by Dirk Patton
Moments later the crush of infected shifted slightly and I caught sight of Dutch’s face. He was still alive, his mouth open in a scream of unimaginable horror as he was torn open and eaten alive. Blood spurted from a severed artery, painting his face in a macabre death mask. Drawing a shuddering breath, I pulled the trigger, putting a round through his forehead and ending his pain.
42
“Motherfucker!” I screamed over the edge of the roof at the thousands of infected below.
Emotion fed my exhaustion and I dropped back onto my ass after a long moment of wishing for a minigun and an endless supply of ammunition. My rage quickly turned to fatigue as I sat there with my head between my knees, panting and muttering curses. After most of a minute, a pair of boots appeared in front of me.
I took my time looking up to see who it was, meeting Chico’s eyes when I did. Drago and TJ stood on either side of him, a few feet to his rear. All three of them had looks of shock on their faces, tears flowing from Chico’s eyes. They’d been through hell with Dutch in Iraq, Afghanistan and now the United States. They were a small band of brothers that had just watched their big brother die.
“Thank you,” Chico said, extending a thick hand to help me to my feet.
I sat there for a long time, just staring dumbly ahead. Finally, the raging screams of the infected pulled me back to reality and I accepted his assistance.
“Don’t thank me,” I said, popping a fresh magazine into my rifle. “I hope any of you would do the same for me.”
Each of them nodded and with a sigh, I looked over the edge. Both generators were running, their engines sounding smooth. At least Dutch hadn’t died for nothing. The infected knew we were on the roof and were beginning to pile up against the base of the wall. The clock was ticking. Time to put the nerd to work.
I looked around, spying Edwards lying on his side against the low parapet. He was curled into the fetal position, gently rocking with his arms wrapped tightly around his body. Just fucking great. I didn’t blame him, I wanted to do the same thing, but we had a job to do.
“Lieutenant,” I shouted as I strode over to him. “On your feet. Time to earn your paycheck.”
He didn’t respond and I motioned Drago over. The big Ranger bent and grabbed Edwards’ shoulders, bodily lifting him to a standing position. I prefer to do my own manhandling, but my shoulder didn’t feel like it could take the stress. The last thing I needed was to injure it further.
“Lieutenant Edwards. Can you hear me?”
I stuck my face an inch from his and spoke loudly. His eyes were unfocused at first, finally finding mine and sharpening.
“You shot him!” He cried. “You didn’t even try to save him!”
I took a step back as if I’d been physically attacked, struggling to control my own emotions. Before I could respond, Drago spun the smaller man around. Pressing his forehead against Edwards’, he began speaking in a low, rapid voice. Too low for me to hear. Sensing the Ranger had this in hand, I stepped away and gave him space.
After a minute, Drago released him and took a couple of steps back. Edwards sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He didn’t look in my direction, but Drago caught my eye and nodded. Motioning to him, I took rear guard as we moved into a diamond formation with Edwards in the middle.
We crossed the roof to the helipad, pausing long enough for the Lieutenant to collect a large backpack. He had brought along a couple of laptops and a bird’s nest of different cables that would be used for him to connect to the servers and complete his job.
Adjacent to the helipad was a bulkhead with a heavy door. Inside would be a flight of stairs to the interior of the building. I just hoped there would be signs to guide us and we didn’t have to search the whole place for the server room. It was a huge structure, and I didn’t think we had a whole lot of time before the infected piled up enough to reach the roof. If that happened, we were stuck inside with no way out.
Drago was on point, and he stepped to the door and tried the handle. It was locked. Slinging his rifle, he pulled a four-foot pry bar out of a sheath on his back. He had brought it specifically for this purpose. We had expected to find a lot of locked doors.
Jamming the tapered end into the seam between the door and jamb, he gripped it with both hands and pushed with all of his considerable body weight. There was a moment of resistance, then the jamb deformed and the door popped open. Chico guarded Edwards, TJ and I at the ready, rifles seeking targets when it opened, but the brightly lit stairwell was empty.
Drago sheathed the iron bar and raised his rifle, leading the way in and down. TJ followed, then Edwards, Chico and me. As I passed through I pulled the door closed, mildly surprised to hear the lock click into place. At least our backs were protected. For the moment.
The stairs descended to a small landing, turning and continuing down to end at another steel door. We stopped, spread out on the lower section of steps as Drago placed his ear against the surface of the door. There was no window and he was trying to hear any threats that might be waiting before popping it open.
After a long pause, he turned and looked at the rest of us, shaking his head. That didn’t mean the area on the other side was clear, it only meant he couldn’t hear anything. This door wasn’t locked, the handle turning smoothly and quietly in his big hand. He inched it open, peering through cautiously. TJ was in position to help slam it shut if there was an attack, hands raised and hovering inches from the middle of the door.
Apparently it was clear as a few moments later Drago pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped through, breaking to his right. TJ followed on his heels going left, Chico holding Edwards back with a firm hand on his shoulder. When two ticks sounded over the radio, Chico lifted his hand and tapped the Lieutenant twice to let him know to proceed. I followed, softly closing the door behind me.
We were in a plush hallway. This was executive country, which made sense given the proximity of the helipad. The lights were on and while I wouldn’t call them bright, they lit every inch of space and left no shadows for an infected to be lurking in. None of us had any clue of the interior layout, so I just shrugged my shoulders when Drago looked at me. His guess was as good as mine.
Searching a large building is a pain. Searching a large building that might be housing infected is a downright bitch. It’s really no different than clearing a structure the enemy has taken refuge in, but the psychological stress of worrying about a female charging out of a doorway and trying to eat you makes it seem much worse. I guess in a way it is. At least when you’re hunting another man, you know he’s scared too.
We moved down the hall, our feet silent on the deep pile carpeting. Drago shot a male wearing a security guard’s uniform, then a moment later another dressed in a five-thousand-dollar suit. Then we came to a dead end that had to be the CEO’s suite. Reversing directions, I was now on point and led the small team back past the rooftop access.
There were conference rooms. Storage rooms. Large offices belonging to Directors of this and Directors of that. Then the hall opened into a huge reception area with a tiled floor. A large, imposing desk guarded the corridor we were in, tall glass doors dominating the far side of the space.
These were exterior doors, and I paused and stopped the team when I saw the solid wall of infected pressed up against them. They hadn’t seen us, so for the moment weren’t trying to batter their way in. I looked around for a way to cross to another hall that led deeper into the building without the unwanted guests spotting us.
The glass would be thick and heavy, but I didn’t want to trust that it could withstand a concerted attack. If the infected broke through, well, in a word, we would be fucked. There were thousands, if not tens of thousands, of them in the immediate area. They would flood into the building and there would be no stopping the surge until we were all dead.
But, the problem was there was no way to transition to the other hall without strolling across thirty yards of well lit floor. And we’d be
in full view of the doors the whole time. An idea occurred to me, and if there weren’t several clocks ticking in my head at the same time I would probably have never tried it. Pulling back from the corner I waved the team into a tight knot to explain what I had in mind.
“That’s going to work?” Chico asked when I finished.
“Got no clue. If you’ve got a better idea, speak up now.”
I looked at him, watching the wheels turn behind his eyes, but he eventually shook his head. Glancing around, no one spoke up with an alternative suggestion.
“OK. Just me first. If it works, follow me one at a time and do exactly what I do.”
Everyone nodded and I stood, taking a deep breath. Turning back to face the reception area, I let my rifle hang on its sling, adjusted my posture to emulate an infected male, and shambled into sight of the doors.
I’d had the opportunity to observe a lot of males over the past few months and if I do say so myself, I did a pretty good imitation of the way one moves. I knew this wouldn’t work on other males, as they’re blind as bats and couldn’t see me. They’d know my status simply by smell, which the glass blocked. But most of the faces pressed against the glass were female.
Even though their sense of smell was enhanced, it seemed as if they still relied primarily on their vision to detect and identify potential prey. If they thought I was just another stupid male stumbling my way through the apocalypse, then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t be interested in smashing their way inside.
43
Lieutenant Hunt sat back in frustration, resisting the impulse to bang the keyboard in front of him. A few hours ago he had received the codes for the Major’s wife’s locator beacon, but hadn't been able to do anything with them. The satellites that would have normally broadcast the “wake up” signal were no longer in operation. And, even if he had enabled the tracker, the GPS satellites that would have been used to pinpoint her location were also dead.
He had been trying to find a way to utilize the NSA birds, which did have sophisticated locating capabilities, but kept coming up against a brick wall. In the system that would broadcast the coded signal, he received an error every time he issued the transmit command. For about the hundredth time he glanced over at Jessica.
She was in the secure conference room, reading a book, while she waited for the mission to restore power to the RWA System’s servers. Admiral Packard had ordered that she was not to be allowed to do anything other than complete her current assignment. There were just too many unanswered questions about her motivations.
Two Marines stood guard outside the door, making sure she didn’t go anywhere and no one came near her. He had always liked the young woman, his heart going out to her despite his anger and disappointment over her actions. But just like she was needed to complete the activation and deployment of the THOR system, he acknowledged he needed her help.
She was one of those rare people that could look at code and actually see what it did. She understood security like no one he’d ever known. There was little doubt she could activate the signal and locate the woman they were trying to find.
With a sigh, he reached out and lifted the handset off his phone. Dialing an extension, he informed the Admiral’s aide that he was on his way and needed to speak with Packard immediately. The aide, aware of the critical efforts underway in Hunt’s group, assured him he would get him in front of the Admiral as soon as possible.
Securing his station, he stood and strode across the room to the exit. As he walked, he felt Jessica’s stare, turning and meeting her eyes. She smiled at him and he couldn’t help but smile in return. He really did like her, and down deep didn’t believe she was guilty of anything other than bad judgment.
Well, that and murder. He mentally cringed as he pushed through the high security door, thinking about how she’d killed the Chief Petty Officer. Several people had rushed to pass judgment on her after the man died. Their theory was that the two of them were Russian agents and she had killed him to protect herself. Eliminate the only person who could testify against her.
But Hunt didn’t buy it. If that was the case, she never would have given him up when she first came forward. No, this had all the appearances of a young woman who had been used by a slightly older and much more cunning man.
He even understood, to a degree, why she had killed him the way she had. Her actions weren’t those of a spy. They were those of a vengeful woman seeking retribution before she was locked away.
These thoughts swirled through his head as he crossed the base. It was dark, which always surprised him when he emerged from the subterranean room he worked in. A warm trade wind was blowing, ruffling his uniform pants about his ankles as he walked. It was a beautiful night and he tried to enjoy the fresh, sea air while he had the opportunity.
Entering the building that housed the Admiral’s office, he had to show his ID to a Marine guard and wait while the man verified he was cleared to enter. Passed through the first check point, he was stopped three more times by additional Marines. The final checkpoint was at the entrance to the suite of offices occupied by Packard and his staff.
The Admiral was walking from the small galley to his office, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Noticing the Lieutenant, he called out to the Marine to let him through. Tucking his ID away, Hunt entered the large space and followed Packard when he was waved into the large office.
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” Packard lowered himself into a padded leather chair behind a desk that seemed as massive as the deck of an aircraft carrier.
“Sir, as you know I’m working on locating Major Chase’s wife. Attempting to activate the CIA locator to track her.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Packard said, noisily slurping coffee.
“Sir, I’m unable to operate the NSA satellite and issue the signal to her beacon. I need Petty Officer Simmons’ assistance.”
Hunt hadn’t been offered a seat, so he stood ramrod straight in front of the desk as he spoke. Packard took another sip from a chipped mug emblazoned with the name and number for the USS Enterprise. His last command before being promoted to Admiral.
“Relax and take a chair, Lieutenant,” Packard said after staring at the young officer for most of a minute.
“What do you think of all this?” The Admiral asked.
“Sorry, sir. All of what?”
Hunt thought he knew what was being asked, but wasn’t about to start voicing an opinion only to find out he was talking about something other than what he was being asked.
“The Petty Officer. The Russians. Was she just a dupe as she claims, or was she actively involved in passing information?”
Packard took another loud sip, watching Hunt under his bushy, grey eyebrows. The Lieutenant paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and think about what he wanted to say, feeling the weight of the Admiral’s gaze.
“Sir, if I had to place a bet, I’d say that she was duped. She came forward as soon as she realized what had happened. She didn’t have to do that, and frankly I respect the strength of character it demonstrated. Petty Officer Simmons has been under my command for four years, and I have never seen anything other than a complete devotion to duty from her.”
Packard picked his cup off the desk and swiveled his chair until he was facing the large window behind him. The view was stunning in the daytime, looking across acres of manicured, tropical landscaping and onto the blue waters of Pearl Harbor. Now, all that could be seen was the anchor lights of several ships in port for repairs.
“Have you ever heard of Chief Warrant Officer William Peele? He was an intelligence analyst.”
“Yes sir, I know the name,” Hunt replied to the back of the Admiral’s chair.
“One of the highest security clearances in the Navy. Dealt with intelligence on Chinese naval capabilities, keeping tabs on their buildup. Did some really outstanding work. Or we thought he did. Until we found out he was working for the Chinese and feeding us disinformation that was
fabricated in Beijing. He was married to a young, beautiful Chinese girl that happened to be his handler.
“This was quite a few years ago, and I was at the Pentagon at the time. Headed up the investigation into Peele and the work to identify all of the false intel that had affected how we prepared for a confrontation with China. One of the things that stands out in my mind is a conversation I had with the Commander who was Peele’s CO. Any idea what he told me?”
Packard swiveled back around to face Hunt, taking a sip before placing the coffee mug on his desk. He watched the Lieutenant, patiently waiting for a response.
“I have no idea, sir.”
“He said that he believed Peele had been duped. Used. That he had a good character and wouldn’t intentionally do anything to harm the US.”
Hunt stared back at the Admiral, thinking about what he’d just been told.
“What happened to his wife, sir?” Hunt asked.
Packard looked at him for a few moments, a smile finally appearing on his face.
“He defended her to the end. Wouldn’t tell us where she was. Wouldn’t cooperate in her capture even though we offered him incentives to do so. She got away. Back to China. A few years later she was spotted at an event in Beijing that was attended by our Ambassador and some of his staff. She was on the arm of one of their senior Admirals.”
Hunt sat perfectly straight in the chair, hoping he’d made his point with the Admiral. He had recognized Peele’s name as soon as Packard mentioned it. The Navy had kept the whole incident very quiet and the press had never gotten a whiff.
A week after graduating from the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Hunt had been assigned to a Naval Intelligence unit in Little Creek, Virginia. The same unit Peele had worked for. He’d heard the story from the inside.
“Very well,” Packard said after staring at him for an uncomfortable stretch of time. “She can help.”