

  Jolene stared at her, her one good eye blinking rapidly as if each blink was data being processed. “The kids you found in the bakery. They led you here?”

  “Yes. More or less. The boy we rescued told us they had his sister,” Zanzi explained, “so we tracked Cooper and Sawyer here.” She wanted to tell Jolene everything. Tell her how Adam met his demise, how his two brothers ran away like the cowards they were. How she and Lisa didn’t hesitate in deciding to kill them. Instead, Zanzi held her tongue.

  “We were attempting to escape, and they caught us,” Jolene said. “Jonty and Liv, the two you found, they were the only ones who got out. I told them to run, hoping they made it somewhere safe.”

  “You did good.”

  “Lucky, more like it. The eldest brother – Adam – got so angry.”

  “Is that why they strung you up?”

  Jolene put her head in her hands. “Yeah. A couple of days ago, I think.”

  “We’ll get you guys out of here, medical attention, and food. Then you can decide what to do. I have friends who can help locate your loved ones.” Zanzi smiled. The last sentence was a stretch, but she wanted to give Jolene some hope.

  Lisa returned, rifle held ready but muzzle pointing at the floor. “I found a minivan. Let’s move before we attract attention.”

  Jolene ushered the children into two rows and made them hold hands. Ten minutes later, Lisa eased the minivan out of the school car park and crept down the road.

  There were no sounds or movements apart from their vehicle. The power was still on – traffic lights cycled through; water fountains still ran – but there was no one to attend to the little things. Trash had blown across the road and caught in shrubs and trees. Coffee cups, dropped when the humans drinking from them combusted, had rolled into the gutters. It was close to ten days since the first wave, and twelve hours since the attempted second wave. From all appearances, OPIS had succeeded in their first mission: reduce the population.

  They drove on in silence, creeping down the suburban streets toward the bakery. Another two blocks east and Lisa stopped outside a multi-story car park. A bright orange Dodge Challenger had slammed into the barrier arms, blocking the entrance.

  “If you release the park brake, it should roll out of the way. Reid set it up.”

  “Smart guy.”

  Lisa smiled, but said nothing further. Zanzi looked away, her cheeks flushing. She knew Lisa was old enough and wise enough to realize that Zanzi liked the staff sergeant. Zanzi still had to decide how she felt about that. Was it a good time to allow such emotions to show?

  She’d never really thought much about having a partner, always too focused on her career. Love can come later, she’d told herself several times over the years. Her college friends had tried to set her up with different guys, but Zanzi had always pushed them away. Reid was the first guy she’d developed feelings for, and she wasn’t completely sure of it.

  The Dodge rolled back with little effort. Once Lisa was through, Jolene jumped out and helped push the Dodge back into place. Instead of driving up to higher levels, Lisa guided the minivan down into the basement, then through a rolling door marked Private. This led into the next building, which was, from what Zanzi could deduce, an old factory of some sort, long abandoned. The smooth concrete made the minivan’s tires squeak.

  The main floor was empty of any machinery. Smack bang in the middle was an office, raised like an island poking out of a blue ocean. It had a 360-degree view of the entire floor. Parked underneath it was Avondale’s Chevy van. Zanzi shook her head. He was immensely proud of that van. It was like the one from his favorite TV show, The A-Team.

  Tilly, Reid and Jacqui came out to greet them as they pulled up.

  Clambering out of the minivan, Zanzi embraced Tilly and held her tight. Guilt washed over her for taking off after Cooper and Sawyer. “How are you holding up?”

  “Good,” Tilly said, but her body shook like she had a fever.

  “I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Did you find her, the twin?”

  “Yes, and nine more kids. A few teachers too.”

  Jolene, despite her swollen eye and other injuries, gathered the children with Jacqui’s help, and followed Lisa into the admin space at the back of the factory. Here were four small rooms, and a larger space in the middle. Jacqui had pushed the desks and old typewriters to one side, and set up six camp beds, tables and chairs.

  Lisa turned to face everyone. “I know you all must be confused as to what has happened. I don’t know all the answers, but I can give you some.” She pointed toward the two largest of the four offices. Between them was another door. “Bathroom and toilets are in there. I suggest taking advantage of the facilities while the power and water are still available. Attend to any injuries. The infirmary is through there.” She gestured to another old office.

  “Thank you,” Jolene said, her voice soft.

  Lisa gave her a curt nod and gestured for Zanzi to meet her upstairs on the mezzanine floor.

  Zanzi was impressed by the set up. It was as though LK3 had thought of every contingency. The office island was in the center of a vast factory and could be defended if the need arose. She glanced into the last office and spotted Avondale sitting, as always, in front of a bank of monitors. Some had camera images of the streets outside, while others were of the factory itself.

  Avondale spun around as she knocked on the door frame. “Zanzi.” His wide grin lifted his
glasses above his eyebrows.

  She wanted to hug him badly, but he hated physical contact. “You don’t know how good it is to finally see you,” she said. “I’ve been trying to get to you since the day before this all happened. Any news on my parents?”

  “Yes, some.” Avondale reached out to a bank of radio equipment. Most of it was modern digital, with one old ham radio. “My last contact with them was on the USS Nimitz off the coast of Dutch Harbor. You and the director had just been taken by Milo.” Avondale looked away, fidgeting with his keyboard. “I thought you’d been captured again.”

  “They think I’ve been captured?”

  “That’s what I told them. I’m sorry.”

  “Meh.”

  “Meh?”

  “I don’t blame you, Avondale, that’s what I mean. You were making judgments by images alone.”

  “Thanks. They’re heading here. Radios have been down for the last twelve hours, but…” Avondale clicked his mouse, moving files around “…their agent tracking devices show them entering Canada.”

  Zanzi smiled despite the lump in her throat. Emotions she had buried deep down surfaced all at once. She sank into the chair next to her friend and let the tears flow. For the first time since that horrific day, she had a sliver of hope that she would see her father again. Her feelings about her mother were more confused. Of course Zanzi wanted to see Cal again, hold her, but she had grieved her death. Since learning that she was alive, a deep sense of betrayal had enveloped her, clouding every other thought.

  Eleven

  Prince Rupert, British Columbia, Canada

  The twin prop engines of the CL-415 decreased in volume as they circled Prince Rupert, looking for a suitable place to land. The harbor water was reasonably calm with few obstacles. Just a couple of drifting fishing boats and pleasure craft.

  Ryan had refueled here before on one of his many hunting trips with Director Lisa Omstead. He had always loved this charming town, nestled at the northern tip of Kaien Island. It had everything you needed: a sheltered port, quaint houses, a thriving industry. And it was surrounded by thousands of hectares of conifers, snowcapped mountains, rivers, lakes and the ocean.

  Allie went around again. “Are you sure about this?” she shouted from the cockpit.

  “Yes. It’s down next to the coastguard base.”

  “I’ve never landed on water before.”

  “We could attempt the airport. Up to you.”

  Allie shook her head and turned to say something to Booth in the co-pilot seat. They had already circled Prince Rupert Airport, on Digby Island across the harbor. It was a mess, with planes – some smaller passenger jets and a couple of private planes – scattered across the runway. From what Ryan could ascertain, a passenger plane had crashed on landing, skidding into the planes waiting to take off, only stopping when it slammed into the small terminal.

  “We can’t see anything resembling a fuel stop, Connors,” Booth said.

  Ryan braced himself against the fuselage and made his way to the cockpit. Allie was flying low enough that they could see every detail of the buildings. Salt-encrusted windows. Lights blinking on and off, and water pouring from the front door of a house to cascade down the street. “It has to be there somewhere. Lisa and I stopped here last time. I’m sure of it.”

  “Your memory is going, old man,” Booth teased.

  “Maybe they moved it since then?” Ryan said. “Wake up the others. Cal will know.”

  Sofia found it after scrolling through Google Maps on her tablet. “It’s around the other side. Seal Cove.”

  “I told you, old man. Your memory is going.”

  “I said next to the coastguard. Look.”

  “That’s their heliport. Not the base.” Booth winked at Allie. “He’s losing it. See, that’s why we need you on the team. Replace Connors.”

  “Will you two quit it?” Sofia said.

  As Allie swung the amphibious plane around for the final approach, Ryan frowned. At least ten people were on top of the roof of a large rectangular building, waving frantically and jumping up and down like they were doing some new starfish-inspired exercise craze. Two were holding a makeshift sign. He could just make out the word: Help!

  A crowd of Siphons surrounded most of the building. Too many to count. Most were upright and active, but a few were prone on the ground, being trampled into the concrete.

  “Are you guys seeing this?” Ryan said, pointing.

  “They look desperate,” Booth said.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Cal said, punching him lightly on the upper arm. “Looks like we’re going to be delayed getting home.

  Allie tipped her wings to acknowledge that she had seen the survivors. She screwed up her face as she pulled back on the yoke. “Go and sit down, belts on.”

  Once they had taxied alongside the jetty, Ryan grabbed his weapons and opened the door. A couple of small seaplanes sat on the next jetty over. Between them were the refueling sheds. He searched the area for hostiles but spotted no movement. Like Anchorage, Prince Rupert appeared abandoned. Except he knew it wasn’t.

  The Nameless gathered in the hold. “We all saw those people. Like you, I want to get home. But I can’t leave here knowing someone needs our help. Do an ammo check, and let’s do what we do best. Allie, Keiko. Refuel the plane, have her ready to go. Ebony, we could use your help.”

  “Glad to.”

  “Good. We have plenty of guns. Choose one.”

  “A knife if you have a spare?”

  Ryan passed her a Ka-Bar and wriggled into his combat vest. They had stocked up back on the Nimitz with both 9 mms for the Glocks and 5.56 mms for their M4s. After being cramped into the tiny hold of the water bomber for the last six hours, energy was returning to Ryan’s restless limbs. Doing something other than sleeping or staring aimlessly out the window recharged him. Helping people always did.

  Sam whimpered at the door. Ryan shouldered his rifle, checking for hostiles.

  “Relax,” Ebony said. She jumped down onto the wooden jetty. “He just needs to pee.”

  “Losing it,” Booth said.

  “Like them Vikings.” Ryan said.

  “Hey, no need for insults.” Booth winked, then said, “What are you thinking? A distraction?”

  “Scout it out first, look for other entrances. Get a gauge on numbers, the usual,” said Ryan.

  The Nameless broke apart into their normal teams: Alpha, consisting of Ryan and Cal, and Beta being Booth and Sofia. Ebony and Sam were to hang back and wait until the fighting started.

  Ryan jogged down the causeway, keeping the line of trees between himself and the large building. Now that he was closer, he could read the sign: Prince Rupert Curling Club. Moving slowly, heel to toe, he sighted the front entrance through his scope and counted off the Siphons. Ten… eleven… eighteen… It didn’t matter. Like the back of the building, which he had seen from the air, it was crowded with creatures filled with bloodlust, or in their case, a weird spinal lust. He shook his head at his own thoughts. Now that he was closer, he got a better picture of the dead Siphons. They looked emaciated. Anorexic.

  “Some of the Siphons appear starved to death,” Ryan said over the comms.

  “That makes sense,” Sofia said. “They’re not interested in food, just spinal fluid. Sooner or later, they’re going to die from either thirst or starvation, even exposure in winter.”

  Using the trees and shoreline as cover, Alpha circled the curling club, probing for any weaknesses. There were a few possibilities. Fire exits, a side entrance that had been boarded up. The problem was the sheer number of Siphons. It was as if the whole population of the town had turned into the Siphons and congregated around the curling club.

  Ryan melted back into the copse of fir trees and nudged his comms. “Beta. SITREP.”

  “No good. Siphons everywhere. We’re going to need a helluva distraction.”

  “Sit tight.”

  “Copy that.”

  Ryan eyed the f
ire exit a few meters away. There were fewer Siphons on this side of the building. Maybe, if he could get all the Siphons to go to the front, they could get the survivors down and lead them to safety. Maybe. Big maybe.

  “You’re going to do it aren’t you?” Cal said. She gestured to the ladder with her head.

  “Yup.”

  “Glad to see that part of you is still the same.”

  “Foolish optimism?”

  “I was thinking more willingness at all costs.”

  “If it needs to be done. Why not—”

  “Us,” Cal finished for him. “I’ve got your back.”

  Ryan glanced at the ladder once more. He could be up there in less than a minute, perhaps forty seconds.

  “Beta, we need a small distraction. See if you can draw away some of these Siphons.”

  “Wilco,” Booth said.

  “Small,” Ryan said.

  He didn’t have to wait long. First, the noise of a V8 broke the silence, then tires screeching and loud music. Ryan rolled his eyes. Booth had somehow found a truck with a V8 engine. Not only that, but one that had country music. He knew how much Ryan loathed that genre. The twangy guitars and high-pitched singing blasted the area as the acrid scent of burning rubber filled the air. Siphons that had been wandering aimlessly went rigid and snapped their heads up. As one, they shrieked and, stumbling over each other, went in search of the source of the noise and the possible spinal meal.

  Ryan slung his carbine across his back and sprinted for the fire escape ladder. He hit it at speed and bolted up and onto the roof. The survivors spun as he thumped onto the metal cladding. Ryan acknowledged them with a wave and strode over.

  “Ryan Connors. How many of you are there?”

  A tall man with jet black hair and the tanned skin common to the First Nations peoples grasped his hand and shook it. “Mark. There are twenty of us altogether now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Some left. Those…those freaks got them. I pleaded with them not to leave but they were arrogant and left anyway.”

  “Where are the rest? I count six.”