Battle Lines (The Survivalist Book 5)

by Arthur Bradley

  Mason turned right and continued down the dark hallway. After a few steps, he found an open door on his left. He moved to the edge of the doorway and leaned around, sweeping the optics over the room. The PVS-14 only offered a forty-degree field of view, which when compared to his normal nearly one-hundred-and-eighty-degree field was a bit like looking through a toilet paper tube.

  The room was filled with several standup desks, a cabinet, and a tabletop covered in radios and rechargers. It was obviously some kind of operator station. While a set of radios might be useful to stay in touch with Leila, finding a pair with working batteries, as well as having to backtrack, hardly seemed worth the hassle.

  He continued on.

  The next open door led to a break room filled with vending machines and small circular tables. A coffee machine dangled off one of the counters, supported only by its power cord. The glass pot lay shattered on the floor below. The vending machines were also smashed, although a few candy bars and potato chips remained. The body of a woman lay near the back wall. It was hard to say when she had died or what had killed her because much of her body had been torn apart. Arms, legs, and guts were strewn in every direction. Whatever had gotten to her had been determined to make a mess of things.

  A deep growl sounded from up ahead. Mason drew his Supergrade and held it at the neutral ready position. The hallway remained clear, but he could only see about twenty feet before it took a sharp turn. Another growl rumbled, this one even louder than the first. Something was coming.

  Figuring that he could use the doorway to funnel the enemy, Mason quickly ducked into the break room. The small tables wouldn’t stop much of anything, and barricading himself in the room would only delay the inevitable. What he needed was a vantage point from which to fight. The only things that offered any real protection were the vending machines.

  He raced across the room and squirmed his way between two of them. The gap was extremely narrow, and he found himself unable to bring his pistol up. Hoping to create a little breathing room, he leaned forward and pressed his shoulder against one machine, while placing a boot against the other. The small metal casters creaked and moaned as the seven-hundred-pound vending machines slowly edged apart.

  The growling grew louder, and he turned to look, still struggling in the tight space. Two Doberman Pinschers stood in the doorway, each easily weighing eighty pounds—not enormous but plenty big enough to take a man down. They paused only for an instant and then turned toward him. What they lacked in eyesight, they more than made up with their sense of smell.

  Mason fought to bring the pistol up, but the gap was still so tight that he couldn’t get his arm high enough for a conventional shot. The dogs started toward him, their claws skittering across the floor.

  Before the second dog could enter the room, a huge shape darted across the doorway, tackling him and disappearing out of sight.

  Mason had no time to make sense of what had just happened, instead focusing on the beast racing toward him. He fired. The flash from the muzzle blinded his night vision monocular, and he suddenly felt dizzy as his right eye stared into darkness and his left into a bright green haze. Figuring that it was better to fight blind than disoriented, he squeezed both eyes shut.

  The growling drew closer, confirming what he already knew.

  He had missed.

  Claws scratched the floor, and teeth snapped as the animal fought to squeeze into the narrow gap. Mason kicked sideways, his heel catching the dog squarely in the face. It yelped but made no effort to retreat. With his eyes still closed, Mason leaned over and pressed the muzzle of the .45 against the back of the animal. He squeezed the trigger. It yelped again, this time much louder. He fired again and heard the animal drop to the floor.

  Mason opened his eyes. The PVS-14 was slowly coming back into range, and he could begin to make out details of the room. He inched forward to the edge of the vending machines and freed his gun arm. There was no sight of the second Doberman or the creature that had attacked it.

  He wriggled his way out from between the machines and stepped over the dead dog. With his Supergrade trained on the door, he waited. Almost immediately, the creature reappeared, carrying something heavy in its mouth. It took Mason a moment to understand what he was seeing, but when he did, he smiled and holstered the gun.

  “Is that you, boy?”

  Bowie dropped the Doberman and hurried over to him. Mason squatted down and gave the dog a proper greeting.

  “How did you get here?”

  Footsteps sounded from the hallway, followed by the shine of a flashlight.

  “Bowie! Come back here!” Leila’s voice was hushed but also urgent.

  “In here!” bellowed Mason.

  A few seconds later, Leila poked her head around the door. She swept the flashlight over both of them.

  “I see he found you.”

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were watching the soldier.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. He… he didn’t make it.”

  Mason said nothing. They had tried, and that was all the man could have asked for.

  “After he passed, things got a little creepy, and Bowie convinced me to come looking for you.”

  “He did, did he?” Mason said, patting Bowie on the side.

  She shined the light on the dead Doberman at their feet.

  “Where’d they come from?”

  “Guard dogs for the plant, I guess.”

  She turned the flashlight back toward the door.

  “I don’t suppose you found a way out?”

  “Not yet, but I think we’re close.”

  She stepped toward him and placed her hand against his chest.

  “Let’s stick together from here on out.”

  “All right,” he said with an understanding smile. He noticed a folded page sticking out from the front of her waistband. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, pulling out the paper. “I found this on the soldier.”

  She held out the page and shined the flashlight on it. It was a handwritten list containing the names of five Lexington locations: J.M. Smucker Company JIF Plant, Rupp Arena, The Campbell House, The Red Mile, and the Lexington History Museum.

  “These must be the locations where they think Lenny might be hiding.”

  “That’s what I figured too. The question is: which one is right?”

  “I think it’s safe to say that he’s not here. That leaves four locations, each as likely as the other.”

  “Okay, so where do we go first?”

  Mason studied the list.

  “We go to the museum.”

  “Why there? Based on their names, any of these places could be the castle that you said Lenny would have operated from.”

  “That’s true, which is why I’m focusing on their order.” He tapped the list. “If we assume that the soldiers are working from the top down, our best chance of getting ahead of them is to jump straight to the bottom.”

  “Clever. I like it.” She unhooked a portable radio from her belt and handed it to him. “I took this off him too. I couldn’t pick up a signal, but if we get close enough to the other team, we might hear them coming.”

  Mason nodded. The plan was finally shaping up.

  When Mason and Leila stepped out of the peanut butter plant, the morning sun was as bright as an interrogator’s lamp. Even Bowie squinted and stared at the ground. Mason pulled off the PVS-14 and led them to stand behind a large dumpster. Once everyone’s eyes had adjusted, they stepped out and surveyed the rear of the building.

  The X-49 SpeedHawk sat directly in front of the employee entrance, barely fifty yards away. It hadn’t moved since they first saw it, and no one was inside.

  “No pilot,” she said.

  “He must have been part of the team that went in to find Lenny.”

  “Too bad. We might have been able to convince him to fly us to the museum. I don’t suppose you know how to fly?”

 
Mason took a moment too long to answer.

  “You can fly a helicopter?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She studied his face. “But you have flown before.”

  “Twice in Iraq, both times after our pilot was hit by small arms fire. I was all that stood between landing and crashing.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “Not really. We did more of the crashing and less of the landing. After those close calls, I had a friend teach me the basics, but that was a long time ago and in a different helicopter.”

  “Still, you could—”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head.

  She shrugged. “All right. Then I guess we walk. Any idea where the museum is located?”

  Mason pulled out the map he had found at the radio station and quickly located the museum. It was right in the middle of downtown, maybe a mile and a half away.

  “It’s that way,” he said, pointing off to the west.

  “Which means it’s likely to be nothing more than a pile of rubble.”

  “I still believe it’s our best chance.”

  “You haven’t steered us wrong yet.”

  “That doesn’t count?” he said, gesturing back toward the JIF plant.

  “That one’s borderline. We did get some good intel.”

  He nodded. “Let’s circle the building and grab our packs. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

  “After what we saw in there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed an accusatory finger at Bowie.

  “Your dog licked peanut buttery slime from a monster’s bloated belly.”

  Mason shrugged. “Still, a man’s gotta eat.”

  Chapter 15

  General Carr, Bill Baker, and Tom Pinker shuffled in through the huge blast doors. Jack Fry rolled his wheelchair up the cement ramp and swung in behind them. The air inside Greenbrier’s bunker was damp, and it smelled of heavy machinery. A long cement hallway lined with cobwebs led deeper into the facility.

  “The president’s staying here? In this old bunker?” Jack couldn’t hide the uneasy feeling he got as he stared down the lifeless hallway. “What about the resort above? Wouldn’t that have been more fitting of her position?”

  “Perhaps,” Carr said, swinging the blast door shut and turning the wheel that locked the pistons in place. “But down here is a hell of a lot safer. And right now, safety is all that matters.”

  “Do you even have food and water?” Bill asked, wondering if he should have brought more than a few clothes.

  “Enough to feed an army. Most of it was left over from when the bunker was decommissioned, but it’s still good.”

  “And the lights?” he said, pointing to a row of dim lamps that hung from the ceiling. “What’s powering them?”

  Carr reached up and gently pushed one of the metal shrouds, sending the lamp swinging.

  “The facility is equipped with huge diesel generators fed by three 14,000-gallon fuel tanks. More than enough power for what little we use.”

  “Who operates and maintains the generators?” asked Pinker.

  “I brought in a handful of contractors familiar with heavy machinery.”

  Pinker raised his eyebrows.

  “It was a necessary risk,” explained Carr. “As far as they know, this is a military operation that required their expertise. Nothing more.” He looked to the three men. “Any other questions?”

  No one spoke.

  “All right then, let’s go.”

  General Carr turned and led them down a long maze of tunnels. The deeper they went, the more it felt like they were being marched to a prison cell, captives to serve the Russian Gulag. When they finally arrived at a thick metal hatch, he spun the heavy wheel on the door and pushed it open. Inside were several neat rows of bunks with blankets and pillows stacked on the end of each bed.

  “This is where you’ll be staying,” he said. “The bathroom’s through the hall at the other end of the room. Toilets and sink still work, but don’t waste the water. I don’t know how long we’ll be here, and I, for one, don’t want to have to crap in a bucket.”

  Pinker walked over and set his pack on the closest bunk.

  “All things considered, General, this is a pretty good setup.”

  Jack and Bill didn’t seem so sure.

  “I’m glad it meets with your approval,” grumbled Carr. He checked his watch. “You’ve got half an hour to rest and wash up.”

  “And then?” Jack asked, spinning his wheelchair around.

  “Then we go see the president.”

  President Pike’s face was blood red, and his fists were clenched at his sides. It was not like him to lose his composure so completely, and it made General Hood nervous.

  “Explain to me how it’s possible that a man nearing sixty could overpower a trained military killer?”

  General Hood kept his voice calm and even.

  “He must have had a weapon hidden in his room.”

  “And what? Your man was unarmed?”

  “No, sir. He had a knife.”

  “But that wasn’t enough.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you should have sent two men. Ten men. The whole goddamn army, if that’s what it took.”

  “That, sir, would have been counterproductive.”

  Pike glared at him. “Meaning what exactly?”

  “If you recall, this was to be quiet and discreet. General Carr was supposed to disappear. If we had sent more men, the risks of complications would have only increased.”

  President Pike glanced over at Yumi. She was sitting at his desk, resting her ashen face on both palms. She seemed lifeless, like a balloon leaking air.

  “General Carr has to die,” he said, his voice becoming more of a plea.

  “I understand, but that may be more difficult now.”

  “Why?”

  “He and several others left in the night.”

  Pike felt his gut clench.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He took Jack Fry, Bill Baker, and Tom Pinker with him.”

  “Took them where?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What the hell do you know?”

  General Hood pressed his lips together.

  “Only what I’ve told you. All four disappeared shortly after the failed assassination attempt. They took clothes and other supplies with them.”

  “Which means they’re not coming back.”

  “Correct.”

  “How could he have turned them against me?” Without waiting for an answer, Pike added, “And for what reason?”

  “I don’t know that it matters at this point, sir.”

  “How could it not matter?” Pike’s voice was rising again.

  “They have already formed their alliance. Understanding how it was formed or over what particular basis seems unimportant at this point. We need to focus on what they might do next.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  General Hood shook his head.

  Yumi sighed, and President Pike turned to face her. She looked like she had the flu, weak and tired. She hadn’t spoken since word of Carr’s escape.

  “Don’t worry,” whispered Pike. “We’ll find him.”

  “It may not be that easy,” Hood said, thinking that he was talking to him. “General Carr went to great lengths to keep his departure a secret. No one seems to know where he went or even how he left the compound.”

  “Someone knows. Four men couldn’t have simply vanished.”

  “I agree, but as I told you before, General Carr has many friends in the military.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “We travel in different circles.”

  “Travel in different circles? What kind of bullshit is that?”

  General Hood said nothing.

  President Pike stepped closer. “I need for you to find him. No matter the cost or risk. Find him.”

 
; The general thought for a moment.

  “The fastest way to find him is to figure out who helped him to escape.”

  “So, do it.”

  “Even if we discover who helped him, we’ll need to convince them to share the information. There are no legal grounds for any such inquiry.”

  “Listen carefully to me, General. I’m granting you the authority to detain, question, and torture anyone who you believe has knowledge of General Carr’s whereabouts. Cut their eyes out, pour bleach down their throat—do anything you must. Just find him.”

  General Hood stared at him, worry swirling in his stomach. President Pike seemed to be changing, and it was not at all for the better.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll start looking immediately.”

  Jack Fry hugged Rosalyn Glass, tears rolling down his face.

  “It’s so good to see you, Madam President. I thought you were… gone.” His voice shook as he fought to keep from openly sobbing.

  Tom Pinker, Bill Baker, and General Carr all looked away in deference to such a raw show of emotion. President Glass patted Jack one final time and slowly lowered herself into the hospital chair. Even the simple act of moving around was taxing, but she was determined to put on a brave face.

  Placing the electrolarynx against her throat, she said, “It’s good to see all of you. I can’t begin to say how much I appreciate your coming.” While the voice was nothing like her own, the words were much clearer than the first time she had tried to use the device.

  “You’re the rightful president,” said Bill. “What else could we do?”

  Pinker nodded his agreement. “He’s right. It’s our duty to support you, Madam President.”

  “And our privilege,” added Jack.

  She smiled and turned to General Carr.

  “And the others?”

  “Dr. Green stayed behind to provide intel. The others didn’t show.”

  “I see. And the military? Are any of them ready to lend their support?”