by Mark Lingane
The sound of gunfire echoed from the dam. He snapped his head around and looked at the exhausting climb back up the hill. But he had to do it. If the 49th soldiers, and Thomas, were fighting against their captors, they needed his help.
32
CLINT JUMPED INTO the truck holding Memphis and sat down opposite her. He gave her a leering smile. She lunged at him, but her arm snapped back as the handcuffs hit their limit.
“Careful, darling, you wouldn’t want to set it off,” he said, nodding at the black box. He shouted to the driver and they moved off.
Then the truck holding Thomas and Brad rumbled off down the road. The rough movement had Brad grimacing. The trucks passed by, and the men from the 49th huddled together, distancing themselves from the remaining outlaws.
Sebastian heard more gunfire. He finally crested the hill, gasping for air, his lungs and legs aching. The truck with Brad and Thomas had already departed. He ran after the truck, shouting. The engine revved loudly, as the truck accelerated away from the gate down the road. He saw the outline of Memphis in the remaining vehicle.
An outlaw wheeled around as he ran into the compound. Sebastian saw the pile of dead 49th soldiers behind him. Executed. The outlaw’s eyes opened wide in disbelief and he fired at Sebastian. With the energy being generated by the dam behind him, and his anger at missing the truck, he was able to stop the bullets. He leaped into the air, pulled out his sword, and brought it down on the outlaw, who crumpled to the ground.
He cleared his mind and sensed for the batteries in the last truck. He paused. Memphis was in there; he had to protect her. His mind searched for something else. The black box next to Memphis had power. He focused on it, and howled out in pain. The agony sliced through him, driving him to the ground and plunging him into blackness. He’d felt this before. His mind focused on one word: nuclear.
Within an hour, the trucks had reached the base of the hills on their manic descent, and were roaring along the main road into the city. Memphis stared at the black device beside her. It took up most of the back of the truck. It had rocked dangerously when the truck came down the hill, verging on being out of control, and shifted dangerously now as the truck raced along the broken roadway.
She found it hard to breathe with the box right next to her. She began to tremble. She was held fast by titanium handcuffs. She’d seen a box like this before, in the depths of a very dark place. People who had these boxes were dangerous. Insane dangerous. If there was someone deranged enough to use it, then they were all dead.
She looked across at the manic expression on Clint’s face. He glowed like a true believer; he looked insane enough to use a nuclear bomb.
The numbers 01:00 flashed on the small display. She wondered if it was the time of day, or it meant there was one minute before detonation.
Brad cried out as the truck recklessly bounced over another tree root. His wound had ripped open and blood was flowing freely. His shirt was drenched with dark red blood.
“This scum’s bleeding everywhere,” a Charger said. “There’s blood all over the weaponry.”
“Throw him out,” the driver shouted.
“No!” Thomas said. He went to stand up, but received the end of a barrel in his face, followed by the rifle butt in the side of his head, smacking him back down.
The soldiers unchained Brad, lifted him up, and threw him out the back of the truck. He landed on the road and rolled to a stop.
“If nothing else, you could’ve used him to get into the city,” Thomas shouted.
“We have the uniforms. That’s enough,” the Charger replied.
“You don’t think the accent will give you away?”
The rifle butt revisited him.
Memphis watched the outlaw sitting next to Clint. He had a look about him of the terminally insane. He had a deep wound on his arm, poorly bandaged. Underneath it seeped a mixture of red and green.
There were three outlaws plus the driver, all looking sickly. Her guess was that this was a suicide squad. Everyone was going to die. Up to this moment, her life had been about survival, and that was not going to change now.
Sebastian roused from the darkness. He felt like he’d been run over by a herd of elephants. He got to his knees and searched around. The world was spinning and his vision warped as he turned his head. He staggered to his feet and stumbled back inside the relay station to the control room.
The power was still on. Six 49th soldiers were lying on the floor, their bodies stripped of their uniforms and ripped apart by gunfire. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cold metal they’d tried to use as cover. He ran his hand over the surface of the metal, feeling the indentations made by the machine-gun rounds.
His head thumped with an intense pain. The nuclear device had made him feel like his insides had been torn out and grated. Whenever he closed his eyes or blinked, the remnants of the dirty atoms smacked him hard.
He made his way down the steps to the lower level, half tripping, half falling, and lay down next to the hydrogenerators. He felt the power streaming from the turbines, and it soothed the pain. He had a deep feeling of remorse; he had let everyone down. There must be something he could do. The enemy invaders were going to get in through the gates, but then he realized that if these renegades were going to detonate a nuclear bomb in the heart of San Francisco, the gates wouldn’t matter.
He accepted the dread certainty that he would have to try and rescue the others and save the city. The nuclear weapon was going to hurt him severely whenever he opened his mind. He hoped they would all appreciate it.
He made his way back up to the landing and out onto the observation deck. He climbed up onto the railing and lost his footing. He tumbled into the chasm. His mind still hurt, and he struggled to think fast enough to thrust the air. He landed heavily on the ground. He rolled from side to side as the pain swept through him, his bones jarred and muscles bruised from the impact. He fought his way up through the pain, clambered to his feet, and ran off in the direction of the trucks.
As the day wore on, and he finally descended to the base of the hills, clarity returned to his mind. He stumbled onto the rough road, and there was the truck they had driven from the bay. He sighed with relief. Then he panicked. He had no idea how to drive a truck.
His spirits lifted briefly when he found the rations. He crammed handfuls of food into his mouth as he examined the driving compartment. The keys were still under the seat. He put them in the ignition and turned. The truck lurched forward as the engine cranked over. He tried again. The truck burst into life and sat idling. He went through the various combinations of pedals and stick movements, accompanied by grinding and crunching noises that cut right through him.
The truck jumped forward. He put his foot on the accelerator and the vehicle roared down the road, lurching and crashing off barriers until he managed to get it under control. The truck shuddered and jolted as Sebastian drove down the hill. He pushed it as hard as he dared until, about halfway back to the base, he saw a body lying on the road. He took his foot off the accelerator, coasted to a halt, found the brake and jammed it on, and jumped out.
Brad lay on his back. His shoulder injury had been ripped open and he lay in a large pool of blood. His body was covered in cuts and bruises, and his eyes stared up, blankly. Sebastian’s heart sank. He had failed him.
He placed his hand on Brad’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Brad blinked.
“Oh, oh, oh.” Sebastian jumped up and ran to the back of the truck, then he ran back to Brad and said, “Wait there, I’ll … I’m not leaving you.”
He ran back to the truck and found a stretcher and a medipack. He pulled both out and set them down against the bleeding soldier. He looked through the medipack, examining the various tubes. He found a painkiller and a coagulant. He rinsed the wound and prepared the painkiller.
“I’m not sure if you’ll feel this, with the shock and everything, but you’ll feel better afterwards,” h
e said to Brad. “Probably.”
He inserted the needle into the wound and squeezed the plunger. Brad screamed with the pain and slumped back, breathing heavily. Sebastian prepared a new bandage then the coagulant injection. He repeated the process, with Brad only grimacing this time. Brad drifted into unconsciousness as Sebastian applied a new bandage. He lifted Brad’s head, eased his upper body onto the stretcher, and swung the center’s feet and legs around.
Sebastian sat back and rested his mind, then cleared it. He felt the bars and the electron alignment within the stretcher, and slowly raised the frame. He stood up behind it and floated it to the rear of the truck. Blood poured from his nose. He lowered the stretcher onto the floor of the truck and relaxed. He wiped away the blood. He wished there was someone who could tell him why it hurt so much.
Offering a barrage of apologies to the unconscious Brad, he got the truck moving again and bumped along the road, trying to think of what to do.
What would Melanie do? Shout. Shoot. Probably swear. That wasn’t going to work here. He needed a plan.
Memphis listened to the conversation on the two-way radio. The invaders had secured the southern gates. That meant Sebastian hadn’t been able to stop the other trucks. She felt a pang of concern. Even though Sebastian was pretty useless, he was tough and a survivor. But outlaws were ruthless, and she knew that all the optimism in the world wasn’t enough to save them from an amphetamine-powered madman.
From the snatches of conversation she was able to hear, it sounded like they had rounded up some infected and had them ready to infiltrate San Francisco. The infected scared her. They were creatures unlike anything she had ever seen, and she’d seen some pretty disgusting things in the places she’d had to hide. The infected seemed unstoppable, and everyone was terrified of them except Sebastian, who appeared to hate them more than everyone else.
Who was strong enough to stop a wave of infected? What would be left if civilization fell to these things? They could wipe out humankind with no remorse or even understanding. She stared at the silent Clint, and wondered if he understood what he had done.
The truck continued its wild ride as the surrounding landscape became more urban. The truck came to a shuddering halt. Voices shouted from the truck in front. Machine guns fired and the trucks lurched off again at full speed. She looked out the back at the bodies of 49th Division soldiers lying dead on the ground.
The engines screamed as the trucks barreled across the bridge. Machine guns fired up again. The trucks didn’t slow and the sound of gunfire increased. Bullets shredded the material covering the truck, ripping it free and exposing her to the outside.
The trucks crashed through the barriers to the military base and tore onto the island. They bounced up over the green and flew forward. Memphis’s truck smashed into the administration building, killing the guards and slamming to a halt against the thick concrete walls. Clint and the other outlaws poured out of the truck and forced open the doors, piling into the building. Her driver jumped out and followed. The outlaw next to him didn’t move.
There were shouts as the 49th defended with trained precision. Sirens rang out from the complex and still the outlaw in the passenger seat didn’t move. She moved forward and kicked him. No response. She came closer until she could see his face. There was a bullet wound in the center of his forehead.
She could see the driver firing at the 49th soldiers. He turned and started to run back to the truck. She didn’t have long. She grabbed the dead outlaw’s jacket and searched through the pockets. She found a set of keys. She fumbled through them, trying to find the right one. The driver was nearly at the door. She pushed the dead outlaw back in place and hid the keys in her hands.
The driver jumped up into the cab and searched the outlaw’s pockets. He frowned when he was unable to find what he was looking for. He searched the floor and the compartments under the dash. Still nothing.
He glared back at Memphis. She cowered away from him. He jumped into the back of the truck, and punched her in the face. She collapsed to the floor and the keys fell free, jangling. He picked them up and kicked her in the stomach, doubling her over with the pain. He climbed out of the truck and ran back to the building with the keys.
Memphis got up slowly and slipped the single key into her pocket.
The fighting continued. Four men came to the back of the truck, grabbed the bomb, and manhandled it off. Memphis was snatched out and pulled toward the building. She struggled to keep up with them. The ground was littered with 49th Division soldiers. A small group of captives had been taken off to one side. Senior people, she thought. But before she could identify any of them, the men had dragged her through a doorway and they were charging down the steps, which were too narrow for a comfortable fit.
Two floors below, they passed a dead 49th soldier and went through a set of double doors into a large room. Several outlaws and Chargers seemed to be searching for something. The men set down the bomb and activated the timer. They locked the doors behind them and ran out of the building.
They had known exactly where they were going. Someone with deep knowledge had told them about this place.
The timer ticked over to 00:59. She held her breath. It didn’t change. It meant she had one hour to live. Or so they thought.
She took the key out of her pocket just as the door burst open. Several officers of the 49th were pushed in. One of the Chargers raised his rifle and fired a round into the air. They all dived to the ground, covering their ears. The doors were slammed shut and locked again.
00:58
She slipped the key into the handcuff and twisted. It clicked open. She let out a sigh of relief. The soldiers were bashing on the door, shouting for attention. She looked around the room. Why here, she thought. Why bring a bomb to this exact place?
Her attention was drawn to an elderly gentleman slumped against the door. “Q-backer?”
Alan Finchley slowly turned his head and looked at her. It was the face of a defeated man. “You were the young lady who went with Brad. Please tell me he’s safe.”
She felt bad. “I’m sorry, the last time I saw him was when they threw him out of the truck onto the road. I’m pretty sure he was … he didn’t make it.”
“Oh, my son, no.” He collapsed down to the floor.
The problem of what to do with Brad was playing on Sebastian’s mind. He couldn’t charge into the city with Brad in the condition he was in. Where was a safe place to leave him? Where could he find medical help? The logistics of dealing with an injured man muddled his thoughts. He wanted to charge in and show them who was boss, but he couldn’t do that if his actual boss was slung across his shoulders.
There was no getting away from it. He’d have to leave Brad behind while he got help. But outlaws, Chargers and infected, and combinations of all the above, plus a nuclear bomb, didn’t add up to good odds.
Memphis searched the room. It was completely sealed. She even examined under the doors. They were airtight. There was a large steel cross in the middle of the floor, like a super-sized stake driven down deep into the ground. It was ten foot across. There wasn’t even an air vent. That meant another problem. If they were lucky, they’d all suffocate before the bomb detonated.
“Alan, you have to listen to me.”
The 49th q-backer stared blankly at the floor.
“Q-backer!” She slapped him across the face. His attention snapped up to her. “What was this room? Why are we locked in here? If the bomb goes off, what happens?”
“It’s a fault cracker.”
“They don’t exist,” she said. “That was just a scare tactic.”
He shook his head. “They’ve been top secret. There are three. If they detonate them all within hours of each other, the San Andreas Fault will be wrenched apart. It’s been weakened by the wars. The entire western seaboard will drop into the sea.”
“You have to be kidding me.”
He shook his head. “If all three go off.”
&
nbsp; She looked at the black box. “But, if this one doesn’t, then we’ll be saved?”
“What’s the point?” he said.
“The point is I don’t want to die.”
She looked at the bomb.
00:53.
A nuclear bomb. She had no idea where to start. This was going to be the challenge of her life.
33
SEBASTIAN DROVE THE truck into an abandoned, collapsing shed. He could hear the fighting raging over on the island, and he was as close as he wanted to be.
The mist had returned and rolled down into the lowlands, trapped between the coast and the hills. As he made his way on foot toward the bay, it continued to thicken. Ahead, he could see the water and the bridge across the bay disappearing into the distance. He walked up to the bridge. It was deserted, apart from dead 49th soldiers.
The mist obscured his view of the city. He took out a pair of binoculars and focused. He squinted. The mist temporarily cleared, revealing a handful of heavily armed outlaws halfway across the bridge. He heard a slithering sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but couldn’t see anything in the mist. He pulled up his collar.
He walked around underneath the bridge and looked up at the framework. It was all steel. He could attract steel things to him. He wondered if he could attract himself to steel. He jumped up and grabbed one of the beams under the bridge.
He cleared his mind and focused on the beam, feeling the flow of electrons. He lifted up his feet and placed them on the bar. He reversed the polarity at the spot where his feet connected and released his hands. His feet stayed connected to the metal. He smiled.
Hanging upside down, he took a step forward. He failed to polarize the next step, so he fell from the bar and crashed into the mud. He looked ahead across the length of the bridge. He was going to have to concentrate on every step. He lifted himself up onto the bar and tried again.