Masks of Ash

by Adrian J. Smith

  Ryan joined Booth in the cockpit so Allie could rest before the final approach into Seattle.

  “What do you think of her?” Booth said.

  “Ebony’s great. Funny, lethal. I think we should ask her to join our team.”

  Booth groaned. “Smartass. You know who I mean.”

  “I think it’s time you settled down, and Allie’s a great person,” Ryan said. “If it weren’t for her, I don’t think we would have got off Koyasan in one piece, or even out of Japan. But do yourself a favor, Booth, and keep it in your pants this time. No more philandering.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You know, it’s weird. I promised myself I wouldn’t be like my father, drinking and womanizing, drifting from one girl to the next. When I really search myself – you know, when you’ve had too many whiskeys and you’re sitting in the lounge, some mindless TV show in the background – it’s those moments when you look around and feel sorry for yourself, that you realize only you can change your behavior.”

  “And have you?”

  “Three years, Connors. A man can change a lot in three years.”

  Ryan shot Booth a quick smile. He knew all about change. If he hadn’t met Cal, he was certain he would have ended up the same way.

  “Try Munroe again. We must be in range now.”

  Booth fumbled with the radio and cross-checked the frequency. He spoke into his headset. “This is LK3, looking for Munroe. Over.”

  After some white noise screeching, a clear voice came over the radio. “This is Joint Base MacLeod. Who is this?”

  Ryan tapped the page on the clipboard checklist. He had written an authorization code down earlier. One Avondale had given The Nameless so they could reach Munroe directly.

  “LK3. We have an authorization code. JRR021973.”

  “Confirmed. One moment.”

  Thirty seconds of dead air passed before Munroe’s gruff voice came over. “Is that you, Connors?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “God dammit. You took your sweet time. Richmond said he dropped you off in Anchorage twenty hours ago.”

  “We ran into a number of issues. We’re about forty minutes away. Permission to land?”

  “Granted. Get your pilot to contact air traffic control on…” Munroe’s voice was cut off as klaxons rang out, drowning out any voices. The CL-415 water bomber shook as something whizzed past at an incredible speed, setting off proximity alarms.

  “What the hell was that?” Booth said as he moved about, trying to get a bead on the object.

  Ryan unclipped his harness and shook Allie awake. She was already stirring, along with everyone else. Then came the scream of an aircraft, so close and so loud it rattled Ryan’s teeth as it flew past again. A second hurtled overhead and dropped dangerously close to the left wing.

  “We’re under attack, Munroe. If you can hear me, we have two bogies. Request assistance,” Booth said, glancing out the window at the twinkling lights of Seattle in the distance. The Space Needle shone like a beacon. “We’re just north of Seattle.”

  “Circle the city for now. We have hostiles incoming. Ground and air. Out.”

  Allie brushed past Ryan and plonked herself back in the pilot’s seat. Her hands flew over the aircraft flight control systems, adjusting. “Buckle up. This is going to get hella bumpy.”

  Ryan took the seat nearest the cockpit so he could keep an eye out for the aircraft. At present, the pair seemed content to buzz them. No rounds had been fired. He caught Sofia and Cal staring out the window. They knew as well as he did that if the fighter jets wanted to, they could blow them out of the sky in an instant. Were they playing with The Nameless?

  Allie took the plane into a dive and skimmed over the forests of Olympic National Park, her face locked in a mask of concentration. She tipped the wings from side to side, dipping and diving. The two fighter jets, which Ryan now identified as F-16s, followed her every move. They would disappear momentarily, only to reappear and hurtle past at breakneck speeds.

  “Try hailing them,” Ryan said.

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?” Booth said. “Listen to this.” He flicked a switch. Loud music blared out of the speakers in the hold. Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival thundered out, reverberating off the fuselage. Booth switched it off. “That’s all I’m getting.”

  Ebony chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s an ironic song to play.”

  “Why?” Cal said.

  “It’s about how the wealthy and politicians’ sons avoided going to Vietnam. It’s not patriotic like everyone thinks.”

  “No way. That song is about a GI getting all this sex in Bangkok,” Booth said.

  Allie groaned and smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Will you be serious for two minutes? We’ve got the world’s greatest air force on our tail.”

  “I was just trying to lighten the mood, sheesh,” Booth said.

  Cal rolled her eyes. “It’s like they’ve been married for years.” She leaned forward and grasped Allie’s arm. “What’s the plan?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just trying to avoid them…at least, until Munroe sends help. I’ll hug the coast…” She tapped a dial on the instrument panel. “We’ve got enough fuel to reach Portland if need be.”

  The F-16s shrieked overhead again. This time, rounds pinged the fuselage and wings.

  “Get down!” Ryan shouted.

  Keiko and Sam lay on the floor huddled together. The golden labrador licked Keiko’s hands, trying to comfort her. The Pacific coastline appeared up ahead. Allie dropped the plane lower, skimming over the ocean. The jets, which had flown ahead, approached from the south. Ryan gripped the arm rest, shut his eyes and took deep breaths. There was no way they could outmaneuver the F-16s. They might as well be flying a World War One Biplane. That was how mismatched they were.

  The jets screamed closer. Perhaps one kilometer away, but he couldn’t judge.

  An orange flare streaked across the sky, shooting past the water bomber, followed by three more. The F-16s took evasive action, banking away and gaining altitude. Allie took the opportunity and changed course, moving closer to the rocky cliffs and sand dunes. Outcrops of solid rock jutted out like sentinels watching the world.

  Four F-22 Raptors tore out of the cloud cover and engaged the F-16s. Ryan attempted to follow the action, but the jets would twist and turn, tracer rounds would zip by, and they’d be gone, only to reappear in the distance.

  “Keep going. Head for Portland. Seattle’s too hot,” Ryan said.

  “Copy that,” Allie said.

  Ebony grinned as if the whole situation was for her entertainment. Sofia, eyes closed, clutched Keiko’s hand. Physically, everyone was fine. Mentally, it was more trauma to add to the nightmares.

  It wasn’t long before the city of Astoria came into view. The lights of the Astoria-Megler bridge guided them to the headwaters of the Columbia River. From there, they just had to follow the waterway to Portland. Ryan was so close to home now; he could sense it – or was it smell it? He scanned the skies, hunting for the dogfight. The noise the fighters made thundered around them, but he had lost sight of the planes.

  “I never thought I would see American fighter jets attacking each other. Never in a million years,” Allie said, decreasing their altitude farther. The water bomber was now flying level with the city. Historical buildings whizzed by, and the tower on Coxcomb Hill soared above the town.

  “I think we’re going to see a lot of crazy stuff in the next few days,” Booth said.

  One of the fighter jets exploded on the Washington side of the river, sending a fireball of orange and red tumbling. The pilot’s chute was visible as he drifted away. The plane’s proximity alarm blared again as more jets joined the battle. Ryan had trouble counting as they moved at incredible speeds, diving and dancing, changing direction in a blink of an eye.

  Munroe’s gruff voice came over the radio. “You guys still alive?”

  “We’re still here. What’s happening at the base?
” Ryan replied.

  “We’re holding them off. I suspected something might go down. We prepared. I suggest you find somewhere else to land.”

  “Already on our way to Portland.”

  “Good. Scouts are reporting heavy troop movements cutting off all the mountain passes. Black Skulls have begun to leave Seattle, Tacoma, Portland and Sacramento to join other battalions on the eastern side of the Rockies. They’re cutting us off. I’m still awaiting reports from southern California.”

  “OPIS is tightening the noose. Are you still in contact with LK3?”

  “We are. Omstead warned us, said we could be a target for bombing.”

  “That’s what we heard too.”

  “Frankly, I’m shocked. Americans attacking Americans. Not since the Civil War have we fired upon each other. How did OPIS achieve this level of treachery?”

  “No idea. I do know they’ve been planning this since at least the fifties.”

  “You and me are going to sit down one day soon, Connors. I want to know everything you do.”

  “You got it. Where did those F-16s come from?” Ryan said.

  “San Diego is our best guess. No one there is answering any of our attempts at communication.”

  “They’re just playing rock music?”

  “Damn Creedence Clearwater Revival…” Munroe shouted something indistinguishable at someone. “Heads up. There’s another squadron of F-16s coming in. Radar just picked it up. Get your asses to Portland.” Munroe’s voice was replaced by static.

  Allie and Booth had heard the entire exchange. The Nameless were about halfway to Portland, having just passed the cities of Rainier and Longview. Allie continued to keep the CL-415 low. Nothing moved on the roads below, though Ryan did glimpse a few people standing in their back yards, watching the dogfights in the skies above. The F-16s and F-22s continued to buzz each other, raking rounds. Two would gang up on one until a different jet attacked the attackers. Suddenly an F-16 streaked across the river, fire and smoke pouring from its engine. The wing dropped as the pilot ejected, moments before the plane exploded, sending debris in all directions.

  Allie cursed and attempted to avoid the flying molten metal. “Move, you heavy sky whale!”

  The plane tilted sideways, but chunks of heated aluminum struck the port-side wing, tearing fragments off and into the turboprop engine. The propeller sheared off, or part of it did. Dark, gritty smoke billowed, bright yellow sparks lighting up the damaged engine like sparklers on the fourth of July.

  Keiko screamed and buried her head in her hands. Sofia and Ebony hugged her and checked her harness.

  “Port engine out!” Booth shouted.

  “No shit!” Allie said. Her hands flew over controls and switches. “Everyone, strap yourselves in if you’re not already!” Fear tinged her words. They had all expected something, but not like this.

  Ryan did as he was told. He had to put his faith in the former Air Force pilot. She had trained for situations like this. Alarms blasted around the tiny hold. Sam began to whine and tried to cover his ears with his paws. Ryan stared straight ahead, willing Portland to come into view.

  Then it was there, the river snaking through the mix of old buildings and new. The many different bridges spanning the Willamette River. Mount Hood standing guard.

  Home. The city they had been trying to get to for the last twelve days was there in all its glory.

  Cal laced her hand in his. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see our weird little city.”

  After all they’d been through since that night in Shinjuku, when The Nameless had returned to his life. Keiko missing. The photograph of Cal. The yakuza. Bill Holder’s death. The chases through Tokyo, Iga, Osaka and Koyasan. Yamada and the Tomari Nuclear Power Plant. The fight with Dudek as they tried to stop wave two. And finally, their long flight home. All their struggles and trials had been to see this city again, to find their loved ones.

  “Try and get the director,” Ryan said.

  Booth found the frequency, spoke for a few minutes, and connected Ryan.

  “Ryan. Good to hear your voice,” Lisa said.

  “You too, Director. We’re coming in hot. One engine down and the other failing. Landing in the river near Ross Island. Out.”

  “Copy that.”

  The starboard engine coughed and spluttered. Allie cursed and adjusted more instruments. “Shit. I have to land. Engine two has overheated. I’m burning through too much oil.”

  “Down there. By that island. It’s sheltered,” Ryan said, gesturing.

  “By the houseboats?”

  Ryan was about to answer when the water bomber shook violently, and its nose tipped forward.

  “We’re going in hard,” Allie said.

  Cal tightened her harness, cupped her hands behind her head, and tucked everything between her legs, bracing for impact. Allie screamed, fighting the heavy plane as she first brought the nose level with the horizon, then above it.

  Seconds later and the CL-415 shook again. Ryan swore it was going to break apart. His seatbelt held him in place, but he was still thrown against Cal. Ebony had wedged Sam between her legs. Slowly the plane stopped shaking as it began to glide onto the water. The engine spluttered and coughed before falling silent. The port engine was a smoking wreck.

  “Everyone out! Now!” Allie said.

  She kicked open the door and deployed the emergency slide. It hissed as it inflated. Ryan placed himself on the opposite side of the door to Allie and helped everyone else off. Then he chucked their ammo and gear down to Booth. Smoke from the burning engines swirled around, filling the hold.

  Once everyone was out, Ryan grasped Allie’s shoulder. “Thank you. You saved us back there. The Air Force is missing one of their best.”

  The Nameless gathered on the wooden jetty next to the rows of houseboats, watching as flames took hold of the water bomber.

  “Ironic,” Ebony said. “A plane designed to put out fires is burning.”

  Ryan smiled and shook his head. Just what The Nameless needed, another smartass. He turned and gazed at the city. It was good to be home.

  Sixteen

  Portland, Oregon

  One hour earlier

  It had rained during the night, washing away some of the filth that coated the alley where Zanzi and Reid crouched. Reid peered through a spotting scope, scanning the strip mall on the opposite side of the road. The bakery where Tilly had shot Adam was the second shop from the end. Zanzi read the sign: Dough your own way. Portland’s character summed up in one business name. She smiled. She had always loved the city and the way it attracted the artists, the weird and the wonderful. Not the usual hum drum of suits and boring automatons. The city wore its uniqueness proudly.

  “See anything?” she asked.

  “All clear,” Reid said. He tucked his scope into his combat vest, shouldered his rifle and led the way across the road, quickening his pace as he looked for hostiles. Rabids had a way of sneaking up, spitting and snarling. But not this time. The street was empty.

  Zanzi took point and ducked into the back entrance of the bakery. It was just as she’d last seen it. Adam’s body lay twisted where he’d fallen, a pool of thickened blood beneath him. Together they spread out the body bag and rolled the body into it. There were footprints in the blood, and Adam’s neck had been pushed to one side.

  “Rabids?” Reid asked.

  “Probably. Though from what I’ve seen, they only go after the living.”

  Zanzi got a good look at the exit wound as she zipped up the body bag. Tilly’s shot had entered below the jaw and exited above the right ear, taking out a chunk of skull in the process. His right ear was only attached by a flap of skin. Rigor mortis had begun to set in, and the flesh was losing color. Gravity was forcing the blood and other liquids down to the lowest point. Zanzi held her breath to try to block out the stench as she and Reid grabbed the body bag handles and slid the corpse into the cooler, next to the eggs and milk. The plan was to pick him u
p on their way to extract Doctor Josie Lahm.

  Zanzi froze. A vehicle was rumbling along the road. She wasn’t concerned about being spotted, they were deep enough inside the bakery. It was the fact that since yesterday no one had seen or heard another car. This part of the city was a ghost town.

  She edged over to the door of the cooler and peered out. A new Ford Bronco, loaded to the brim with camping gear, cruised past. Then another engine, another SUV traveling in the opposite direction, heading into the city, toward the FEMA camp. Then another car, a station wagon containing a family. Minutes later, more cars. Some minivans and more SUVs. Several sports cars zipped past.

  It was as if Portland had awoken from a long slumber and was coming back to life, the inhabitants going to work, seeking their fix of either coffee or yoga. Zanzi turned her head south toward the bars and clubs, half expecting to see men and women doing the walk of shame, but saw only more cars. No one was walking; the risk of being attacked by Rabids was too great.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Reid said, verbalizing Zanzi’s thoughts.

  “Damned if I know.” Zanzi shrugged and flicked off her safety. Just in case. Memories of the Black Skulls were never far from her mind. They had been after LK3 from day one.

  It was strange that they were absent for the moment. Maybe Avondale and Milo were right. OPIS was going to bomb Portland back to the Stone Age and had evacuated their army.

  Reid grabbed a small transistor radio and switched it on. Immediately they recognized President Ward’s voice.

  …be assured we are working toward protecting our borders. If you see troop movements or aircraft in your area, this is the reason. We are asking citizens in every major city and every town to go to the FEMA camp nearest you for relocation. I understand that you want to stay in your own homes, but for us to protect you, we need to secure smaller areas. Once this crisis is over, you can return to your homes.

  Those in smaller towns and in the rural areas, stay put. We have teams on the way. This will take some time. I remind you all, we are under martial law. From today, a curfew of six p.m. will be enforced. Any citizen seen outside after this time will be shot. A warning siren will sound fifteen minutes beforehand, and at five-minute warnings thereafter.