Annie had to make it.
Carter returned a while later and handed Hughes a frosted glass of water. “Sorry, man, I forgot.”
“It’s all right,” Hughes said as he took the glass. “Thanks.”
The glass was cold. The water had been chilled in the fridge.
“You boil this?” Hughes said.
“Last night,” Carter said.
Hughes nodded, and Carter left him alone again.
Hughes raised the glass to eye level and held it in front of the window. He saw no particulate matter in it.
Hughes had a water filter in the back of the Suburban. He’d picked it up in Washington in an outdoors store on the day he met Annie. According to the box, it removed 99.99 percent of viruses, which of course meant 100 percent. He wondered how many people in Lander had one of those. Probably not very many. Backpackers and hunters might have one, but nobody else would. No point.
Since Carter had boiled the water instead of filtering it, the glass Hughes held in his hand could have dead viruses in it, microscopic pathogens too small to see but powerful enough to lay waste to entire civilizations.
He drank deeply and thought about the power going out.
Lander’s electrical grid hadn’t been upgraded in ages. It served thousands of homes and businesses, rather than hundreds of thousands or millions, and anyway the old technology worked fine. All Earl had to do to bring it offline was remove a couple of vacuum tubes from the substation.
Normally, that wouldn’t work. Power would continue flowing to Lander from the rest of the grid. Most of the grid was down now, though, since there was no one left to maintain it. The only reason Lander hadn’t gone dark yet was because it got its juice from a distant hydroelectric dam. Rivers hadn’t stopped flowing. Still, it was only a matter of time before the dam failed too for lack of maintenance. Earl and his co-workers understood that. It kept most of them awake nights.
For now, though, Lander was still barely online.
Barely.
With a couple of vacuum tubes in Earl’s pocket instead of where they belonged in the substation, it wouldn’t be.
Earl was Elias’ only man at the local utility, the only one who knew how to take the grid offline temporarily, which made him the only one who could turn it back on.
He did not expect to be killed in the next couple of hours. Taking out Steele and his men in the dark should be short and easy work. There was no way to be sure, though, so he brought Hunter with him. Hunter would be there when Earl removed the vacuum tubes, and Earl would show him how to get the station back up and running again if he had to do it alone. It was not a complicated procedure, but Earl gave Hunter a list of names and addresses of other utility workers just in case.
The most important thing was that somebody other than Earl knew where to find the vacuum tubes after the grid was disabled—in the glove box of the Chevy Tahoe.
At five minutes to midnight, Earl unlocked the gate to the substation. He and Hunter wore arc-rated clothing, hard hats, safety glasses, leather boots, and leather gloves. They each carried flashlights. They could have brought night vision with them, but Elias had told them to conserve the night vision’s batteries.
“You ready?” Earl said.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Hunter said.
“Good then.”
Arcing electricity could kill a man in a substation even if he didn’t touch anything. It was a dangerous place for an untrained person, but Hunter didn’t seem to care. They’d be at war in less than an hour.
“Keep your head down and don’t touch anything,” Earl said.
Parker finally got a turn on one of the inch-thin mattresses in the last cell on the second floor. His body weight punched right through it as if it was not even there.
It was almost midnight. Most of the cellblock was asleep and snoring. The main lights were out, but dim night lights along the floor stayed on.
He was on the top bunk, his face two feet from the ceiling. He still couldn’t sleep despite his conversation with Betty the therapist.
She’d gone a long way toward convincing him that he couldn’t be a terrible person if he spent so much time and energy afraid that he’d hurt somebody, but imploring him to worry about his real problem instead of a fake problem was hardly a recipe for instant contentment.
Parker almost managed to drift off—he was in that twilight state between sleep and awareness—when he heard a short sharp whine. He opened his eyes and saw that the night lights in the cellblock had gone out.
Parker hadn’t seen such absolute darkness in weeks, if not longer. Even the dead of night in the middle of Idaho was lit up by starlight.
He heard the faint sounds of nervous voices stirring in the cellblock. It was midnight now, but the prison was waking up. The prison was waking up to full darkness.
Part III
The Horde
28
Carter was ready when the power went out. He carried a sleek black Beretta ARX100 semi-automatic rifle with a pistol grip, adjustable shoulder stock and two standard AR-15 magazines with 5.56mm cartridges.
He was left-handed, so he liked the ARX100 for its ambidexterity. Each side of the rifle almost perfectly mirrored the other. It set him back almost two grand when he bought it brand new, but he went all out because, why not? He didn’t live in California anymore. The State of Wyoming would let him procure an arsenal powerful enough to take down a herd of bison in one go.
No one ever called Carter a crack shot, but he could shoot a tight group at stationary targets and shouldn’t have too much trouble shooting at blind live targets. He’d already tested his pair of night vision goggles in the backyard and they worked spectacularly. He wished he’d picked up a set of those babies years ago.
The effect, though, was bizarre. Nothing looked real. He could see okay, but everything was displayed on a green screen. Looking around was like watching the world on TV.
He lived on a quieter street than most of Elias’ men, so his home had been chosen as one of three rendezvous points. Two of the houses directly across the street were empty. One had been on the market before the outbreak—its owners moved to Montana and it still had the For Sale sign staked into the lawn—and Steele locked up the residents of the other house during the second wave of civilian arrests.
The plan that night was straightforward. Earl and Hunter would kill the power at midnight exactly, then split up. Hunter would head to Carter’s place while Earl made a beeline for Blanchard’s near City Hall.
Hunter showed up at Carter’s back door at 12:10. “Power’s off,” he said when he came him in. “Earl should be in position in five minutes and we’ll be in play.”
Five men were at Carter’s place now—Carter himself, Hunter, Stafford, Angstrom and Hughes.
Hughes had his own separate mission at the prison.
The men assembled in the living room with their rifles and night vision goggles. They looked like robots of war, high tech warriors in a world where tech was on its way out.
Carter said goodbye to Hughes and led his comrades outside to his Honda. They could have walked, but they had to move fast. They had to hit Steele’s house and Temple’s house simultaneously at 12:30 a.m. Temple’s house would be easy, but the mayor had four guards posted outside, two in the front and two in the back. If all went well, both Steele and Temple would be taken off the board in less than sixty seconds. The deed would be done. The head of the snake would be lopped off.
Hunter took the passenger seat while Angstrom and Stafford crowded into the back. The car felt low and heavy with four people in it. Carter rarely had anyone else in his Honda. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had two in the back.
He turned the ignition key and reached for the lights before remembering he didn’t need them and shouldn’t use them. He could see just fine through his goggles and didn’t want anyone to see the Honda coming.
He backed out of the driveway and headed toward Main. No one was out on his street, either on
foot or in a vehicle. When he turned on Main he saw an SUV downtown a half mile up ahead moving away in the same direction. Steele’s crew. Its headlights illuminated the path ahead like a stadium light. Its driver would not see the Honda behind him as long as Carter kept his lights off.
“Good thing it’s headed that way,” Carter said, “or it’d blind me.”
“Turn early,” Hunter said from the passenger seat. “Get off Main.”
Carter made a right well before he needed to. “What time we got?”
Hunter checked his watch. “12:20.”
“Can we make it on foot from here in ten?” Angstrom said from the back.
“Maybe,” Carter said and turned left. They were driving parallel to Main now. “I’ll park six blocks up ahead.”
“Make it eight,” Angstrom said. “Just to be sure.”
Carter saw no more headlights or tail lights in any direction. He drove the eight blocks and parked.
“Eight minutes,” Hunter said. They walked as fast as they could without running.
Carter did not wear a jacket. Just black jeans, his faded Oakland Raiders T-shirt, and a dark fleece pullover. He wasn’t sure he even needed that much with the warm Chinook winds blowing down off the mountains. He could take the fleece off and tie it around his waist or even toss it if he had to, and he figured he might want to by the time they reached Steele’s house.
He’d never seen so many stars. The sky had an eerie glow to it, like it was lit by an alien green moon, but every house appeared dark and abandoned, the windows like skull sockets or portals into dark, empty worlds.
No one was out and about, not after midnight, not in full darkness. It was as if Carter and his crew had Lander all to themselves. If they were walking in just about any other town in America, they really would have had it all to themselves. They’d share the streets only with animals. And the infected.
Lander wasn’t empty, though, and the dark windows in occupied houses made Carter nervous. He imagined sets of eyes watching him and his men. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he could see just fine while no one else could see anything.
Another vehicle cruised Main Street three blocks to the left.
“They’re heading toward the power plant,” Hunter said.
And they were doing it casually, Carter thought. They were in no kind of hurry. He figured they’d rousted a couple of utility employees, thinking they’d get the juice back on in a couple of minutes. They were wrong.
Carter hoofed a right onto Steele’s street and saw flashlight beams three blocks ahead that lit up the street like sweeping spotlights. He wasn’t sure how close he could get without being seen, couldn’t quite tell where the edge of true darkness began, since he could see everything.
No matter. Carter got a clear bead on both guards from just under a block away, and he had no doubt that Steele’s men couldn’t see him. He and Hunter pressed themselves into some juniper bushes on the opposite side of the street while Angstrom and Stafford darted behind a Dutch Colonial five houses down from Steele’s.
Carter squatted and checked his watch. Angstrom and Stafford had four minutes to get into position. Should be plenty of time. They just had to walk down the alley and fire over the six-foot wooden fence. No problem. Stafford had pre-stashed two stepping stools in the alley just after dark.
The two guards in front of Steele’s house spoke in low voices. Carter couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but they sounded stressed, most likely wondering when the lights would come back on.
Carter’s knees hurt. He couldn’t squat for long at his age. He stood and checked his watch again. One minute.
A guard went into the house.
“Shit,” Hunter whispered.
The guard probably had to piss. Carter and Hunter couldn’t wait for him to come back outside. They needed to take out the guards in the front at the exact moment Angstrom and Stafford took out the guards in the back.
Carter touched Hunter’s arm. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’ll be four against one. We’ll take him inside when we get to the house.”
“He’ll know we’re coming,” Hunter said.
“No choice,” Carter said.
Carter looked at his watch. Ten seconds.
“We both take the one on the porch,” Carter said. He didn’t want to kill the guy, and it would be nice to have some plausible ambiguity. They’d never know for sure who fired the fatal shot.
He aimed for the center of mass down his sights. Hunter did the same. Carter thought about aiming off to the side to ensure that Hunter fired the kill shot, but they’d be in a world of shit if they both missed.
Carter’s hands shook. His tongue felt swollen. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.
Five. Four.
A wave of anxiety and dread welled up inside him.
Three. Two.
Gunfire exploded behind the mayor’s house.
Carter squeezed the trigger. He had to.
A bullet—Carter didn’t know if it was his or Hunter’s—nearly took the guard’s head off at the neck. The man’s body fell and splayed sideways on the porch at a gruesome and clearly dead angle.
Carter felt a wave of revulsion and horror and shock. Everything he’d heard about this moment was true. He’d taken a life and he could not take it back.
He wanted to call a time out, to hit a temporal “back” or “rewind” button and unshoot that guard and say he was sorry.
“Move,” Hunter said.
Carter ran toward the house with his weapon in front of him at the ready and Hunter right behind him. If guard number four came out, he’d get popped before clearing the doorway.
Guard number four didn’t come out.
Carter and Hunter were three houses away. Angstrom and Stafford were closer. They were right behind the house. They’d get inside first. And they had no idea guard number four was still alive in there somewhere.
Steele’s men had a severe disadvantage at the beginning. They had no idea anybody was coming for them, and they were effectively blind.
Now guard number four had the advantage. He knew somebody was coming for him. He’d heard the shots. He knew there were men in the front and the back. He was outnumbered, but he wasn’t blind. He had a flashlight—more than he needed to see in close quarters. And he knew the layout of the house.
Carter had to warn Angstrom and Stafford. “Live guard in the house!”
A steady stream of gunfire exploded inside. It sounded like it came from a single automatic weapon.
Carter ran to the front of the house next to Steele’s with Hunter right behind him.
They crouched at a 90-degree angle to Steele’s front porch where they’d have a clear side shot if guard number four came out, but guard number four didn’t come out.
“Angstrom!” Carter yelled. “Stafford!”
No response.
Carter heard a door open behind him. Steele’s next-door neighbor. He turned around to a blinding flashlight in his face.
“The fuck’s going on out here!” A man’s voice.
The crack from Hunter’s rifle nearly blew out Carter’s eardrums. His ears rang and his eyes pulsed with ghost light.
He only faintly heard the man on the porch slam into the door he’d just opened and slide down alongside it onto the porch.
Hunter had just shot a civilian. Carter couldn’t believe it. There’d be a reckoning in town the next day.
The man on the porch moaned. “You shot me?” He coughed. His cough sounded bloody.
Another front door opened across the street and a flashlight beam swept across the asphalt.
“Go,” Hunter said. “In the house.”
Carter could only half hear him over the ringing in his ears.
“Angstrom!” Carter yelled. “Stafford!”
He heard no answer, not from Angstrom or Stafford or from the guard in the house.
Carter’s comrades were either hiding or
down. Carter suspected down. Only one person had fired a weapon in there, most likely guard number four since no one else answered. And if the fourth guard had taken out Angstrom and Stafford and gotten a good look at the bodies, he’d seen the night vision. He’d know what he was up against. And he would be waiting.
Steele should also be awake now. He’d be waiting too, and he’d be armed. Steele’s wife might also be armed. Carter and Hunter were outnumbered, outgunned, and they’d never seen the inside of the house.
“Inside,” Hunter whispered.
“Turn on your radio,” Carter said. “Get Elias over here.”
“Just go!” Hunter whispered.
Carter did not want to go in there.
“Fuck it, man,” Hunter said and bolted across the yard toward Steele’s porch.
Carter cursed under his breath and followed.
They ducked underneath Steele’s front window.
After pausing for breath, Carter stood up, looked inside Steele’s living room through the front window and saw nothing but Victorian furniture. The house was completely silent and dark. Carter couldn’t see inside as well as he could see outside underneath starlight, but he could barely see well enough.
Carter and Hunter crept forward. Carter had to remind himself that his adversaries were blind, not deaf, and their sense of hearing might be amplified a bit since they couldn’t see anything. He wondered what their play was. Were they lying in wait in an ambush position, or were they hiding? For all he knew, everyone had fled out the back.
Steele better not have fled out the back.
Hunter crept onto the porch with his rifle pointing inside the house. He nodded. His sightline was clear. He stepped inside.
Resurrection (Book 2): Into the Wasteland Page 26