by Ellis, Tripp
The narrow beam of his tactical flashlight scanned the entranceway. Steele crept inside, weapon ready to fire. He cleared the room, then dashed back to the loading dock.
Delroy was running back from wherever he had ditched the car. Steele started loading in duffel bags into the building. After a few minutes, the titrillium was stowed in the entrance way.
Still no sign of the thugs in the truck.
“Parker, stay here with Chloe,” Steele said. “Delroy, come with me.”
Steele navigated his way to the stairwell. He pushed through the metal fire door. His flashlight beam scanned the staircase that spiraled upwards. Steele crept up, floor after floor, until he reached the roof access point. It was a hatch in the ceiling, locked with a padlock. A metal ladder hung down, providing access.
“Shit,” Steele said, gazing upwards. “That’s a pain in the ass.” He was going to have to get 1200 pounds of titrillium up the narrow ladder and through the hatch. He grabbed a rung of the ladder and pulled himself up.
Delroy watched.
When Steele reached the top, he smashed the padlock with his titanium fist. He pushed the hatch open, daylight poured in. The sky was dull and angry, and it looked like it might storm. He poked his head through and glanced around the rooftop. HVAC units and ductwork lined the roof. But it looked like there was enough clearance for the CAV to set down. Well, not set down completely. More like hover inches above the rooftop. There was no way the roof could support the full weight of a combat aerial vehicle.
Steele slid back down the ladder. His feet slammed onto the metal landing of the staircase. The clatter echoed down the rectangular stairwell. “Get up there. Keep watch for the CAV.”
Delroy flung himself up the ladder and disappeared through the hatch. Steele plunged down the staircase and snaked his way back to Parker and Chloe.
“Any sign of Mitchell?” Parker asked.
“Not yet.” Steele grabbed two duffel bags and plodded back to the stairwell. 400 pounds up four flights of stairs. Steele took the first step up the stairs. It was like a one leg, 400 pound squat. Another step, another squat. Steele’s face turned red, and the veins in his neck bulged. By the time he reached the top of the first landing, his quads were burning even more than usual. Step after step, he trudged up the stairs. His heart was pounding, and his chest was heaving for breath. Steele grunted and groaned, and his muscles filled with lactic acid.
By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was sucking wind. Hard. He dropped one of the duffel bags, clamoring on the metal landing. He threw the other over his shoulder and climbed up the rungs. Once he was through the hatch, he slung the duffel bag off his shoulder onto the roof. Sweat was beading on his forehead. He could feel his fatigues beginning to stick to his back.
Steele dropped back down, grabbed the other bag and repeated the process. Only four more bags to go. Piece of cake. He was beginning to think that splitting the loot three ways wasn’t exactly fair anymore. But a deal’s a deal. I should at least charge a transport fee, he laughed to himself.
The second trip up the stairs was worse. By the last trip. Steele felt like his heart was going to burst. He was drenched in sweat. His legs were rubber, and his knees felt like they had gravel in the joints. His muscles were on fire. His arms felt like they were going to rip out of their sockets. When he reached the fourth floor landing he felt like he was an inch shorter from the spinal compression. He dropped the bags and hunched over his knees, trying to catch his breath. Steele was strong and tough, but still human—for the most part.
Parker helped Chloe up the ladder, then followed behind. Steele lugged the last two bags up to the roof. Then he pulled himself through the hatch, closing it behind him.
Delroy was keeping watch.
“See anything?” Steele asked.
“I saw the truck that was following us. And another vehicle. They passed by, then turned off.”
“They see you?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Any sign of Mitchell?” Steele asked. He tried to hide the concern in his voice. It was five minutes past the extraction time.
Delroy shook his head.
“He’ll show.”
“How can you be so sure?” Delroy asked.
Steele shrugged. “I can’t.” Mitchell hadn’t ever been one to be late. But delays happen when on patrol. Sometimes, you go out on patrol and you never come home. Or you come home in pieces.
Steele’s eyes squinted into the distant sky. He could barely hear the faint rumble of the Hughes and Kessler engines. He exhaled as a huge wave of relief washed over him.
Delroy tossed a smoke canister to mark the LZ. A plume of green smoke wafted into the air.
The CAV grew larger as it drew near. The rumbling engines grew louder. Soon, it was looming overhead, descending upon the rooftop. The air warbled with distortion below the massive HK engines. Touchdown in three, two, one.
The landing gear pressed into the rooftop. The structure creaked and groaned. Steele could hear the locking mechanism release, then the back ramp dropped down. The hydraulics hissed and whirred.
Steele lifted Chloe and held her in his arm. He jogged up the ramp and secured her in the seat, fastening the safety harness around her. “Stay here.”
Chloe nodded.
Mitchell craned his neck back and glared at Steele from the cockpit. He threw his hands in the air. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t bring her on board,” he yelled.
The roar of the HK engines was deafening. Wind and dust whipped around the cargo hold.
Steele ignored Mitchell and ran back down the ramp. Delroy and Parker passed him, lugging in a duffel bag. Steele grabbed two more bags from the rooftop and trudged back up the ramp. Mitchell had climbed out of the pilot’s seat and was waiting for him.
“This wasn’t part of the deal. What if she’s infected?”
“She’s not infected,” Steele said.
“You don’t know that. And what the hell are you going to do with her when you get back? How are you going to explain where she came from.”
“Double. I’ll pay you double what we initially agreed upon.”
Mitchell’s eyes widened. He pondered this a moment. “Triple.”
“Done,” Steele said without hesitation.
“We’ve got to go.”
“Fifteen seconds.” Steele dashed back down the ramp and grabbed two more bags. Parker and Delroy grabbed the last one.
Soon, they were all aboard the CAV and the ramp was lifting. Mitchell engaged the thrusters and the HK engines revved higher. The hydraulics hummed and the ramp clamored shut. Steele strapped himself into a seat and took a deep breath as the CAV ascended.
Steele knew better than to think that they had made it. But they were pretty damn close. He couldn’t help but let a thin smile curl up on his lips. And Steele wasn’t one to smile very often.
Delroy was grinning from ear to ear, hooting and hollering. “What’s the first thing you’re going to buy, Parker?”
“A ticket to anywhere you are not,” she said with a wink.
“That sounds great. Maybe we can go together.”
Parker rolled her eyes.
A warning alarm sounded from the cockpit—urgent and menacing. Steele’s gaze snapped to the sound. He knew exactly what it was—and it wasn’t good. He had taken enough enemy fire in CAVs throughout his career to know the different warning indicators very well. This was a proximity alert. A surface to air missile had been deployed and was rocketing toward them.
CHAPTER 15
“DEPLOY COUNTERMEASURES,” MITCHELL yelled, frantically.
Flares launched and hung in the air, burning hotter than the exhaust from the HKs. Effective against heat-seekers. Not so much against guided RPGs. Most modern rockets were wifi enabled with a forward facing camera. You could easily sync the rocket with your mobile device, then pilot the rocket from your view screen.
That’s exactly what the thugs on the ground had done
.
Mitchell banked the CAV hard, trying to evade the missile. Steele felt plastered against his seat from the G force. The proximity alarm blared, pulsing faster as the rocket raced closer. Soon, it was a solid tone.
KABOOM!
The rocket exploded. The thunderous blast was deafening. The jolt was almost enough to snap your spine. Shrapnel ripped through the armor-plated hull. The blast tore open the bulkhead. Hot wind and smoke whipped through the cabin like a hurricane. The CAV twirled out of control, plummeting toward the ground.
Alarms were buzzing. Steele glanced to the cockpit. Blood was spattered against the windshield. Mitchell was dead, and so was the copilot. The duffel bags of titrillium slammed from bulkhead to bulkhead as the CAV spun out of control. The force would be enough to kill you if you were unlucky enough to get smashed by one. The heavy bars clattered against the hull.
Clink.
Clash.
Slam.
The CAV careened toward the ground. Impact in three…
Two…
One…
BAM!
The composite metal buckled and crunched. Glass shattered, spraying razor sharp shards through the air. Steele felt bits of debris pelt him in the face. The CAV tumbled and rolled and tore apart. The air was a mix of fire, exhaust, sparks, smoke, glass, and dust.
Steele felt his body slammed in every direction. The world was a blur. What was left of the metal hull groaned and scraped across the concrete. It finally ground to a stop, rocked up, then slammed down into its final resting place.
Steele felt dizzy and hazy. His vision was blurred. He wasn’t sure if he had passed out for a moment or not. Everything hurt. His neck and back were already spasming. His body was numb with adrenaline. He didn’t think anything was broken. But he’d find out soon enough when he would try to move.
Black smoke filled the air. The engines were on fire, crackling and popping—what was left of them, anyway. Steele could smell fuel and hydraulic fluid. He unbuckled his safety harness and dropped out of his seat, slamming to the ground. His body was vibrating from the rush of adrenaline. He tried to stand, but his legs were wobbly. He felt like he had stepped off a boat. He sunk back down to the ground. A sea of concrete.
After a moment, his head cleared a little. He tried to stand again when he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him up. Steele instinctually spun away and drew his sidearm. He lined the blurry figure up in his sights. Steele squinted to focus on the man. It was Xavier—the man who’s life he had saved earlier. Now it seemed he was returning the favor.
Xavier held his arms up in the air and frantically yelled, “Don’t shoot. We’re here to help.” He was standing with several other men, some of whom were armed.
Steele looked them over, then holstered his weapon. He glanced over himself. No broken bones. No puncture wounds. Just scrapes and bruises. But he’d be sore as hell tomorrow.
His eyes flicked down the street—the other half of the fuselage was strewn about, smoldering. His heart sank. He hoped everyone was okay.
Twisted wreckage and debris was strewn across the street. He saw one of the black duffel bags of Titrillium. His eyes scanned the street. There was another bag fifty feet away. And another scattered beyond that.
Lurkers were starting to stumble into the street.
Steele ran to the smoldering section of the fuselage and climbed in. When he rounded the tattered bulkhead, Parker was helping Chloe out of her safety harness. She kneeled beside Chloe and checked her for injuries.
“Are you okay,” Parker asked.
Chloe nodded.
“Does anything hurt?”
Chloe shook her head.
Parker winced with pain as she stood up.
“Are you alright?” Steele asked.
“I’ll live.”
“Where’s Delroy?”
Parker shrugged.
Chloe’s big eyes darted about, frantically searching for Mr. Carlisle.
Steele launched back into the street. “Delroy,” he yelled. “Delroy.” His voiced boomed, echoing off the brick warehouses.
There was no response.
Steele’s eyes surveyed the area. More lurkers were staggering into the street from the alleyways. His eyes stumbled across Delroy’s body, twisted amongst the debris. Steele dashed to him and checked for a pulse. He felt the faint blip on his fingertips. Delroy was still alive.
A jagged bit of metal had punctured his thigh and was protruding. Delroy was starting to regain consciousness.
“Hi Major,” Delroy slurred. “I got a big hunk of metal sticking out of my leg.”
“I know.” Steele looked him over. “Anything else hurt?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
Xavier ran up to them. “We must go. The streets are getting dangerous. Raddick's thugs will come to scavenge the wreckage and make sure you are dead.”
“Who’s Raddick?” Steele asked.
“I’ll explain later. Come.”
“Can you stand?” Steele asked Delroy.
He nodded. Steele slung Delroy’s arm around his neck, and lifted him up.
Delroy wobbled on his good leg. Xavier supported Delroy’s other side.
“See the black duffel bags,” Steele said, pointing them out. “Have your men gather them up, along with any weapons you can find.”
“There’s no time,” Xavier pleaded. His voice was laced with frustration and urgency.
“Just do it,” Steele said.
Xavier called out to his men and instructed them to retrieve the titrillium.
Two 9mm shots rang out. Steele snapped his gaze to the source of the sound. Parker was taking out lurkers that were crowding the wreckage. More and more infected were filling the streets.
Steele could hear the clatter of an engine approaching in the distance. He glanced to the end of the street. His eyes caught sight of Mr. Carlisle lying in the roadway. The doll was frayed and charred. It was resting not far from one of the duffel bags.
Steele’s eyes widened. Chloe was dashing for the doll.
“Chloe, come back here,” Steele screamed. He glanced to Xavier to make sure he could support Delroy on his own.
Xavier nodded.
Steele lowered his goggles and drew the blade from behind his back. He charged down the street, slicing through a few lurkers. Their bodies crumpled and twitched.
It all happened in a flash. Before Steele could get halfway down the street, the black Vantage 250 roared to the end of the block. The machine gunner in the truck bed opened fire on Steele. Rounds ripped through the air.
Steele dodged and took cover behind a parked car. He sheathed the sword and drew his 9mm. It was the only weapon he had. Metal and glass exploded as the .50 cal peppered the vehicle. But Steele couldn’t return fire—he’d have been cut in half. The barrage of bullets kept him pinned down.
A man dashed from the truck and snatched Chloe. He put a gun to her head and drug her back into the cab. She was kicking and screaming.
Tires spun, spitting gravel. The engine clamored and the Vantage lurched forward. Steele chased after it, firing at the tires as it sped away. It squealed around a corner and vanished. The truck was gone as quick as it came.
Steele screamed like a madman. He gritted his teeth and his veins throbbed. His face fell into his hands, crestfallen.
Several lurkers staggered towards him. Steele ignored them for the moment. Too caught up in his own grief. He was responsible for Chloe. He promised her he’d keep her safe. It brought him back five years—back to the day Madison was taken.
A snarl ripped Steele out of his trance—an infected was pawing at him.
The blade of Steele’s sword slid against the leather scabbard as he unsheathed it. He whipped the sword around, slicing the lurker’s brain in half. The thing plunked down against the concrete, and bloody sludge oozed from its cranium. Steele slashed again and again, dropping the stiffs that surrounded him. But there were more coming. Lots more.
He scooped up
Mr. Carlisle by his ear and barreled toward the tattered black duffel bag. He hefted it up, and the precious metal bars inside clanked together. He took a last glance around, then dashed back toward the wreckage.
Parker was trying to hold off several lurkers. She emptied one 9mm magazine, then reloaded and kept firing. At the shredded fuselage, Steele dropped the bag and joined in the fray. His blade slashed and carved several infected, turning them into headless, quivering corpses. All while holding a mangy stuffed tiger.
“I’m sorry,” Parker said. “I turned around, and she was gone.”
Steele scowled at her. His disappointment was obvious.
Parker gathered several weapons and extra magazines from the wreckage. Xavier's men collected the other bags of titrillium. Then they led them through a maze of alleyways, to a basement underneath a storefront.
The space was a small community of Xavier's family, friends, neighbors, and strays that they had taken in. They had been living there since the outbreak, and had managed to stockpile a good bit of supplies. The basement was dim and smelled like a gym locker room. Dozens of people living in close quarters with no running water. The air was thick and ripe.
Xavier considered himself a bit of an amateur prepper. Long before the outbreak, he had begun the process of converting the basement underneath the store into a survival bunker. Xavier knew that the odds of survival in a disaster scenario went up if he had a well rounded team. He had recruited friends and family to help with the prep. Xavier and his men began scavenging and stockpiling anything that would enhance their long term survival. They had rigged solar panels on the rooftop and had a small amount of power. They had also hauled several tons of dirt and mulch up to the roof and built a small garden. A rooftop garden would be less dangerous to maintain, and less risk of theft.
In the basement, they had built rows and rows of bunk beds. There was a storage area, a kitchen area, and a general living area. The shower consisted of a tarp, a plastic baby pool, a bucket, and a sponge.