by Jake Bible
Holt and Toloski let go of his legs as he swings around, his gloved hands gripping the rope tightly, and lowers himself over the edge.
“The cliff is craggy enough for easy toeholds,” Kreigel says as he slowly starts to shimmy his way across and over to a semi-level ledge just below the main part of the mountain. “Gonna suck scaling this, though.”
Holt goes next, followed by Toloski, and then Taylor. They all stand on the small ledge and study the grips available.
“That route looks best,” Toloski says as he points in a direction that would take them forty-five degrees to the right. “But we’ll be hanging over nothing for the last few feet.”
“Then let’s not fucking think about it, and just go,” Holt snaps.
“Holty does not like heights,” Kreigel laughs.
“And you don’t like snakes,” Holt replies. “Good thing you haven’t thought of the Godzillas as giant snakes with legs, because that would suck.”
“Youfucking suck, Holt,” Kreigel says.
“Move,” Taylor orders, and they shut up and get going.
It is a lot slower than getting to the ledge, but after some loud grunting and heavy cursing, the team makes it up onto the solid part of the mountain. They all turn around and gasp.
“No fucking way,” Toloski says. “No wonder the bunker is all fucked.”
For as far as they can all see, not a single tree is left standing. Every one of the firs, pines, and birches lie flat against the ground, their tops pointed West as if a huge breath from the East blew them over.
“Visibility is good, at least,” Kreigel states.
“But the air isn’t,” Taylor says. “The ammonia smell is worse out here.”
“What are those?” Holt asks as he takes his carbine from his back and puts it to his shoulder. “You guys see those things?”
“What are they? Balloons?” Kreigel asks as he follows Holt down a barely visible trail. They step over fallen tree after fallen tree until they come to the first pile of green and black sludge. “Man, it stinks worse here.”
“What’s up with the ground?” Toloski asks as he joins them. “It looks eaten through.”
Taylor steps past them and nudges the deflated egg with his boot. A small bit of gunk gets on the tip and he watches in horror as the material starts to smolder.
“Shit!” he exclaims as he wipes his boot on the ground over and over until the smoking stops. “What the hell?”
“These things are everywhere,” Holt says, pointing at the landscape with his carbine. “There have to be hundreds of them.”
“Thousands,” Kreigel says. “They just keep going to the horizon.”
“Where the hell did they come from, and what are they?” Taylor asks.
“I think I have the answer to the where,” Toloski says. He is turned and facing West instead of East like the others. “You’ll want to see this.”
Everyone turns and just stare. Far off, hundreds of the flying stingray monsters undulate their way across the sky. Every few seconds groups of them drop eggs, and the men watch in horror as the eggs impact on the ground and burst open. It is too far for them to see the ooze dissolve the earth, but they can all guess what’s happening from the evidence left behind.
“Flying monsters that shit rotten ammonia eggs,” Holt says. “That’s new.”
“Okay, they’re past us, so not our problem right now,” Taylor says. “Let’s get moving and fast. Without the trees, we are sitting ducks for anything else that flies or stomps by.”
None of the other men argue, and they all start jogging down to where they think the main trail is that should lead them to the front entrance of the bunker.
***
Several loud crashes get everyone’s attention, and a nurse covers Terrie’s body with her own as the older woman lies prone on an operating table, the wounds on her back open and exposed. People outside Naval Station Everett’s infirmary are shouting, and the distinct sounds of dozens of boots on concrete can be heard.
“Everything alright?” Terrie asks.
“Ma’am?” the nurse gasps. “You should be out.”
“The anesthetic wore off about twenty minutes ago, sweetie,” Terrie says. “I was hoping you folks would be done by now.”
“Getting close, Ms. Morgan,” a Doctor says as he gently pushes the nurse aside. “Just a little harder than usual since we don’t have any electric light. I guess this must have been how the surgeons felt back in the Civil War.”
“You take your time, Doctor,” Terrie says. “Pain’s an old friend of mine.”
“Yes, I can see by the scars,” the Doctor says as he starts in on the sutures needed to close the last bullet wound in Terrie’s back. “You can almost make a constellation with these old bullet holes.”
“Some of those are probably older than you,” Terrie chuckles softly, then groans. “Ow.”
“Pain may be an old friend, but he’s not a jolly one,” the Doctor says.
“Funny,” Terrie replies, just as a few more crashes echo in from outside. “Sounds like you folks have an egg problem too.”
“Not until yesterday,” the nurse says as she clips the silk from one suture then hands the Doctor a fresh needle and thread. “We lost a few people at first, but now everyone knows to keep clear.”
“That goo will eat your skin faster than lime on roadkill,” Terrie says. “I watched more than one squirrel lose that battle before I got here.”
“I’m glad the Puget Sound area has been completely evacuated,” the Doctor says, his eyes straining in the light given off by two kerosene lamps hanging over the operating table. “There’d be a lot of dead people out there with how many have been coming down.”
“Any word from Washington on what’s going on?” Terrie asks.
“No way to talk to them,” the Doctor says. “Not even the secure landlines are working.”
“Dang,” Terrie says. “I was hoping to talk to some of my old contacts and see if maybe my daughter and grandson have shown up somewhere else.”
“Where were you supposed to meet them?” the nurse asks.
“Coeur d’Alene,” Terrie replies.
“Oh,” the nurse responds quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Terrie says.
There’s a commotion at the door and a few yells as a large bundle of clean fur comes rushing into the infirmary and over to the operating table.
“Sorry!” a soldier yells as he comes running into the room. “The thing got out again!”
“Just let him stay,” Terrie says. “He’ll calm down by me. Never have been able to keep this dog contained. He’s like Houdini with four legs.”
There’s a crash on the roof, and everyone except for Terrie looks up.
“I’ll make sure they’re hosing it down,” the soldier says.
“Thank you, Private,” the Doctor replies as the soldier leaves. “It’s been handy having the National Guard here.”
“Where are all the sailors and Station guards?” Terrie asks.
“Guards are busy, and the sailors are on their ships working,” the Doctor says. “The Admiral has every single able bodied person switching out equipment in the hopes of getting at least one ship running.”
“Good thinking,” Terrie says. “That was a bad EMP, had me throwing up for two solid hours when it hit me, although Biscuit was just fine. I’m sure something in one of those ships didn’t get fried.”
“No one is holding their breath,” the Doctor says as he completes the last few passes and then holds up the thread. The nurse clips that one, and the Doctor steps away as she moves over to dress the wound. “Personally, I think we should be trying to get everyone clear of the coast altogether.”
“What for?” Terrie asks, then winces as the nurse applies a generous amount of antiseptic over her sutures just before applying the bandage. “Felt that.”
“There have been a few reports that those first flying creatures may not have gone as far out to
sea as we’d thought,” the Doctor says. “Some think they dove into the water.”
“Dove into the water?” Terrie asks. “Why on earth would they do that?”
“Why on earth do they do anything?” the Doctor replies. “This nightmare is a mystery to me.”
“Most of God’s will is a mystery,” Terrie says. “But we keep moving forward. It’s what we’re here to do.”
“If only I had your faith,” the Doctor says. “Seen too much, done too much.”
“I can probably match you sight for sight and deed for deed,” Terrie says. “Hasn’t stopped me yet.”
There’s a creak and a groan from above, and the Doctor looks up at the ceiling. “They better have gotten to that ooze in time. I do not need holes eaten through my infirmary.”
“All done,” the nurse says. “How’s that feel?”
“Not bad,” Terrie says. “Better than my front. But then I have been lying on my belly for close to ever.”
“I work as fast as I can with what I have,” the Doctor chuckles. “We’ll get a bed set up for you so you can lie on your side and keep pressure off the front and back. If luck holds out, you can rest a few days. If it doesn’t, then be ready to shake hands with your friend pain.”
“I think I’m taking that friend off my Christmas card list,” Terrie says.
“Understandable,” the Doctor says, then looks over at Biscuit as the hybrid’s eyes are fixed on the noises coming from above. “You want me to check your dog? I’m not a vet, but I can make sure he’s cleaned up.”
“No, I wouldn’t want you to risk those valuable fingers,” Terrie says. “He’s half wolf, and that half is not exactly tolerant of strangers causing it pain. I got him fixed up, and I’ll check on him later after I get a good, long nap.”
“And some food and water,” the Doctor says. “You are obviously undernourished and dehydrated. That’s not good for a woman half your age.”
“I won’t pass up a meal,” Terrie says. “But after some shut eye. If we need to evac quickly, I’d rather have energy in my legs than food in my belly.”
“I could argue that one leads to the other, but I think I’ve figured out you are not a woman to argue with,” the Doctor laughs.
“What gave it away, Doctor? Was it the old bullet wounds or the big, huge wolf-dog at my beck and call?”
“Yes to all of it,” the Doctor says. “I’ll have a nurse wheel you over to the barracks. The beds here are filled up with more critical patients.”
“Works for me, Doctor,” Terrie says, then lets out a short whistle. Biscuit hurries over to her, pushes his muzzle against her face, and gives a quick lick. “Good boy. Now be good when the nurse moves me, you hear? No killing the nice, helpful nurse.”
***
No one in the situation room can say that President Nance looks happy. That is obvious by the way he glares up at the face of Secretary of State Dennis Jefferson on one of the video screens.
“I didn’t send you over there to negotiate with the President, Dennis,” President Nance says. “I sent you there to go straight to the Premier. That is how you get things done.”
“I know that, Mr. President,” Jefferson replies. “But Premier Xjang will not grant me an audience. In fact, he hasn’t been seen in almost a week now.”
“What does that mean?” President Nance asks. “Is he ill?”
“No, sir, I think he is mirroring you,” Jefferson answers. “My sources are telling me he has left Beijing and moved well inland to one of the Chinese government’s secure locations.”
“Mirroring me?” President Nance asks. “Why, in God’s name, would he do that? Are they expecting some attack?”
“Most of the senior members of the Communist Party have gone with him,” Jefferson says. “If the rumors are true. But that is all the information I am getting. Lips are sealed as to exactly where or why.”
“Then get the President to send ships to us,” President Nance says. “Japan is on board, so is Australia and most of Europe. We have ships coming from all over the world to bring us equipment and help evacuate our citizens. But we both know that the Chinese fleet are running exercises in the Pacific and closest to us. I am not asking for anything except to get our people off the West coast. They are in the most danger.”
“From what I’ve seen of the satellite feeds, the whole country is in danger,” Jefferson says. “Whatever those flying things are, they are covering the whole continent.”
“I am very aware of that, Dennis,” President Nance snaps. “It is my job to be aware of that. It is your job to do what I say and get things done where I can’t. Go over the Chinese President’s head, and find the Premier!”
“Sir, you know how the Chinese are,” Jefferson replies. “If I push too hard then they’ll shut down, and we’ll get nothing. I’m moving as fast as I can while also keeping the many egos in check. Not to mention juggling contact with the other heads of state that we are trying to work with. There is only so much I can do.”
“Then perhaps someone else needs to do it for you, Dennis!” President Nance shouts.
“Mr. President,” Borland says. “Be fair. Dennis is in a tight spot. There are whispers that other nations are considering declaring the United States a non-entity. If we over play our hand, then we will all be refugees without any sovereignty to fall back on.”
President Nance begins to speak, then closes his mouth, and nods. “You’re right, Jeremy. Dennis? My apologies. Do what you can as fast as you can, and get back to me when you know what the Chinese are willing to offer in the way of assistance.”
“I will, Mr. President,” Jefferson replies. “I have another meeting scheduled with President Hsieh in an hour. You’ll hear from me the second that is over.”
“Good luck, Dennis,” President Nance says. “Get us what we need.”
“I’ll try, sir,” Jefferson says just as the connection is ended.
President Nance sighs and rubs his face. “Coffee, please.”
“Have we heard from the Secret Service team that was sent to fetch Dr. Hall?” Borland asks.
“Not yet,” Joan replies. “But they are on foot, so it will be slow going.”
“The only thing that isn’t slow going is that damned volcano,” President Nance says. “And those hideous monsters. Dr. Hall had better have some insight into these new creatures, or this country will be lost like Dennis said.”
“I don’t think he quite meant that, Mr. President,” Borland responds.
“Dr. Hall lives in Alexandria,” Joan says. “Even on foot, we should hear back from Agent Alvarez in the next couple hours.”
“Let us hope so,” President Nance says as his coffee is set in front of him. “And let us also hope nothing new happens between then and now.”
***
The man steps from the stairwell onto the sidewalk and smiles, one hand up with the other behind his back.
“Hey, nice suits,” the man says. “What are guys like you doing out here in those suits? Going to a funeral or something? Someone might take them right off of ya, ya know. This ain’t the best neighborhood for guys in fancy suits.”
Alvarez and his men stop and raise their pistols at the man. Two of the agents turn and cover the group’s backs while the others focus on the man blocking their way.
“Step aside, please, sir,” Alvarez says, waving his pistol towards the road. “You’re blocking the sidewalk.”
“Oh, am I?” the man asks. Dressed in soiled jeans and a torn flannel shirt, the man looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in days. He also has the look of someone in need of a fix. “What? You want me to go stand in the middle of the street? That’s not very nice.”
“I don’t care where you stand,” Alvarez orders. “Just get out of our way, please.”
“You keep saying please, but I don’t think you mean it,” the man responds. “That please ain’t meetin’ your eyes.”
“Sir, I have at least two serious issues with you,” Alv
arez says. “First, you are blocking our way, as I stated. Second, the way you are holding your hand behind your back tells me you have a weapon. Let me warn you that we are Secret Service agents. If you try to draw on us, we will put you down.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” the man says. “I was just scratching my back. Here, I’ll show you. Don’t shoot, just moving my hand.”
The man slowly brings his other hand from behind his back and shows Alvarez and his men it’s empty.
“No weapon, see?” the man grins. “No weapons at all.”
“Good,” Alvarez says. “So, if you will step aside, then we will be on our way.”
“No,” the man says. “This is my block. You can go around.”
“Sir?” one of the agents next to Alvarez asks. “We don’t have time for this.”
“No shit,” Alvarez replies as he glares at the man in their way. “I don’t know what your problem is, sir, but I’ll leave you to deal with it on your own.”
Alvarez nods to his team, and they move between the cars parked by the curb and out into the street. That’s when several car doors open, and men with various firearms pop up from seats and take aim at the Secret Service agents.
“Down!” Alvarez yells as he opens fire on three men coming from a Honda CRV. “Take cover!”
Alvarez rolls across the asphalt as the ground behind him is peppered with bullets. A ricochet catches him across the cheek, but he shakes it off and keeps firing until his pistol clicks empty. He quickly ejects the magazine and slaps in a new one as he scrambles to his feet and dives behind a Subaru Outback across the street.
Glass shatters and the tires burst as the Subaru is treated worse than the asphalt. Bullets shred the metal of the car, and Alvarez has to keep moving, ducking back behind a cluster of steel trash cans left by a stoop. The ping and clang of bullets follows him, and he waits for the sounds to stop before he pops up and returns fire.
Five men are coming across the street fast, but the number is cut down to two in seconds as Alvarez rips open two mens’ chests with well-placed shots, then sends another man down to the ground with half his head torn off. The last two men, both with submachine guns, empty their magazines as they rush Alvarez and the cluster of trash cans.