Day of Reckoning

by G. Michael Hopf

  Brennan wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, but when he felt confident the droolers had moved on, he radioed out. “Mike Actual, this is Kilo Actual. Come in. Over.”

  “Go for Mike Actual,” Owens replied.

  “What’s the situation out there?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still locked in a small shed.”

  “Get your ass out of there and get back here. The bus has left; all the kids are gone. I’m here with a few stragglers, some women staff members. We’re loading up in trucks. We managed to repel the last assault, but if they come at us again like last time, we might not be able to stop them.”

  Brennan pushed the door open slightly. He peeked through the crack. “Kilo Two, do you see anything?”

  “Negative, you’re clear,” Klyde answered.

  Brennan opened the door enough for him to slip out. He looked in both directions. Seeing it was clear, he started for the children’s housing.

  “Kilo Actual, contact left, I say again, contact left. You’ve got three tangos,” Klyde said.

  Knowing he couldn’t outrun them, Brennan took up a defensive position behind several fifty-five-gallon drums and leveled his rifle in their direction. “I see them. Damn they’re so fast!”

  Klyde fired first. The seven-point-six-two-round from his rifle struck the lead drooler. It fell and splayed out on the gravel.

  Brennan put his reticle on the next one and squeezed. The round struck the drooler squarely in the chest.

  “Good shot, Sergeant,” Klyde said.

  “I’ve got this one too,” Brennan said and released another well-placed shot.

  The drooler flinched and fell dead.

  “Damn good shooting!” Klyde said.

  “Can you all stop patting each other on the back and get back here,” Owens chimed in.

  “Heading in your direction now,” Brennan said. He stood and began the trek back.

  “Sergeant Brennan, stop! I’m counting multiple tangos heading your way,” Klyde radioed.

  “How many?” Brennan asked.

  “Too many to count, I believe they’re heading towards the housing for an assault. Mike Actual, do you copy? Over,” Klyde said.

  “I copy, multiple tangos. Are they coming towards the north entrance? Over,” Owens asked.

  “Affirmative. Kilo Actual, you need to find a place to hide. You’ll never make it, they’re coming in fast,” Klyde said.

  “I’m tired of hiding, I prefer a good fight. And when are we going to get some damn support here?” Brennan barked.

  “I’m contacting command now,” Owens replied.

  “Sergeant Brennan, you’re not going to make it. You need to take cover, now!” Klyde said.

  Brennan looked around, the north entrance to the research laboratory was the only thing close by. He ran for it. The door was open.

  “Kilo Actual, they spotted you going in. A few have broken off to pursue,” Klyde said. “I’ll work my magic from out here.” Klyde aimed and let a round fly.

  Brennan didn’t remember this wing of the research laboratory. Had they not secured this? Uneasy, he had his rifle at the ready. The bright fluorescent lights bounced off the white eggshell-white walls and garish white tiled floor.

  Single gunshots sounded from outside.

  “They’re at your door,” Klyde said.

  Brennan hadn’t yet cleared the hall. He turned to see two droolers coming through the door. He fired at them.

  It took more than a few hits to take them down.

  The door opened again, and several more came through.

  “Kilo Actual and Mike Actual, I’m counting nearly forty tangos with about fifteen coming after you, Kilo,” Klyde radioed.

  Unable to reply, Brennan stood his ground and fired at anything that entered the building. By his count he had downed seven when his bolt locked to the rear. He reached for a fresh magazine but found none. He dropped his rifle, letting the two-point sling hold it in front of his body as he transitioned to his Beretta 92F, nine millimeter. He aimed and began to fire.

  The pistol proved not to be as effective. He went through a single magazine and only stopped one. He reloaded and began to fire again.

  Seeing he was now at a great disadvantage, he turned and ran into the stairwell. Again, he didn’t remember seeing this stairwell. Somehow, his platoon hadn’t been in this wing of the laboratory. For him, there was no time to fret, he was out of rifle ammunition, had no grenades and only three fifteen-round pistol magazines left. To put it plainly, he knew he was in trouble.

  He sprinted down the stairs to the second level, stopping only to peek through the small window in the door to ensure he wasn’t walking into more droolers or terrorists, as if they were any different.

  The hall was clear. He threw the door open and ran inside. The last thing he wanted to do was get trapped inside a room with no secondary exit.

  “Kilo Actual, what’s your location? Over,” Owens asked.

  “Second level of the lab building, but in a wing we didn’t clear. Over,” Brennan replied.

  “I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” Owens said.

  “I always like my bad news first, makes the good that much better when I hear it,” Brennan said scouting each room.

  “Command is sending support…” Owens said.

  “I said the bad news first,” Brennan said.

  “I’ll rephrase it, command is going to level this entire compound,” Owens informed him.

  “Still, that’s not bad news.”

  “The air is heading here now. They’ll be on station in five mikes. Can you make it to us in time? I need to get these noncombatants out of here,” Owens said.

  “Um, one sec. Kilo Three, what’s going on?”

  “All forty of those things went into your building. Apparently, they like you. Mike, you’re clear, no tangos coming your way,” Klyde said.

  “Brennan, I don’t want to leave you, but can you get out of there and topside? You’ve got four mikes to get here,” Owens said.

  Brennan stopped and leaned against the wall, deflated by the news. “You said I had five mikes.”

  “We need a minute to be clear of the ordnance,” Owens said.

  “Sergeant Brennan, I’m coming to get you out of there ,” Klyde said.

  “No, go link up with Mike Actual. Get out of here,” Brennan said.

  “Negative, you’re my brother. I’m coming for you,” Klyde said.

  The stairwell door burst open; droolers began to pour through.

  Brennan turned and started to fire. He turned and ran into a room and closed the door. He shoved a desk and other furniture behind the door. When he looked, he noticed the room was a laboratory like the one where they had found the cases of vials. He ran to the back and found a walk-in freezer.

  The droolers pounded and clawed at the door.

  “I’m on the first floor, heading to the stairwell ,” Klyde said.

  “Negative, Klyde, go. I’m screwed. I’m not getting out of here. The best thing I can do is find a place to hunker down. Maybe I’ll survive the bombardment.”

  “No, I’m not leaving you. You wouldn’t leave me,” Klyde replied. “I’m in the stairwell.”

  Brennan could hear Klyde’s gunfire.

  “I’m drawing them to me. They’re coming up. Christ, they’re so fast ,” Klyde said.

  “Air will be on station in two mikes. What’s your situation? Over,” Owens asked.

  “Go, get out of here. I’ll never make it to you. I’m going to barricade myself in this freezer and pray it protects me,” Brennan said, entering the walk-in.

  “Mike Actual, I’m heading your way. They’re coming after me now,” Klyde said, out of breath.

  Brennan closed the freezer door and got comfortable. There wasn’t much else he could do now. “Kilo Three, what’s your situation? Over,” Brennan asked.

  No response.

  “Kilo Three, Klyde, come in. Over,” Brennan r
adioed.

  Nothing.

  “Kilo Actual, Kilo Three is down,” Owens said. “We’re oscar mike, those things are coming after us. You might be clear. Kilo Three drew them out of that building,” Owens said.

  Brennan lowered his head in despair. He couldn’t believe Klyde was gone.

  “Air on station in sixty seconds ,” Owens said. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, it’s all in the job description. Get those civilians clear. Take care, my friend,” Brennan said.

  “You’ll be fine, you’ve got a hard head. It’ll take a big bomb to crack that skull,” Owens joked.

  Brennan knew his odds were slim. Command knew this building was a massive subterranean structure and would drop a bunker buster. His thoughts went to Jenna. He prayed she was fine and, if he didn’t survive, she’d find love again. He wondered what his baby would look like, a thought all parents have. Would the child look like him or her? How would they sound when they first started to talk?

  The first bomb hit. The ground shook.

  Brennan looked up instinctually.

  The second bomb struck and all the lights went dark.

  He now sat in the pitch black and began to wager with himself which one would be the bunker buster that would hit his building. Bomb number three, four, maybe five or six.

  The building shook violently. The ceiling caved in on top of him, a large chunk of something struck him in the back of the head and out he went.

  Owens watched the bright flashes of the explosions in the rearview mirror. Leaving Brennan was one of the toughest things he’d ever done.. Brennan was right though, it was all part of the job. Getting the civilian noncombatants to safety wasn’t their first priority, but it did rank high .

  “Kilo Actual, come in. Over,” Owens radioed.

  No response.

  “Brennan, are you there? Over.”

  Silence.

  The truck shook.

  Owens looked out and saw a drooler clinging to the side. “You bastards are relentless.”

  A loud thump struck the passenger side.

  He looked and saw one staring at him through the side window. He raised his rifle and fired at it.

  The rear window exploded as one leapt into the truck. It scaled the seats and jumped in the passenger seat.

  Owens drew his pistol and shot, striking it in the head.

  The drooler shrieked and began to flail.

  He lifted his foot off the accelerator, raised his leg and kicked it hard. The door flew open and the thing fell out.

  The one on the driver’s side punched through his side window and grabbed the wheel. It pushed it hard to the right.

  Owens put his pistol to its head and pulled the trigger.

  Its head exploded and it fell off the car.

  He looked in the side mirror and saw it tumbling on the road. He put his eyes on the front and saw the guardrail coming towards him fast. He hit the brakes, but it was too late.

  The truck slammed into the guardrail, coming to a full stop.

  His head bounced off the steering wheel, knocking him out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Saturday, April 29

  London, United Kingdom

  Jorge looked at the handwritten note. His hands were shaking. He picked up the phone and dialed. “Answer the phone, damn it.”

  The phone connected.

  “Bradley Shipman, Infinity Wealth Management, how can I help you?”

  “I need you to sell everything. Put all my accounts to cash.”

  “I’m sorry, who am I speaking with?” Shipman asked.

  “This is Jorge Sorossi.”

  “Oh, Mr. Sorossi, hello. I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Shipman said.

  Jorge stood from his desk and walked to the expansive window in his office. He looked out. His hands were sweating. “Liquidate everything. Put it all to cash.”

  “Mr. Sorossi, are you sure you want to do that?”

  “Just do as I ask. I then want you to transfer those monies to my Cayman account.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll forward the documentation immediately.”

  “Send it to my confidential email. The encrypted one,” Jorge ordered.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Thank you, Bradley,” Jorge said.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  Jorge lowered his voice and asked, “Do you have any family, you know, kids?”

  “I do.”

  “I know it’s weird I’m asking. I just never knew. You’ve handled my personal portfolio for years and I’ve never thought to ask.”

  “Two little girls, six and eight.”

  “How sweet.”

  “Thank you. Now is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  “Ah, no.”

  “Have a good day, sir.”

  “Hold on, Bradley. Take a holiday with your family. Get out of the city.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Take a holiday with your family. Take them to the coast or north to Scotland for a couple of weeks. In fact, I want to cover the costs. You’ve been so good to me over the years.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sorossi, but I can’t. My firm has a lot going on. I’m afraid any holidays for me and my family won’t be until later this year.”

  “You don’t understand, you need to get your family and leave the city.”

  “Excuse me? I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” Shipman said, confused.

  A strong sense of sentiment hit Jorge; he again pleaded for Shipman to leave. “I’m paying for it, take advantage, go, leave the city. I’ll have a car service take you and your family to the coast in Wessex. I have a nice cottage over there you can use.”

  “I’d love to take you up on that, but the timing just isn’t right, Mr. Sorossi. You’re very generous but I can’t.”

  Jorge gripped the phone tight. He wanted to tell him but stopped just short of doing so.

  The phone suddenly went dead.

  Jorge turned around to find his assistant hovering over the phone’s receiver, his finger pressed down on the switch hook. “What are you doing?”

  “Saving you from making a mistake this close to the finish line, sir.”

  Jorge looked down at the handset in his hands and let out a heavy sigh. “God, you’re right. I just was overcome with a wave of odd emotions for the man. He has been so nice to me over the years. I just thought…”

  “Forgive me, sir, but you weren’t thinking.”

  “You’re right, thank you, Harris. You’re another person who’s been indispensable. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “It’s been my pleasure.”

  Jorge walked back to his desk and put the phone back on the receiver. He picked up the note next to it and reread it.

  Notre Dame, Paris, tomorrow, 1015, fifth pew on left from the back. Israfil will be waiting. Look for a man wearing a red shirt.

  “Sir, shall I pour you a glass of scotch?”

  “Are my bags packed like I asked?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Contact the crew of my G-4. I want to leave for Paris first thing in the morning. Arrange a car for our arrival.”

  “Yes, sir, and will I be going too?” Harris asked, wondering if this was the trip Jorge had mentioned before.

  “Yes, from there we’ll head to George Town, Grand Cayman.”

  Harris nodded. He turned to leave but stopped. “Is this it, sir?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Your project, sir?”

  Jorge took a lighter from his top desk drawer and flicked it on. He ran the orange flame beneath the note until it caught fire. He held it in his hands until he could no longer, tossing the charred and blackened remains into the metal waste bin. He looked at Harris and replied, “Yes, the hour is almost here.”

  Chula Vista, California

  Mo opened his eyes but he couldn’t see a thing. The room was pitch black, not even a s
liver of light was coming in from anywhere.

  Frightened by his situation, he called out, “Is anyone there?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” Malik said from a far corner.

  “Where are we?” Mo asked.

  Another voice called out from the darkness, “We’re in a holding room. You’re not alone. I was just brought here maybe an hour ago. There’s five others in here with us.”

  “What’s your name?” Mo asked.

  “Saleem and yours?

  “Mo…Mohammed,” Mo replied.

  “I’m Malik,” Malik said from his corner.

  “I’m Amir,” a voice said near Malik.

  “Anyone else?” Mo asked.

  “Ssh, I’m trying to sleep,” a voice grumbled.

  “That’s my brother Rahim. He’s always an asshole. I’m Razi.”

  “That’s six. Who is number seven?”

  “I agree with Rahim. Can everyone shut up,” a voice mumbled near Mo.

  “What’s your name, friend?” Mo asked.

  “Lateef, now shut up. We have a long night ahead of us,” Lateef said.

  “Were you all with us that one night?” Mo asked.

  “The night that Mohammed got his head cut off?” Saleem asked.

  “Yes, that night,” Mo replied.

  Around the darkened room, everyone said, “Yes.”

  “Just seven of us, is that all?” Mo asked.

  “Mo, Mohammed, whatever you call yourself, shut up, I’m tired and I don’t want to hear you wetting your pants over there,” Lateef snarked.

  “I’m not wetting my pants,” Mo challenged.

  “I can hear it in your voice, you’re practically in tears. You don’t like dark rooms. I bet your mommy leaves a night light on for you,” Lateef mocked.

  “Shut up,” Mo shot back.

  “I will if you will,” Lateef said.

  “You’re an asshole,” Mo snapped.

  “And you’re a pussy. Probably a homo, we should toss you off the top of this building instead of taking you with us.” Lateef laughed.

  “Fuck you,” Mo said.

  “I bet you want to,” Lateef chided.

  Mo didn’t reply. He sat immersed in total darkness, stewing.

  Loud creaking, like the sound of metal scraping against itself, came from the far side of the room. A thump followed; then daylight spilled into the room.