Satan's Gate

by Walt Browning

Donaldson began a slow turn to get eyes on the other ships in the fleet. There were a nearly twenty other crafts of varying size, from a couple of littoral combat ships to the three remaining Arleigh Burke destroyers. None of them were to be trusted, given the survivors who had been pulled from Coronado had been spread everywhere.

  Donaldson got on the fleet radio and began communicating with the ships. All were battling infection.

  A massive fireball erupted from one of the destroyers, followed by multiple secondary explosions. Someone or something had set off the ship’s magazine. The giant craft immediately began to list. With no one available to help, it would just be a matter of time before it flooded and sank.

  Shader joined Potoski at the back ramp, weaving his way around boxes of supplies and the survivors. He strapped himself to the bulkhead and watched the fleet die.

  About twenty minutes later, Donaldson turned the Osprey to port and accelerated. Shader moved back up front and saw them approach the U.S.S. Howard, one of the two remaining Arleigh Burke destroyers. He watched as the ship’s Seahawk helicopter rose from the deck and lifted into the air.

  Donaldson spoke over the fleet network to their new companion, then they moved to the remaining destroyer, where its helicopter already hovered over the ship. Donaldson and Everly hailed the other pilots as well.

  “We just picked up more survivors,” Donaldson said to Shader over the craft’s radio. “Looks like some of them made it off.”

  “What did they say?” Shader asked in his mic.

  “Both ships are battling Variants. The Howard is lost, and their pilots abandoned ship. But the other Seahawk has four more sailors from the Spruance crammed into the back. I hope you have a plan because we have a lot of people to care for.”

  Shader hadn’t told them where he wanted to go. He hesitated, because there was no guarantee this place was safe from the Variants. But it was their best hope.

  He was about to tell them their destination, when someone pulled on his sleeve from behind. Shader turned back into the cargo hold and saw Jennifer standing there, holding onto one of the Osprey’s many pipes that ran across to the bulkhead.

  Shader lifted his helmet and shouted over the drone of the engines.

  “What is it?”

  “Where are you taking us?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a safe place.”

  “So do I,” she screamed.

  Shader ignored the woman. He doubted seriously that she had a clue about what constituted a safe place from the Variants. She had no tactical knowledge and certainly didn’t have the military chops to make an informed decision.

  He waved her off and stuck his head back into the cockpit. Donaldson gasped and tilted the craft down, giving them a better view of the ship. Shader could see the U.S.S. Spruance and its helicopter hovering over it.

  It took him a moment to understand what was happening. Shader was concentrating on the destroyer, looking for an explosion or a horde of Variants.

  “They’re going down,” Everly said somberly.

  Shader noticed the Seahawk now. It was listing and dropping toward the ocean. It kept up its slow descent, wobbling back and forth as if someone was tugging on its tail. Then it hovered briefly over the water and slid into the choppy sea. It was like the pilot tried to land on the ocean, rather than having it auger in.

  “What the hell happened?” Shader asked.

  Donaldson held up her hand as she listened on the network.

  “One of the passengers was infected,” she said over the local network. “The pilot took the craft into the ocean. They’ll try and swim for safety.”

  The other Seahawk got to the downed bird and began to hover over the site. Donaldson kept the Osprey nearby, waiting for word of the crew from the downed copter.

  “There’s nothing we can do, is there?” Shader asked.

  “No. We aren’t equipped for a water rescue.”

  It felt like he was a witness to a horrific car accident and EMS was on scene. One of the Seahawk’s primary functions was search-and-rescue. The problem was the only two people on the remaining helicopter were the pilots. Donaldson wasn’t sure if they would be able to help.

  Everly tapped Donaldson on the arm and pointed to a gauge.

  “We’ve used almost a quarter of our fuel.”

  “Well,” Donaldson said to Shader. “What’s your plan?”

  “Hey, Chief. You need to take a minute and listen to this woman.”

  It was Potoski. He’d donned a helmet as well and had been listening in on the conversation.

  “Stow it, Marine. She doesn’t have a clue.”

  “I don’t?” came a reply.

  It was Jennifer. The stupid grunt had given her his helmet.

  Shader heard scratching and pops in his headset as Jennifer adjusted the large ballistic pot on her head. Finally, the boom mic was put in front of her lips and her garbled voice became clear. She had been speaking the whole time but didn’t realize that the others on the network couldn’t hear her.

  “… and it has plenty of water. I’m telling you. We need to go there.” She said, finishing a sentence that had been lost in the noise.

  “What are you talking about?” Donaldson asked. “We couldn’t understand a thing you just said.”

  “I was telling you about a safe place to go,” Jennifer replied.

  “I’ve got this,” Shader said.

  “Don’t dismiss me. Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I don’t know things. I have a perfect spot to take refuge.”

  “I think I know what’s best here.”

  “Why? Because I’m a girl?” Jennifer spat back.

  “You better think hard before you answer her,” Donaldson said, reminding Shader that a woman was controlling their aircraft. “Be really careful, Chief.”

  Shader bit his lip. He didn’t have anything against women in the service, as long as they knew their place. They were terrific in the right jobs, like pilots and support. But he’d never met a woman who could come close to qualifying as a special operator. Sure, they had the drive and desire, but they didn’t have the physical strength to do what he did. The endurance and bodily demands that were expected as a SEAL was unimaginable for most men. It was an impossible task for any woman to accomplish. And a team was only as strong as its weakest link. He would never go on a mission with someone who might not be up to snuff. No woman could ever measure up to that demand.

  He’d grown up in that world, and truth be told, it jaded him when it came to decision making. He only trusted people who had his shared experiences. Too many battle plans that he’d been a part of either woefully underestimated what a SEAL team could do, or fatally believed that a team could perform miracles. He would never knowingly put himself in that position.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant. But I don’t trust anyone that hasn’t walked in my shoes. That’s just me talking with thirty years of run and gun.”

  The coms remained quiet. Shader wasn’t sure if she was digesting his logic or planning on how to have him thrown out of the back of the aircraft.

  “Sorry, Chief,” Everly cut in. “Donaldson was having a seizure just now. I think she’s finished.”

  “Chief,” Donaldson said, “I’d like to hear both of you.”

  “LT, With all due respect. I think I know what’s best. Not some civilian who got a ride because she’s doing the mattress dance with one of our sailors.”

  Shader was leaning into the cockpit, watching the U.S.S. Spruance steam away. Even as the infection overwhelmed them, the entire fleet of ships was maintaining their westerly course. It appeared from a distance that all was normal and the strike group had set a course for Pearl or Okinawa.

  “SHIT!” Shader gasped.

  Someone had pulled his KA-BAR from its sheath and was pressing it against the back of his neck.

  “You’re off balance, Chief,” Jennifer said in her mic. “I don’t think you have any moves out of this without losing your head.”
<
br />   Donaldson glanced into the opening and saw Jennifer holding the SEAL’s knife to his neck. She’d pushed him partially into the opening, his center of gravity now centered outside his feet, preventing him from finding his balance. She had him at her mercy.

  “All right!” Donaldson said. “Everyone, back off.”

  The knife disappeared and Shader caught himself from falling forward into the instrument panel.

  “Do not ever talk to me that way,” Jennifer barked over the radio.

  “Both of you, shut your mouths,” Donaldson said. “I am the captain of this craft. I will make the decisions on where we go. No one else. Is that understood?”

  Shader and Jennifer muttered a reply.

  “I can’t hear you. Do you understand me?”

  “Aye aye, ma’am,” Shader said.

  “Yes. I understand,” Jennifer replied.

  “Now. I will decide on our destination. We have over eight hundred miles of fuel on board before we run dry. I’d prefer not to burn every last ounce. So, I am open to suggestions.”

  Neither spoke.

  “Damn it. Tell me where the hell you want us to go,” Donaldson hissed into the mic.

  Both of them yelled. “Lost Valley!”

  They turned to each other, surprise on each face.

  “WHAT?” they both said at once.

  Donaldson and Everly both began to laugh. The craft momentarily jumped before Donaldson brought herself under control.

  “Well, Chief. Seems the lady isn’t so stupid after all. Now tell me, where the hell is Lost Valley?”

  Shader gave Jennifer a glare. He was confused. How the hell did she know about Carver and that camp in the mountains.

  “Well, Jennifer. Tell the lady,” Shader said.

  “I only know how to drive there,” Jennifer admitted, still shocked that Shader knew about her camp.

  Shader shook his head and leaned into the compartment. He gave them GPS coordinates that he’d previously memorized in case this very situation would arise. That information would put them directly over the center of the property.

  “That’s not bad,” Donaldson said. “Should be there in no time.”

  Donaldson switched to the fleet network and called to the Seahawk. It was hovering only a few feet over the water. She gave coordinates to the pilot, telling them to get there once they’d recovered any survivors.

  Shader and Jennifer both took a seat.

  “I want a full report when we land. I want to know how you picked Lost Valley,” Shader said on the radio.

  “I will,” Jennifer said. “It’s a good story.”

  “Can’t wait to hear it,” Donaldson said, hearing the two banter over the radio. “But, for now, just shut your mouths. I’m flying up here.”

  The Osprey banked to starboard and began to accelerate. The moon and starlight lit up the ocean, its blue hue sparkling off the choppy sea. Donaldson could make out the coastline in the distance. She kept the speed down to minimize fuel consumption and engaged the autopilot.

  She allowed herself to relax just a bit and hoped they’d finally be safe because she was exhausted. She needed some downtime and Lost Valley sounded like the perfect name for their new sanctuary.

  They were heading east. In the distance, she could see the sun starting to push back the night. They’d be arriving at dawn, the beginning of a new day. It all seemed so fitting.

  “I’ll bet there isn’t a Variant within fifty miles,” Everly said, a relaxed smile on his face.

  Donaldson reached out to squeeze her lover’s hand. “I’ll bet you’re right. The name sounds perfect.”

  — 36 —

  Shrek

  Lost Valley Boy Scout Camp

  “The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection.”

  THOMAS PAINE

  They have Hope. Cyclops and the asp have carried her away. We are following them, but they are too fast for Carver. I could keep up, but Carver cannot.

  We stop at the edge of the grass, where the desert sand has taken over. The land drops down and in the dark of the night, we lose sight of the asp and its clan. Now, they are so far ahead, even I cannot hear them. The final sound of the popping joints and clicking teeth have faded in the inky blackness of the canyons and desert floor below.

  The mountain drops down, facing where the sun will rise, and Carver finally gives up. Kinney is way behind us and it is only me and my master. We stare out over the lower desert, the far sky beginning to turn a light orange color. The sun is coming.

  The mountain behind us blocks all light from the moon. It is near the end of its journey and will soon drop below the land. This makes the canyon ahead even more black.

  Carver stares into the abyss below. He is unmoving. I sense anger and pain. But mostly, I sense frustration. Hope is gone, and we couldn’t stop it. I hang my head in shame. We have failed. I lean into his leg and let him know I understand. He does nothing. The grief must be unbearable, because I feel it too. I am not used to losing.

  I smell the acrid odors of the asp. I can follow it anywhere. I look up and see John’s face. It is a cold, seething anger that I’ve never seen in him before.

  I now know I will be back to avenge Hope. We will make them pay. We will kill the asp.

  I stare down into the black pool of darkness and make a promise. I will avenge Hope. I will kill the asp. I will destroy Cyclops and his kin. I am Shrek. I am the ghost that kills in the night, and I will have retribution.

  John Eric Carver

  John’s mind was blank. He tried to push away any emotion for fear it would paralyze him, and it was not the time to be locked down.

  But anger seethed just above the surface, while guilt bubbled just below the rage.

  I should have killed Charlie back at the resort. If I had, Hope would be alive.

  Carver stood motionless. Nothing penetrated his thoughts. He was already planning his revenge, putting together a list of people and things he’d need to kill Charlie and that cursed creature, Cyclops.

  He had seen it running with Charlie, its lone eye burning back at him as it rushed toward Hope. He should have killed it as well when he had the chance. He should have tracked it down and eliminated it when the bastard first began to raid his farm. Now, Hope was gone and it all could have been prevented.

  Carver felt the anguish rise, like bile in his throat. It was a specter that would consume him if he didn’t get control of it now.

  “NO!” John screamed, startling Shrek. He wasn’t going to let his anger overwhelm him.

  The deep guilt of inaction subsided. There would be time for that in the future. Now was the time to push forward. It was time for war.

  Heavy footfalls sounded from behind. John continued to stare stoically into the distance as Kinney finally reached his friend.

  “Where are they?” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

  “Gone.”

  “Come on. Let’s track them. Shrek has to be able to follow their trail.”

  John turned to Kinney and stared blankly at him.

  “She’s already gone,” he said. “But we’ll be back. We need more guns. We need a plan. It’s time we went back to camp and regrouped.”

  “John. We can’t stop now. What if she’s—”

  “Don’t!” John hissed. “I don’t believe in false hope. She’s either dead or she’ll turn soon. Either way, there’s nothing we can do.”

  Kinney held his head up and scanned the desert floor.

  “You know I’d follow you to hell,” Kinney finally said. “I’ve got your back.”

  Carver’s demeanor softened for a moment and he put his hand on Kinney’s shoulder.

  “I know, my friend. I know. I’ll take you up on that real soon, but now is not the time.”

  John turned to retrace their steps back to camp. He went about ten yards and noticed Shrek stood still. He hadn’t moved.

  “Loslaten!” Carver said.

 
The Belgian didn’t move.

  “Let’s go!” he repeated, more forcefully, in English.

  Shrek remained pointed down the mountain slope. He wanted to pursue Cyclops and the other infected humans. He didn’t want to give up.

  Carver’s anger quickly changed into understanding. He walked back to Shrek and for the first time in their relationship, he squatted down and hugged the Malinois.

  “I know,” Carver said. “I miss her too.”

  Carver stood back up and rubbed Shrek’s snout. The dog lifted his head to accept the attention. “We’ll come back soon, I promise.”

  Carver nodded to the animal and said quietly, “Loslaten.”

  Shrek turned and began to trot back to the camp. John and Kinney followed closely behind, reviewing the camp’s assets and planning an assault on the infected creatures’ stronghold. Wherever that might be.

  When they arrived back at the camp, the lights in the compound blazed brightly. They’d kept the spots off until tonight, for fear of giving their location away. But that was a moot point now. They’d been found and lights at night were now their friend. You can’t shoot what you can’t see.

  John called out, warning those inside of their arrival. No sense taking friendly fire, if it could be avoided.

  Chris Reedy was the first to greet them. The optimistic look on his face faded quickly when he saw they were alone. They hadn’t rescued Hope.

  Chris got a nod from Carver and a shake of the head from Kinney. That was all he needed to know that Hope was gone.

  Carver went into the reinforced office building and found Kyle sitting apprehensively on the bed. He didn’t need to say anything.

  Kyle’s eyes began to swell, and his breath came in choking stutters. He stood up and rushed into Carver’s arms. He began to sob.

  John let Kyle cry himself out. Carver could feel his own sadness pouring out of the young man. Every breath and each tear the young man shed for his mother became a sign of grief for them both. It was a cathartic relief that let him focus on revenge, rather than the pain he felt. He was now more focused than ever.

  When Kyle had stopped crying, Carver pushed him back slightly. “I’m sorry,” John said. “I couldn’t save her.”