The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

  "That's stupid. You'd be throwing away a perfectly good phone-"

  "Jones, shut up. You have lost all talking privileges.”

  Travis shrugged. "The situation's FUBAR, West, but I think Alex is right."

  "I don't know."

  "I'm with Jones," Clint said, though he seemed hard-pressed to admit it. "It's pointless. You'd just be getting your hopes up. Besides, Alex, what makes you sure they'll even come. Or even know where to find it?"

  Alex looked at his surroundings. "Because of this!" he answered, smiling. He took off across the street to an abandoned truck. The decal on the side of it read Tim's Paint. Alex smashed open the back window, and pulled out a can of black spray paint.

  "West, we don't have time for this," Clint petitioned, though he received no confirmation or agreement from the man.

  Travis stood off to the side, and commented, "You're pretty good at that. Done it before?"

  "Funny story,” Alex said, spraying words on the side of the red brick library, “I actually got arrested once for tagging the side of a liquor store. The owner was this diehard Yankees fan and used to give me shit all the time. So, I finally sprayed a picture of this ginormous dick up a Yankee's ass. Hah, it was classic."

  "Why does that not surprise me?"

  A moment later, Alex's four word message was complete. He looked back for an answer. "West, come on. I know they're still alive. Please."

  "You're positive Steve will know what the message means? You're absolutely certain he'll know where to find the phone?"

  "West, you can't consider this. We can use both phones when we coordinate an attack on the truck. They'll be more reliable than our radios."

  But the Delta Force Sergeant Major made his decision. "Fine," he said, handing Alex the phone. "Get it done."

  Alex nodded, thankful. "I'll be right back."

  He ran up the concrete steps and disappeared into the library. Not long after, he came out and reunited with the others. "Hold on, before we go, there's one more thing. Oh, don't give me that look Jones, you're the one who put us in this position in the first place."

  "What is it?"

  Alex reached inside the SUV, and pulled out the long range radio from its cradle. He lifted himself on the hood and broadcast, "Hello, Nick? Steve? Is anyone there?”

  No response.

  “If you guys can hear this, get to the library. It's the tallest building in Donner, you can't miss it. There's a message written on the front. The sat phone will be inside. Call us when you get to it."

  Alex released the transmit button, and waited, hoping for a response, but only low crackling emitted from the speaker.

  “Shit, I’m not sure if they got it.”

  Travis put a hand on Alex's shoulder. "They'll get here. They'll call."

  Irritated, Clint crossed his arms. "Can we go now? We still have a truck to take care of-"

  "Shh!" West hissed, tightening up. "Stop talking."

  He pointed toward the woods across the street, and mouthed the words, "Over there."

  As quietly as possible, Alex, Travis, Clint and West readied their choice weapons and stepped forward, ready to battle. Jones on the other hand, slid behind the men and looked over their shoulders.

  Then everyone else heard what West had the first time; another rustling in the thick bushes. Only this time the noise was followed by the appearance of a pack of dogs, and not just any dogs, street dogs, rabid, rabies-infested ones.

  The scarred and scabbed eight mixed breeds fell into a line. Some sniffed out the group, others began a low growl.

  "Looks like we stumbled onto their turf," Alex said, lining up to a shoot a particularly beefy Pit Bull.

  "Alex, no! No one shoots, no one moves." West nodded to their left where a pack of four more dogs arrived stealthily.

  "Clever girls," Alex mumbled. "Wow, I totally feel like the Jurassic Park guy."

  "Everyone be calm and slowly move back to the car," West said, walking toe/heel to the driver door. “No sudden movements.”

  "Screw this!" Jones exclaimed, darting to the side door.

  "Damnit Jones! Everyone run!"

  The dogs reacted and tore off after the group.

  Jones made it to the Suburban first, followed by Clint. Seeing the bottleneck behind the Secret Serviceman, Alex rushed around to the trunk and hopped in, pulling the doors closed with him. Travis dove inside the passenger door, and West slid over the slick hood then ducked into the driver’s side.

  Everyone managed to narrowly make it inside as the dogs jumped up and snapped at them. Their foamy, slobbery mouths painted the windows and untrimmed nails clawed the paint.

  Despite not finding a way in, they continued to circle the SUV.

  "Everyone okay?" asked West.

  "Ya, I'm fine," Jones answered first, but West grabbed a handful of the man’s sweatshirt and yanked him over.

  "That was the last time, Jones! Repeatedly, you have disregarded my instructions and compromised our group. I don't care if you are our pilot, the next thing you do that negatively impacts our collective, I will have zero problem leaving your ass on the side of the road. Do you understand me?"

  The look on Jones’ face was that of pure fear. There was no verbal response, only a quivering lip and a partial head nod.

  "Good."

  West shoved Jones back, and then started the car.

  "So what's the plan?" Alex asked, climbing over the seat.

  "Nothing's changed. Gear up at Jones' storage unit, then take a flight." West looked in the rearview mirror directly at Jones. "And what I said includes what you've promised. If the supplies and jet are not there, don't expect to beg."

  Jones swallowed.

  At the risk of puncturing a tire, West revved the engine and honked the horn multiple times, scattering the dogs.

  Alex turned around and watched the town of Donner grow smaller and smaller. "Come on Steve, come on."

  Twin Lakes, Nevada

  December 2, 2009

  0711 hours

  Wilson Crowley did not sleep the entire night. He curled up in a ball next to the fire pit, but the flames had dissipated hours before and embers not long after that. Between the freezing cold and the sounds of coyotes and creatures of the dark, Wilson’s mind was ill at ease and eyes unable to close. So, when the first rays of sun appeared in the early morning, Dr. Crowley began a long walk back to the Farm.

  It took him an hour to orient himself, but after locating the Indian reservation, he followed the paved road and “Do Not Enter: Restricted Area: Authorized Personnel Only” signs.

  He traveled for what felt like an eternity, and despite the frigid morning temperatures, he was sweating through every pore on his overweight body. Finally, he arrived at the main entrance gate but couldn't believe his eyes.

  The destruction was mesmerizing. The massive building was all but leveled. Walls were blasted out, and the entire north side of the foundation was reduced to rubble.

  Then there were the dead and their awful stench; burnt and rotting flesh. Infected and Guardsmen alike, whether killed by bullets or the c-4 explosion, were all mixed together; dozens of bodies and body parts strewn out on the ground.

  "My God," Crowley mumbled. "Dr. Arnold, the staff, everyone...they're all dead."

  As he stepped over the chain link fence, he realized the assessment was incorrect. Two people were still alive. One was recognized as Mr. Butler, the Farm's Chief of Security. The other, however, Wilson was unable to discern.

  "Stay with me Demerof!" Butler yelled, grabbing the man's face. "You hear me! Stay awake!"

  Suddenly, Butler stopped talking. He heard someone moving over the collapsed fence, so he turned and drew his pistol. "Who's there?"

  Wilson threw up his hands and made a half-squeal/half-yelp noise that deterred any firing.

  "You! Get over here! Get me some first aid supplies! There's some inside the checkpoint!"

  Wilson hurried to the small office, located the supplies in o
ne of the lower cupboards and made his way back outside. "I got them!" he said raising the red box over his head. "What do you need out of it?"

  But it was too late. The Guard named Demerof had bled out.

  "Mother fuckers," Butler cursed. He rose to his feet and in an act of frustration, smacked the box from Wilson's hand.

  Dr. Crowley stared at Demerof. Everything below the man’s right kneecap was gone. There was a belt tied around his thigh, but it hadn't been enough to stop the bleeding.

  "What happened here?"

  Butler turned around and raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean what happened here?" He spat out a wad of blood and dirt, and then stalked over to Wilson. "Where were you?"

  Dr. Crowley stepped backward uneasily. He could feel a grueling interrogation coming on, but he was saved by the sound of an inbound helicopter.

  Butler recognized the LIFE insignia on the side of it and began to wave his arms and point toward the best, most unobstructed landing site. As the chopper lowered, the blades whipped up the cold desert and made it difficult to breathe and impossible to see. Upon touchdown, Butler signaled for the pilot to cut the engine, and soon after, the discomfort ended and a man stepped out of the Blackhawk's cabin.

  There was no greeting, no pleasant hello, just a question from a man who was beyond angry. "What the fuck happened here?"

  Wilson looked nervously at Butler who answered, "Dr. Stone, we were attacked last night-"

  "Obviously you were attacked," Albert interrupted rudely. "What do you take me for? A moron?"

  "Of course not, sir, I just-"

  "I can see the bullet casings," Albert said, kicking a pile away. "I can see the dead men. I can deduce that C-4 or similar explosives were used. And I can see that my FUCKING FACILITY IS NO LONGER STANDING AND OPERATING AS IT SHOULD BE!"

  Albert walked up to where the main entrance used to be. He ran both hands over his hair and screamed, "FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!"

  The word carried until his breath ran out, and the moment it did, Albert’s head twitched spastically.

  Crowley and Butler stared at Albert and watched him pull out a tin can and place a pill under his tongue. They looked at each other wondering what to do or say, but, unsure how to continue, they waited.

  Albert took a deep breath then turned around. He exhaled, then opened his snakelike eyes and marched over to the security officer.

  "What happened? And for your sake, avoid starting with 'we were attacked.'"

  Butler cleared his throat. "Around seventeen hundred hours last night a group of infected from the Reservation approached our front gate. In retrospect, I realize that was some sort of distraction used by the attackers. Whoever they were, they breached our perimeter and gained entry undetected into the facility. While we were occupied with the infected, the team planted explosives throughout the building. We didn't realize it until it was too late. I coordinated a counteroffensive and proceeded to flank them from every side. We had them pinned down, but they had snipers in the hills and somehow escaped through the southern fence line and…"

  "AND?" Albert asked as the man paused.

  "Well, as you can see, Dr. Stone, they detonated their explosives."

  Albert squinted his eyes. "I find two things very disconcerting."

  "Sir?"

  "First, is how they managed to get inside the building. If they truly 'gained entry undetected' as you said, that would mean any sort of directional charge or small explosive breach would be out of the question. LIA would have picked it up. So, they would need an access card, or someone to let them in..."

  Albert was too busy staring down Butler to notice that Dr. Crowley looked suspiciously down and away.

  "Which would lead me to conclude that, since only security operate outside, it was a Guardsman who was in cahoots with these people."

  "Sir, that's impossible-"

  "Did I tell you to speak? No, I didn't! So, do not interrupt me again," Albert snapped. "Now, more importantly, I want to know how the hell these people managed to gain control of LIA. She was overridden and all footage leading up to the incident was erased. You may speak now."

  "I-I don't know, and anyone who would have known is dead," Butler said, nodding to the facility. "Hard drives are in there, but even if they didn't get destroyed by the blast, it would take dozens of men and a few days to dig through all that and retrieve the drives."

  "Fine," Albert said. The word was cold and lacking satisfaction. "Then let me switch to a topic I'm certain you will have an answer to. Why didn't you go after them?"

  Butler was truly baffled. "Sir, are you serious? Between their shooters and the blast, I lost all my men."

  "I see," Albert said, tone free of any sympathy. "Is there anything else you forgot to mention?"

  "That's everything."

  "You didn't see which way they went, how many there were or any other details that would be useful?"

  "There were reports of a half dozen inside, and they had men scattered in the foothills; too many snipers to count. As to where they went, they escaped to the south but could have gone anywhere. Again, I lost all my men and barely survived the explosion. There was no way I could follow them."

  "Hmm," Albert said, processing the story. "Tell me again, what is your title?"

  Butler stiffened up. He found the tiny smile forming on Albert's lips unsettling. "I am the Farm’s chief officer in charge of security."

  Albert completed a three-hundred and sixty degree spin. "And, chief officer in charge of security, how would you rate your job performance?"

  The man clenched his jaw. "I know where you are going with this, sir, but it was out of my control-"

  Without any indication, Albert reached inside his jacket, pulled out a pistol and fired.

  Butler shuffled back. He grabbed his heart, took two short gasps for air, and then collapsed to the ground, dead.

  "We don't have room for people who don't know how to do their job."

  Dr. Crowley yelped. Subconsciously, he took a step backwards, but tripped over a block of concrete.

  "And you," Albert said, walking over to the frightened doctor; the gun dangled by his side.

  Wilson scrambled to his feet. "Y-yes, Dr. Stone?"

  "Is there a particular reason why you didn't die with your coworkers?"

  Unable to concentrate, Wilson fumbled for a reply.

  "I don't have time for this," Albert said, pointing the gun at Dr. Crowley's face.

  "W-w-wait!"

  "You have ten-seconds to persuade me, or the hammer on this weapon will strike the firing pin, causing the round in the chamber to explode, thus sending a .45 caliber projectile into your frontal lobe."

  Wilson looked down at Butler's body, and not desiring such a fate, he explained. "I wasn't here because...because the people responsible abducted me."

  Albert showed no visible signs of being shocked by the news. "It has been ten-seconds and I have not fired. That would be your cue to continue."

  "I know their plans. The terrorists…I know what they intend to do," Dr. Crowley began, but was interrupted by the helicopter pilot.

  "A call is coming through for you, Dr. Stone."

  "Stay here and hold that thought."

  Dr. Crowley watched Albert tap the digital screen and accept the incoming call. "What are they talking about?" he mumbled nervously. He continued to observe the conversation, but turned away when Albert pointed in his direction.

  After a lengthy discussion, Albert opened the cabin door and said, "Get over here, Chubby. What are you an animal? Close the door behind you, it's freezing."

  Wilson's shaky hand slid the door shut, and then he sat unsteadily next to Albert. The screen displayed two faces. One he had recognized seeing before in passing, while the other was the one person whom he feared most.

  "Good morning, Ms. Baron."

  He immediately regretted the pleasantry.

  Headquarters of the LIFE Corporation- Location unknown

  December 2, 2
009

  0720 hours

  “Ms. Baron,” said a holographic image of a woman dressed in reserved business attire. The origin of its voice and laser creation came from multiple electronic clusters engineered throughout LIFE’s top secret headquarters. “I detect a lowered heart rate and shallow breathing. Shall I adjust the oxygen levels?”

  “No, MIA, that won’t be necessary. I’m simply tired,” Liz responded, rising from her desk chair.

  Liz Baron's subterranean office rivaled most CEO's skyscraper offices. The glass topped desk was massive, making the fifty-inch monitor in the middle of it seem like a child’s handheld device. Toward the back of the room was a fully stocked living quarters, with a bar and kitchen in the event Liz wanted a freshly cooked meal without leaving. But the pride and joy of her structural design was the aquarium.

  Built deep into the cavern, was a gigantic aquatic tank holding an abundance and variety of exotic, marine life. Lights and pumps were constructed throughout the tank in order to resemble and account for naturally occurring sun and moon light and ocean currents. The custom-designed glass allowed for uninhibited views of the artificial ecosystem, including a stunning reef she had illegally removed from off the coast of Port Douglas, Australia.

  Elegantly dangerous and swimming with a calm veracity were Liz’s favorite of all the marine life: her collection of sharks. Amidst the eel, piranha and smaller fish were two Great Whites, a Hammerhead, Thresher, and two Bulls.

  Liz walked over and stood in front of the glass, gazing into her personal ocean. “MIA, you can initiate feeding protocol.”

  “As you wish.”

  Moments later, a screen opened up above the water. Buckets of bloody chum were dumped for smaller predators, but what Liz had anticipated the most were a pair of injured seals which slid out next.

  Fins clipped, the seals struggled to swim to the far reef, but their journey was short-lived as the sharks darted through the water and began ripping their blubber apart. Soon, the collective fins and thrashing of bodies caused the bloody water to turn a murky red.

  At one point, the female Great White latched onto the seal’s face. The shark shook so violently that its own head smashed into the glass.