“Look down at the street below,” the Conglomerate said.
Rachel joined him at the window, staring down three hundred feet into the metallic angles of the city. She stayed a foot or so away from the organic glass so that she wouldn’t suffer vertigo. The cerulean blue light imbued the towering walls and windows, and the erratic lightning revealed pockets of geometry previously concealed in shadows.
“There they are!” Goldberg exclaimed.
Far below, two miniature figures raced down the center of the street. One of them veered over to a wall as if trying a door, but soon resumed its sprint.
“What are they running from?” Goldberg called over his shoulder to the Conglomerate.
“What they came to find,” said the six.
A hulking silver shape emerged from the shadows behind them, four metal legs flexing fluidly as it galloped. She could almost imagine its thunderous squealing and scraping as its hooves struck the street. Kokona stifled a giggle.
Goldberg beat on the window and shouted a warning that the two men couldn’t possibly hear. But evidently they were already well aware of the fabricated beast that chased them. One of the men slipped and fell, and the other stopped a moment, trying to help, and then decided to flee alone.
The beast was on the fallen man in seconds, and although Rachel couldn’t see the blood, there was a sudden glint of wetness. The beast busied itself, slumped forward in a mimicked display of feeding, while Goldberg shouted at the top of his lungs. After a moment, the beast continued its pursuit of the other man, who had vanished around a corner.
Golderg turned and aimed his rifle at the Conglomerate, squeezing the trigger with a rigid finger.
Nothing happened.
“I thought you didn’t destroy!” Goldberg bellowed, his scarred face turning red above his beard.
“We didn’t kill them,” the Conglomerate said. “We merely didn’t prevent them from destroying themselves through their own ignorance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The chopper circled the dome in a slow, wide orbit as the sun sank and the brilliant green aurora stitched the underbelly of the heavens.
Murray did her best to remain stolid in the face of this new marvel, but the troops chattered with excitement and more than a little fear. Taking on humanoid Zaps in silver suits was one thing, but a futuristic city shielded beneath an unknown barrier offered all kinds of possibilities. And few of them were good.
“Should we go in for a closer look?” Torgeson yelled above the engine noise.
“I don’t want to risk drawing out those drone birds you told me about. This is our last Blackhawk, so we better take care of it.”
“Those birds punched enough holes in us to strain soup,” the pilot said. “But that dome looks like it could open up and swallow us without even a burp.”
“Make another sweep but keep it low. Maybe the Zaps won’t see us through all the smoke.”
“You think somebody tried to burn it down?”
“Let’s hope so,” Murray answered. “That would mean there are still some people left and they’re still fighting.”
The haze hung close to the ground, tinted blue with the light emanating from the dome. Murray was glad the streaks of lightning seemed confined to the dome’s surface—just one flick of those brilliant bolts would knock them out of the sky.
Although the smoke obscured her view of the dome, Murray could make out the dim shapes of buildings inside the dome. The only light source appeared to be a series of four narrow blue columns that gave the city its color. The light pulsed at such a rapid rate that it was almost a solid beam, but Murray suspected it was the same plasma energy that had been used against them during their attacks on Washington, D.C., and Wilkesboro.
And probably all the major cities on Earth. I can’t believe this is the only one of these domes the Zaps have built. Must be dozens, maybe hundreds.
She didn’t share such thoughts. Those were best left for the leadership of the Earth Zero Initiative and the top-secret Operation Free Bird mission. No need to depress the troops when their morale was already at an extreme low.
“Attacking it is an option,” Torgeson said, as they veered around the south side of the dome where the smoke was thinnest. “We’ve still got two Hellfires, and even though the telemetry’s shot, I can trigger them with a manual override.”
“We don’t know what will happen when a missile strikes that dome, though. Bombing didn’t work out so well in Wilkesboro.”
She wasn’t even sure a Hellfire missile would penetrate the dome, much less reach the city. Although the clear covering material was of an undetectable nature, the Zaps wouldn’t bother unless the shield provided either protection or a possible offensive weapon. She supposed it was possible the dome served merely an engineering function, giving the lightning a source of expansion and energy release which could then be captured and utilized.
Damn. Maybe I should’ve forced the engineer to come with us.
As the chopper continued its loop, one of the soldiers yelled, “Hey, look down there. Something’s on the move.”
The forest bordering Winston-Salem’s ruins bristled with activity, small figures darting here and there in a directionless swarm. The air was clear here, with the prevailing winds pushing the smoke southeast. The signs of life were in stark contrast to the heartbreaking sight of a crumbled, scorched city that once housed a quarter million people.
Murray signaled Torgeson to descend for a closer look, and the rotors groaned as the helicopter tilted forward like a massive dragonfly dropping to a flower.
“Fucking Zaps,” one of the soldiers yelled.
“Where’s the silver suits?” said another.
“They’re half naked. Look at them. Just like the early days. Tearing the hell out of everything around them.”
The chopper swooped over the rubble at low altitude, and the Zaps’ eyes sparked against the settling dusk. Some of the mutants leapt up at the Blackhawk as if trying to rip it from the sky and tear out its metal heart. There were hundreds of them, lean and savage and filthy, busy breaking what little glass and machinery remained intact.
“We’ve got an M60 seven-mil machine gun mounted on the side,” Torgeson said, jamming a toothpick into his mouth. “A couple of crates of ammo. We could give these motherfuckers a taste of American steel.”
Murray weighed the expenditure of resources and the possible danger of giving away their position to whatever inhabited the dome against the brief morale boost a strafing run would provide. She looked back at the strained, tired faces of the soldiers in the cabin, none of them over twenty-five years of age. She could only imagine the horrors they had witnessed in Wilkesboro as their comrades were slaughtered.
“Shit, yeah,” she yelled. “Time for a little payback.”
With a whoop of joy, the squadron leader unlatched the cabin door and slid it open. Air buffeted the cabin interior as the corporal straddled the mounted armament and side-loaded the gun. A belt of gleaming brass rounds trailed from the machine gun and down into a metal case.
“Save half your ammo,” Murray ordered. “We don’t know what we’ll run into later.”
One of the younger soldiers grinned at her, as innocent as a nerd at a high school sock hop. “Plenty of kickass to go around, Mrs. President.”
A soldier unlatched the cabin door on the opposite side and slid it open. While the corporal strapped herself in behind the M60 using a canvas belt, the others dangled their feet out of the chopper and aimed downward as the Blackhawk made a slow turn.
“Easy does it,” Murray said to Torgeson. “We don’t want to pitch anyone overboard.”
“This ain’t my first rodeo, ma’am.” Torgeson pursed his lips and sent the tip of the toothpick up at an angle. The chopper drifted lower and accelerated as he worked the controls.
Incredibly, the Zaps appeared to swarm toward the Blackhawk, even though it was a hundred feet above them. The M60 unleashed a staccato hail of ro
unds, empty shell casings kicking back and clattering on the cabin floor. Some of them tumbled end over end through the air, glinting in the weird blue light.
The Zaps were little more than moving silhouettes on the ground, crawling over the cracked alleys and smashed vehicles. They erupted into spastic dances as the bullets ripped through them, their corrupted bodily fluids spraying into the air in wet drops.
The other soldiers opened fire with their semi-automatics, shouting encouragement at one another and taunts at the savage enemy that had killed so many of their friends. Dozens of Zaps collapsed to the ground, a few spinning in place before falling. A couple tried to crawl away, leaving slick entrails in their wake.
Murray saw a leaning sign with reflective paint that featured a cactus and the stereotypical pastel coloring of a Mexican restaurant. Aside from the cars and utility poles, it was one of the few marks of the great human civilization, something an alien archaeologist might one day dig from rubble.
No. We’re going to rebuild. We’re going to have bacon double cheeseburgers, milkshakes, and chicken burritos. Hip hop and Fox News, basketball and Twitter, yoga pants and leaf blowers. Bankers, hairdressers, preachers, and plumbers. We’re going to be great again.
But nowhere on that list was Operation Free Bird. She was amazed at her ability to compartmentalize the two ideas and let them hold equal weight in her mind.
On the one hand, the rebirth of civilization. On the other, utter and absolute extinction.
Torgeson finished his run through the swarm of Zaps and he made a slow turn above the forest. The brush fires were still smoldering in the valley but had nearly depleted the available fuel. A creek snaked its way through the blackened ground, its torpid waters reflecting the blue light of the domed city.
As if by mutual agreement, nobody remarked on the city and its obviously advanced technology and power supply. That enemy was out of their league and would probably inflict death, but these mindless Zaps…they could eat bullets and bleed out in front of God, Earth Zero, and the human race.
“Last run,” Murray shouted, and Torgeson swept in for another salvo. The Zaps had mostly scattered, their numbers depleted, but still their wild-haired, glittery-eyed bodies ran and jumped at the chopper. The M60 spat its metal hell into their midst and the soldiers popped away more selectively this time. The mood was no longer jubilant as the sheer futility of their effort became plain.
The M60 ate the last of its ammo belt and the corporal sagged back in her safety restraint, gazing to the west where the sun laid a blood-red patina over the horizon. Murray was fixated on the miasmic haze where the electric-lime aurora met the sunset when she saw the vehicle sitting on the roof of a fractured building.
She tugged Torgeson’s sleeve and pointed to it. “Any place to land?”
“I could maybe put it down on that roof, if the wind stays this steady.”
“Close the doors,” Murray ordered the soldiers.
As they readied the door on Torgeson’s side, one of them said, “Holy shit. Look at that.”
Murray had to release her seatbelt and crawl into the cabin to see what had alarmed the soldiers. A pack of massive dogs ran among the swarm of Zaps, dragging them down and ripping at them with gleaming teeth. The dogs were far too heavy in the chest, impossibly strong and fast, and they appeared to prey for pleasure rather than food. A dog would no sooner pull down and maul one Zap before it tossed the victim aside like a broken doll and loped after the next.
“Nice to have an ally,” Murray said. But the soldiers saw only the intense raw ferocity of the mutant creatures. No Fido or Spot among this pack; it was comprised of nothing but overgrown Cujos. And anything in its midst, including humans, would be torn to red ribbons.
Murray was grateful when the chopper began its hovering descent to the roof and the bloody spree fell out of sight half a mile behind them.
The Humvee didn’t exhibit any serious damage, which meant it was a fresh arrival. The vehicle had likely come from the depot in Luray Caverns and was part of Munger’s command. Murray felt a surge of hope. Maybe more troops had survived the Wilkesboro massacre than everyone assumed.
When the helicopter gently touched down—Murray found herself greatly admiring Torgeson’s aviation skills—the squadron unloaded and spread across the rooftop in a defensive phalanx. Murray was just exiting the co-pilot’s door when a figure popped up in the Humvee’s turret.
A young soldier shouted and might’ve come close to firing until the woman raised her arms and shouted, “Don’t shoot. We’re Americans.”
Despite the ludicrous declaration, Murray experienced a rush of pleasure at the term. Five years after the end of civilization and the establishment of Earth Zero, America still existed in the minds of its people.
Still, Murray was well aware rogue bands of survivors were scattered across the land, and not all of them were on the same team. The woman in the Humvee looked about Murray’s age, wearing a stylish but battered men’s hat. Her features were shadowed by the twilight, but it was clear she didn’t have the tell-tale glowing eyes of a Zap.
“Anybody with you?” Murray asked.
“A wounded soldier and a little girl.”
“Any weapons?” asked the corporal.
“Damned right. You’d have to be crazy to be out here without weapons.”
Murray liked this woman more and more every second. “What are you doing here?”
“Standing in a Humvee with my hands up in the air. What does it look like?”
A rear door opened and a young woman in camouflage combat fatigues stepped out, her left hand sporting a bloody bundle of cloth. She saluted with her good hand. “Private Colleen Kelly reporting for duty, ma’am.”
A small girl of about five or six hopped out of the Humvee clutching a cloth doll. She moved behind the soldier and peeked out shyly at the helicopter’s idling blades.
Kelly gave a brief report on their failed Wilkesboro raid, the intelligent mutant baby that had annihilated both humans and Zaps, and their journey to the ruins of Wilkesboro and the source of the mysterious blue glow.
“So the rest of your group is headed for the dome?” Murray asked, wondering if Zap babies were intelligent enough to design such a city and facilitate its construction.
“What dome?” asked the woman in the hat, who’d introduced herself as K.C. and “owner of the Humvee.”
“You’ll find out soon enough. You’re coming with us, under the authority invested in me by Directive Seventeen, Earth Zero Initiative. And, by the way, this Humvee is ours now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“What do you think?” DeVontay asked Franklin.
The bearded old man had been silent and withdrawn since Marina’s death, barely paying attention to their surroundings as they continued through the forest. Now, sitting in a creek bank five hundred yards from the dome, Franklin seemed disinterested in the marvelous but disturbing city inside the translucent bubble. The glow radiating from the city cast them in a cerulean wash that was accented by brilliant flashes of lightning.
“I think everybody dies,” Franklin said. “Sooner or later.”
“Hey, man,” Millwood said, risking Franklin’s rage by taunting him in an obvious attempt to snap him out of his funk. “Nobody ever said life was a tea party.”
“If it was, you’d for sure be the Mad Hatter,” Franklin retorted, which drew a little grin from DeVontay.
He’s back. Which is good. Because if Rachel’s in there, it’s going to take all of us to get her out.
They’d become excited upon hearing the helicopter, but it kept far in the distance and was soon gone. Any hope for assistance was foolish, and they all agreed it was a lone chopper making a recon mission.
Small pockets of flame flickered here and there, with the last of the dry vegetation smoldering away to ash. The smoke had lifted and a scorched, pungent stench filled the valley. The fire had tried to invade the forest, but it only managed to blacken the first row
s of trees.
“Assuming there’s intelligent life in the dome, why didn’t they put out the fire?” DeVontay asked.
“Maybe they knew it wasn’t a threat,” Franklin said. “Maybe there’s a world inside and a world outside, and the outside doesn’t matter to them.”
“That would be just like a little Zap tyrant,” Millwood said. “Poison the world and then retreat into a bubble with filtered air, living the good life while everything else slowly suffocates or dies of disease.”
“Who knows?” Franklin said. “Maybe the good life’s waiting right inside for all of us. That perfect utopia where they give peace a chance and you get a tax credit for eating bacon and drinking whiskey.”
“The pipes must be at the head of this creek,” DeVontay said. “It’s the only water around here.”
“Can we really trust what that guy said?” Millwood asked.
“You were all ready to join up with him an hour ago. And now he’s sketchy?”
“I just don’t know if we should go that way,” Millwood said. “I mean, lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Franklin said.
“Yeah. Like, why don’t we just go up and knock? That dome stuff doesn’t even look solid to me. Maybe you can walk right through it.”
Franklin gave a gruff laugh. “Fine. You first. I’ll follow.”
When Millwood scrambled up the muddy bank and began walking across the burnt field, DeVontay called after him. “He’s just kidding. Don’t be a fool.”
“God, he’s really doing it,” Franklin said. “What do we do? Knock him out and drag him back here?”
“Suicide by Zap. His choice.”
“Yeah, but the Zaps will figure out he’s not alone.”
“If Rachel’s in the city, then the Zaps surely know about it. So she’s there as either a guest or a prisoner.”
Or a corpse. But DeVontay wasn’t willing to entertain that line of thinking.
Directive 17: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 4) Page 15