Precipice: V Plague Book 9

by Dirk Patton

  Four hours later they paused to drink and each took a moment to rub their aching shoulders. Their hands were torn and bleeding from scraping out dirt and prying free rocks. A large mound was forming next to the hole, and after a five minute break they continued to work.

  It was mid-afternoon before Crawford called a halt. They had excavated four feet down and with the large pile of rocks that could cover the body, he was confident that was deep enough to protect it from scavengers. Neither man had stood for hours and when they climbed out of the hole both of them were moving stiffly as knees and backs cracked in protest.

  Together they lifted Scott and gently lowered him into the ground. Standing at the head and foot of the grave, the Colonel looked up and met Igor’s eyes.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Igor said.

  “He was a good man. He gave his life for his team mates. Nothing more could be asked and nothing more could be given. Rest in peace, fallen warrior.” Colonel Crawford spoke first in Russian for Igor’s benefit, then repeated himself in English.

  When he was done, he and Igor bent and began filling the grave. The dirt went in first, then all the rocks they had pried out one at a time. It took them another hour. When they were done, Scott’s final resting place had a neatly arranged mound of rocks that protected the burial site.

  They moved away from the grave, through the trees and back to the edge of the runway.

  “What do we do now?” Igor asked after several minutes of silence from the Colonel.

  “I’m going to walk down the side of these mountains to Seattle, and I’m going to kill as many Russians as I can find,” Crawford said, staring up at the grey layer of clouds that hid the sun. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to come with me.”

  They were quiet for a long time, only the sound of Igor’s fingers scratching Dog’s head breaking the silence. Neither of them had consciously noticed that there wasn’t a single bird to be seen or heard in the dense forest.

  “I cannot go with you,” Igor said after several minutes. “I have already killed too many of my countrymen.”

  Crawford nodded without taking his attention off the clouds. “I didn’t expect you would. What are you going to do?”

  “I do not know. I cannot go home. I am sure the GRU knows what I have done and will shoot me on sight. Perhaps I will find a small town with no infected. You Americans have such big houses; it will be an adventure living in one of them.”

  “Do you have family back in Russia?” Crawford asked.

  “My parents died many years ago and I was an only child. The military was my life and I never married. Very fortunate with the events. If I did have any, they would have been arrested when I defected.”

  Crawford finally looked away from the sky and met Igor’s eyes.

  “Not much different than the old Soviet Union,” he observed.

  “In many ways, it is worse. At least then we didn’t pretend to be something we weren’t. Every citizen understood what would or would not get them arrested. Now there is no standard. Laws are not applied equally or fairly. The younger generation wants to rebel, but they do not know how. Dissidents are becoming more common, but the ones who talk the loudest and begin to gather a following disappear in the middle of the night. That part is like the Soviets, and maybe you are right that it is not all that different.”

  “What do you think the Russian troops and people would do if they knew the truth? That Barinov orchestrated the attacks on the US and is ultimately responsible for the deaths or infection of nearly seven billion people.” Crawford dropped his pack to the tarmac and dug through in search of a cigarette.

  “What did the German people do during the Great War?” Igor asked. “They weren’t bad people, but they were afraid of the lunatic and his followers who ruled the country. In Russia? There would be outrage, of course. If you are asking me if there would be a rebellion, then I would say the answer to that is no. Russians are more like the Germans were. Very different from you Americans. We are conditioned from birth to be careful what we say and do, and to respect if not fear our government.

  “Where Americans might have marched on the White House if the roles were reversed, most Russians will not do more than shake their heads before being thankful they are safe because of the vaccine. I have had this conversation with Captain Vostov. Americans mistrust their government. Russians fear their government.” Igor said the last with a wry expression on his face.

  Colonel Crawford nodded in understanding as he smoked the cigarette he’d found.

  “You should take Dog with you when you go to find your town,” he said, looking at Dog. “He seems to like you and there’s no point in him going with me on a one-way trip.”

  “Yes, I would like that,” Igor said. “But what do you really think you can do? Killing a few soldiers before they hunt you down will not change anything. Only a strike that removes President Barinov from power will stop the madness.”

  “If the roles were reversed and we were standing in Russia having this conversation, what would you be doing?” Crawford asked.

  “Looking for as many Americans to kill as I could find,” Igor conceded the point. “But I would like to think I would listen to wise advice.”

  They remained standing where they were, neither man moving. The Colonel took a last drag off the cigarette and dropped it to the pavement where he crushed it out under the toe of his boot.

  “Guess I’d better get moving before I lose the light,” he said, hoisting the heavy pack onto his back.

  “Do you think there will be towns between here and Seattle?” Igor asked.

  “I believe there’s a good chance there will be, yes.” Crawford nodded, smiling at Igor.

  “Then Dog and I will walk with you until we find our new home,” Igor smiled back.

  40

  Colonel Crawford and Igor wanted to move through the forest to lessen the risk of being spotted by a passing aircraft, but soon gave up and settled for the grassy shoulder of Interstate 90. The trees and undergrowth were so dense and the terrain so rugged they spent two hours to cover barely a mile before acknowledging the need to take the risk of walking in the open. They hugged the tree line as they made their way west, ready to dash under cover in the woods if they heard any human sounds.

  They encountered the occasional infected, Dog warning them in advance each time with a low growl. So far it had only been males, many of them in horrible physical condition, but they were expecting a screaming attack from a female at any moment. They didn’t bother to kill the males, the pitiful creatures unable to present any real threat as they stumbled blindly along and hissed at the three travelers.

  After an hour of walking on the open ground they had covered four miles. Igor had been looking behind them more and more frequently for the past fifteen minutes and finally stopped and turned to the rear. Crawford also stopped and turned, immediately seeing what Igor was concerned about.

  Close to thirty males were trailing along behind them. The infected were stretched out into a long, ragged line that disappeared around a curve, many of them walking down the middle of the westbound lanes of the Interstate. If a patrol flew over they might be able to hide in the woods, but the long line of infected would be like a big arrow pointing them out to an observer who knew anything about their behavior.

  “Shit,” Crawford muttered. Igor nodded, not needing a translation for a universally used English word. Switching to Russian, “We should save our ammo.”

  Igor smiled and drew his bayonet. Crawford pulled out his Ka-Bar and they headed forward to meet the infected. Dog started to move in front of them, but Igor called him back. He was still limping slightly as he healed and there was no need for him to get involved. It was clear that Dog wasn’t happy, but he complied.

  It took them forty-five minutes to kill all of the males. Not that there were that many, but they were strung out for half a mile. Extra time was spent dragging each body off the road and into the edge of the tree
s. Leaving a bunch of dead infected lying on the pavement would be another sign for any patrols that there was somebody running around that they should take a look at.

  When they were finished they moved a dozen yards into the forest and found a fallen tree to use for a seat. Sharing an MRE, neither felt much like conversing. Killing the infected up close and personal then disposing of the bodies hadn’t been a pleasant experience and both men were lost in their own internal reflections. Crawford tossed the last bite of his meal to Dog, who snatched it out of the air and swallowed without chewing, then stood to step behind a tree. Igor dug a small hole with his knife and buried their trash, covering the spot with dead leaves and pine needles.

  Crawford was returning, preparing to hoist his pack off the ground when Dog stood up and looked to the west. He didn’t growl, but both soldiers snapped their rifles up in the direction he was looking and dropped to the forest floor. They expected infected, but after several moments of not seeing or hearing anything, the Colonel realized that Dog hadn’t growled. He always growled at infected.

  Fifteen more seconds passed, and still not detecting anything he looked over at Igor. The big Russian glanced back and shrugged his shoulders. Then Crawford heard the faint sound of a motor. Catching Igor’s eyes, he pointed to the west then to his ear. Igor nodded, and they quickly moved behind the log they had sat on to eat their meal.

  The engine noise steadily grew in volume, approaching. Soon it was obvious this wasn’t a heavy military vehicle. The sound was too harsh and buzzy. Motorcycle?

  “Were any motorcycles brought over for your troops?” Crawford mumbled.

  “Not that I know of.”

  The vehicle kept approaching, the sound apparently traveling a long distance in the clear, mountain air. Crawford signaled to Igor who moved twenty yards to the right, spreading them out in case they needed to fight. Dog stayed with the Colonel, hunkered down behind the thick log.

  After what seemed a long time of listening to it approach, the sound of the motor suddenly dropped as the rider slowed. What had been a harsh, buzzy snarl of exhaust transitioned to a rough idle. Crawford thoroughly checked the forest behind and to either side to make sure they weren’t about to be attacked while distracted by the motorcycle. Nothing was moving and Dog was alert but still and calm, so he returned his attention to the direction of the road.

  The rider killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening. The Colonel shifted his head back and forth slightly, trying to see through the dense foliage. He was able to catch glimpses of movement, but no details of who had stopped. He checked on Igor and the Spetsnaz soldier was behind solid cover and ready to fight.

  “Colonel Crawford,” an American accented voice shouted. “I’m Lieutenant Sam. United States Navy.”

  What the hell? What was the Navy doing here and how had they found him? Then he remembered the satellite orbiting above and the system operator in Hawaii. He hadn’t been able to communicate with her since leaving his sat phone behind and hadn’t thought that she might still be watching and working on a way to help.

  Not that this couldn’t be a ruse by the Russians, but they had no way of knowing who he was. Besides, they wouldn’t stand on the side of the road and call his name. They’d show up in a helicopter and use the canon or a few rockets to ruin his day. Signaling for Igor to hold fire he waited for an acknowledgement before responding.

  “Come forward,” he shouted. “Slow and easy with your hands in sight. I’ve got a Russian defector with me. Do not reach for a weapon when you see him or you will be fired upon.”

  “Coming in,” the man shouted back.

  Almost immediately there was the sound of someone moving through the brush and they weren’t trying to be quiet. In fact, Crawford realized, the man was doing everything he could to make as much racket as possible. Stepping on branches and kicking leaves and rocks. Making sure they knew exactly where he was. Catching Igor’s eye, he signed for the Russian to watch their backs, just in case.

  The sounds grew closer and more frequent glimpses of movement resolved into a young, black man that stepped into the edge of the clearing with his hands empty and held out to his side. He was heavily armed, but his weapons were slung. He carefully looked around the area, spotting the Colonel and the rifle that was aimed at his head.

  “Petty Officer Simmons from Pearl Harbor says to say hello, sir.” He said.

  The man definitely appeared to be what he said he was, and he knew the right thing to say. But Crawford hadn’t survived thirty years as an operator by taking things at face value.

  “Come on in to the clearing and keep your hands in sight,” the Colonel said, standing and stepping around the end of the log.

  Dog followed and together they walked to within six feet of the new arrival and stopped, looking him over. The man wasn’t in uniform, but that was to be expected. He had the right weapons, but that meant nothing.

  “Tell me something to convince me you’re not a Russian.”

  The man grinned, “Well, how about we’ve been waiting for you to show up at the Allen Institute with the immune man you found in Oklahoma? I took charge of Dr. Kanger when he arrived and have been babysitting him and another man named Joe Revard. I believe you’re the one that sent Dr. Kanger to us from Tinker? And he’s an arrogant, pain in the ass, by the way. Sir.”

  Crawford finally relaxed and lowered his weapon. He hadn’t really believed this man was a Russian, but was glad he knew the right things.

  “Thanks, Lieutenant. Can’t be too careful these days,” he said.

  “No sir, you can’t. Is that why the Russian still has his rifle pointed at my heart?”

  The Colonel smiled and signed to Igor that everything was fine. A few moments later the big Russian joined them in the middle of the clearing, weapon not exactly pointed at the Lieutenant, but not exactly pointed away from him either. Sam nodded a greeting and turned his attention back to Crawford.

  “Petty Officer Simmons has been keeping a close eye on you. Unfortunately, the whole west coast from San Francisco to Seattle is crawling with Russians and we haven’t been able to send any help.”

  “How did you get here without being seen?” Crawford asked.

  “I walked a good way. Had to get out of Seattle and across a big lake. Once I made it into the suburbs I found a dirt bike that I rode the past forty miles or so. The Petty Officer has kept an eye on me and given me a heads up whenever there’s a patrol or a CAP flyover and I just play dead until they move on. There’s bodies everywhere. As long as I wasn’t moving when they passed by, they didn’t even notice me.”

  “So what brings you here? I don’t think the two of us and a dog are going to fit on a dirt bike with you.”

  “Your ride’s on the way,” Sam grinned. “One of my men found a four seat UTV at a house near where I found the dirt bike. It’s a little too obvious to have it out on the roads so he’s taking trails through the forest and having to move slower than I could. He should be here in about an hour.”

  “Then what?”

  “Unless you have other plans I was going to take you to Seattle, sir.”

  “I think that will work just fine,” Crawford said, finally accepting the man as genuine and relaxing. Slinging his rifle, he lit a cigarette and peered at the young Lieutenant through the smoke. “Now, while we’re waiting, what can you tell me about the women that the Russians took from us?”

  41

  It had been a busy afternoon. Once I had gotten my emotions under control over seeing Katie and the other women in Grushkin’s hands, I was able to start putting together a plan. A large part of that had been getting Titus to show me how to operate the surveillance system so I didn’t have to wait while he clicked one key at a time.

  I started tracking the Russian’s patrol patterns. Watched as they continued their building to building search of the town. It wasn’t a large town, by any means, but there were still a lot of houses and businesses for them to search. As the afternoon
wore on and troops were rotated in and out of the search, the ones taking a break began congregating at a large, buffet style restaurant. I couldn’t see inside, but assumed they had found some food that hadn’t spoiled and were taking full advantage of not having to eat whatever is the Russian equivalent of an MRE.

  The restaurant would be my first target. An opportunity to take a large number of the enemy off the table at once. I got Titus to open the vault door and quietly went up to the sporting goods store over our heads. With several bags heavily loaded, I returned and set to work at the kitchen table.

  Taking out a large back pack I opened it up and discarded the wads of crumpled paper that were used as filler while it was on display. I dumped another bag onto the table, dozens of packages of lead sinkers used for fishing spilling out onto the surface. Opening them one by one, I dumped the contents into the bottom of the pack, going until I had about fifteen pounds of lead balls ranging in size from a quarter of an inch to three quarters of an inch.

  Getting up from the table I went to the armory and grabbed what I needed, returning to the kitchen where Titus was eyeing what I was doing with a curious expression on his face. When he saw the two bricks of C-4 explosive in my hand he nodded and grinned.

  It only took me a couple of moments to unwrap them. Working the putty like substance with my hands, I created a two-and-a-half-pound ball. Titus’s son-in-law had also stolen a good supply of wireless detonators and I inserted two of these on opposite sides of the sphere. Only one was needed to set it off. Two were in case one of them failed.

  Placing the C-4 into the pack on top of the thousands of lead balls, I paused a moment. Once I covered the top, the detonators would be surrounded by lead. The radio signal to trigger the bomb wouldn’t penetrate lead.

  “What’s the problem?” Titus asked after a few minutes of me sitting there trying to think of a solution.

  When I told him he grunted and went into the armory, returning with an extension cord. He quickly cut the insulation off, exposing the copper wire and stripped out a few feet. Wrapping each detonator with the bare wire, he cut two tiny slits in the sides of the pack and pushed the other ends through. The copper would act as antennas, pick up the signal and carry it to the detonators.