Radiophobia: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 3)

by Scott Nicholson

  “Yes, sir. I hate to lose them, copy.”

  “I’d say there’s plenty more where they came from, but that’s a lie. Their sacrifice is important to all of us.”

  “‘Sacrifice’?” Franklin whispered to K.C. “What the hell?”

  Gunfire erupted outside, followed by screams. Streaks of light crisscrossed the boulevard and figures slipped out of the side streets and alleys between buildings. The light reflected off their silver suits, and Franklin realized the yellow streaks of light were from weapons wielded by the Zaps.

  “We’ve made contact,” Kleinmann said a floor above them. “Looks like we’re drawing them out as planned, copy.”

  “Zaps are so damned predictable.”

  “Looks like a few dozen, sir. I thought we’d draw more of them.”

  Franklin gritted his teeth in anger as he watched the four soldiers they’d recently passed get scorched and sliced by the Zap weapons. Apparently this was some kind of set-up designed to lure out the Zaps at the expense of a few disposable civilians.

  He thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, and then the silver birds streaked down from the sky.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Rachel had to separate herself from Kokona if any of them were to survive.

  When Kokona healed the knife wound, Rachel became even more susceptible to the mutant baby’s control. It had taken all her willpower to give the baby to Marina and resist following the others down the elevator shaft. Kokona bombarded her with psychic messages but shortly after Marina descended, the baby’s frantic commands faded to erratic white noise.

  With the building breaking apart and the charged air swelling with static like a catastrophic thunderstorm ready to erupt, Rachel had little time to make a decision. Her heart raced in rhythm with the pulsing of the plasma sink, strength sluicing through her veins. The glow of her eyes was brighter, too, illuminating even the darkest sections of the hallway.

  Her goal was to get as far away from Kokona as possible. She shucked her rifle and sprinted to the far end of the hall, shoving aside debris and clambering over the piles of detritus on the buckling floor. DeVontay would worry about her, but her decision was best for him, too. Without Rachel, Kokona wasn’t as dangerous, unless the baby was somehow able to exert control over Marina.

  When Rachel reached the stairwell, she found it collapsed just as DeVontay had said. The fifth-floor landing was a jagged, cracked platform tilted downward below her. The railing twisted and sagged, hanging loose over a thirty-foot drop. She crouched to flex her leg muscles, wiping her hands on the unstained section of her trousers.

  You can do it. This can’t be any harder than living through a knife wound to the gut.

  She uncoiled from her crouch and took three long strides, then launched herself toward the landing. Her brief flight was oddly freeing despite the risk, but the impact drove the wind from her lungs and bruised her elbows and knees. As she slammed onto the gritty surface, she lost traction and started slipping toward the yawning abyss.

  Rachel drove the toes of her boots into the crumbling concrete, anchoring one on a wiggling section of pipe that had a fire alarm connected to it. She rolled and grabbed the pipe with both hands, pulling herself up until she reached what was left of the wall. Half a flight of stairs dangled broken and tenuous to the left, leading through a massive hole in the wall that let the variegated night into the stairwell.

  She descended slowly, ready to jump and grab for another handhold if the stairs gave way, but soon she was walking out into open air like a high diver preparing to plunge into water far below. But the street was no gentle and inviting sea. It was fractured and run through with great rifts, the quakes pushing huge slabs of pavement together like tectonic plates grinding conjoined continents.

  Her view of the front of the building was obscured, but the plasma sink’s mounting intensity was evident. Bright sparks of green and red shot across the sky like silent fireworks, the brilliant light carving shadows between the broken structures. The rumble and hum were almost deafening. Something was about to give.

  Will I be safer in the building or on the street when IT happens?

  She realized underground offered the most protection. Of course Kokona’s selfish instinct was correct—the baby was a survivor. Even with her thoughts still clouded by Kokona’s influence, Rachel could now see the pattern of manipulation that had brought Kokona into her life and eventually to this city and the power source. All those years, the baby had exploited her physical helplessness and beauty to seduce the others into teaching her and caring for her.

  That knowledge and experience now put Rachel and the ones she loved at risk. And perhaps the whole human race.

  The stairwell didn’t offer much of an avenue to escape, so she tried the rough edge of the exterior wall where half of it had collapsed. By reaching from one protruding section of rebar to the next, she scrambled another ten feet and came to the corner of the building. It trembled and she hugged the crumbling concrete as small pebbles rained from above. A baseball-sized chunk bounced off her shoulder, but she kept her grip.

  Once the tremor passed, she looked down. The metallic bowl at the base of the plasma sink was tilted from its original position, so Antonelli’s attack must’ve partially succeeded. The street in front of the building was packed with Zaps, but they were heading away from her.

  The mutant crowd gathered around the plasma sink as if drawn by the energy source. Several of them crawled over the rim of the metallic bowl, incinerating themselves, parts of their bodies falling back onto the debris pile to make it even higher and allow easier access for those following.

  One managed to get most of its body inside before it evaporated almost instantly, a cloud of smoke and ash swirling to mark the immolation. Its alloy uniform collapsed like a dishrag in the wind and was quickly swept aside. Rachel had seen the earlier incarnations of the mutants throw themselves into walls of flames, as if unable to resist their destructive beauty. Rachel even felt the allure of the kaleidoscopic glimmer, but she retained enough of her humanity—mostly with thoughts of those she loved—to resist instant suicide.

  She heard someone call her name, but it was muffled and lost in the chaos before she could locate its origin. She doubted DeVontay and Marina had made their way to the street, since Kokona evidently viewed the building’s basement as a safe zone. Kokona’s survival instinct was finely tuned, and her fear inspired Rachel to scramble down even faster.

  When she was twenty feet above the sidewalk, she skidded and nearly tumbled, a fall that probably wouldn’t have killed her but might’ve broken some bones. Then again, she didn’t know how this new wave of mutation affected her—Kokona’s resurrection likely granted her endurance and abilities she had yet to discover.

  That doesn’t mean you’re indestructible. Watch those Zaps go up like they’re made of gasoline.

  The giant, ragged vee she’d descended came to a point, leaving her with no more handholds. A short portico roof jutted from a side entrance, but she’d have to leap a dozen feet to reach it. The inside of the building offered a warped network of steel beams, but with rubble steadily falling from the upper floors, she didn’t want to take the chance.

  “Rachel!”

  Clinging to the wall, she swiveled her head to see one of the Zaps break away from the horde and head toward her.

  Bright Eyes!

  Rachel was so intent on her climb and escape that she’d almost forgotten the mutant, but now she was glad to see him. The other Zaps seemed oblivious to his presence, all of them pressing forward into a swarming, teeming mob like silver-clad lemmings. The ones at the head of the mob climbed into the engulfing energy beam as if they were boarding Millwood’s imagined spaceship.

  “What’s happening out here?” she shouted.

  “The captain fired his grenades and supercharged the plasma sink. It will soon reach critical mass.”

  “I don’t think we want to be here when that happens.”
/>   He was beneath her now, looking around for a way to help her. “Please wait approximately twenty seconds.”

  “Sure. I don’t have anywhere else to be.” The humor was forced, especially since Bright Eyes took language so literally.

  He disappeared inside the door under the portico, and she watched Zaps frying themselves one after another. Their numbers were easily halved now, and she wondered how Kokona had lost control of them. Antonelli’s mission was apparently succeeding in a way he couldn’t have foreseen.

  Bright Eyes emerged carrying a canvas-wrapped fire hose with a heavy brass nozzle. At first Rachel thought he’d embarked on the ludicrous idea of dousing the plasma sink—obviously the bowl had withstood rain, mist, and frost already, so drenching it would be futile. Then he stood below her and began whipping the brass nozzle overhead like a cowboy working a lariat, playing out a few feet of hose to allow for acceleration.

  “Grab it when I throw it,” he shouted, letting go of the end and allowing the nozzle to fly through the air, dragging hose in its wake. She almost fell reaching for it, but it clanged six inches from her fingers. Bright Eyes collected the nozzle and repeated the motion, this time sending it sailing well over Rachel’s head so that it landed in the jagged vee of wreckage.

  Rachel made sure the nozzle was securely tangled in the steel beams, and then she used the hose as a rope, working one hand under the other with the soles of her feet against the building’s exterior. When she reached the sidewalk, she asked Bright Eyes how he’d become separated from the others.

  “When DeVontay entered the building, I decided I would be more useful here among the rest of us,” Bright Eyes said.

  “But you’re not like them. You’re not trying to torch yourself.”

  “I was tempted. Kokona was powerful, joining all of us together again, until Capt. Antonelli employed his explosions.”

  “Where are they now? Is Squeak with them?”

  Bright Eyes waved to the series of domes interspaced across the street and leading out of town. “In one of those. She was with them when I left.”

  “We have to find them.”

  “What about DeVontay?”

  “He’s inside with Kokona.”

  “If Squeak’s in a dome, she’s safe for now. We should find DeVontay first.”

  “Kokona’s with him. If we get near her, she’ll be able to influence us and make us do what she wants. I don’t think either of us is strong enough to resist her.”

  “You’ve transformed, I can tell,” he said. “You’re more like one of us than you were before.”

  “Long story. Let’s just say I owe Kokona a debt, and I can’t afford to pay it.”

  The stream of energy reflecting out of the bowl cut a wide swath in the sky, seeming to burn a gash in the clouds above. The multicolored sparks flared across the sky like tiny meteors, and the high-pitched keening swelled to a volume that shattered some of the building’s few remaining windows.

  “We need to take shelter,” Bright Eyes said.

  “This way,” Rachel said, instinctively retreating back to Millwood’s sewer tunnel. “We don’t have time to search the domes.”

  As they ran side by side, the wind shifted and carried with it the warm, cloying stench of burned flesh. For all the mutation from their former human selves that had transpired over the past five years, their meat was still just meat.

  Rachel reached the recessed concrete walkway that led to the tunnel’s steel door when the sky became a massive flare that signaled the death of the city.

  Bright Eyes stood at the lip of the depression, crouched to step down, when the brilliant flash of light threw him in silhouette. For just a moment, only his suit stood there, his head missing, alloyed arms and legs folding in on themselves. Then the suit collapsed, a small puff of gray soot shooting from the neckline.

  The explosion followed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When the metal birds swooped down on the militia scattered along the streets at the edge of the city, Franklin’s instinct was to lift his Winchester, but the single-shot rifle was woefully ineffective for such a job.

  But apparently Munger had a plan, even if cost the lives of a few dozen people. As much as Franklin despised organized government, he saw necessity in fighting for the future of the human race. Such a war would create casualties, and that was part of the gig of saving the world. But this slaughter wasn’t just a horrible waste of resources, it was an atrocity.

  “The bastards set them up,” Franklin whispered, although the gunshots and screams would have rendered his words inaudible to Kleinmann anyway.

  “Come on,” K.C. said. “We’ve got to help them.”

  “Got some business first.”

  He sprinted up the steps, his arthritic knee slicing him with each step, but his rage was even greater than the pain. The belfry was closed off with a narrow access door. Franklin kicked it open, his rifle leveled before him. K.C. was right behind him with her M16 at the ready.

  Sgt. Kleinmann was leaning over the parapet, watching the lopsided skirmish, still holding the radio receiver. He turned in surprise at the intrusion. “Wheeler. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Breathing, no thanks to you.”

  “You’re supposed to be with the unit.”

  “Yeah. The more, the merrier, huh?”

  Kleinmann realized Franklin wasn’t just pointing his rifle as a precaution, and he shook his head. “You got it wrong. I came up here for surveillance.”

  “Drop the bullshit,” K.C. said. “We heard you on the radio to Munger.”

  “We…every strategy has a price. We needed to lure the Zaps and get them in one confined area so we could get the jump on them.”

  Franklin entered the cramped belfry, ducking under the big brass bell that likely hadn’t rung in several hundred Sundays. A rope descended through a round hole in the floor, but Franklin hadn’t seen its end in the foyer below. It must’ve led to a hidden alcove where an acolyte could ring it without damaging his or her eardrums.

  “Where I come from, that counts as murder,” Franklin said. “That’s Stalin and Hitler territory. If we’re supposed to be waving the Stars and Stripes forever and all that red-white-and-blue bullshit, killing civilians is a big no-no.”

  Kleinmann pressed against the edge of the parapet in retreat. He glanced over the side as if debating leaping forty feet to the ground and taking his chances, then eyed his rifle leaning against the far wall. “You’re a civilian. An armchair patriot, from what I hear. You don’t know shit about real war and what it takes to win.”

  Franklin grabbed the sergeant by the back of the collar and spun him around so he could see the distant battle. Zaps poured from the side streets, their strange lasers crisscrossing the street. The militia members crouched behind vehicles, caught in the open as the lasers scorched metal and shattered glass. Smoke and screams rose in the hazy October night, with an occasional gunshot offering pathetic resistance.

  “Look at them,” Franklin growled, shoving the sergeant so that he leaned out over the parapet. Even though Kleinmann was younger and stronger, Franklin’s fury gave him an edge. With K.C. providing backup, he wasn’t worried about a counterattack.

  The metal birds dived and darted toward the ground, but even from several blocks away, Franklin could see they cut erratic patterns in the air. Something about them had changed, as if their remote controls were scrambled. Even the Zap lasers were unfocused, their blasts sputtering and sparking with the same colors as the light column rising above the city.

  “They’re fighting back,” Kleinmann said. “They’ve had some training.”

  “Get the colonel on that radio.”

  “I can’t. He’s—”

  Franklin jammed the muzzle of the Remington into one of Kleinmann’s kidneys and the man yelped in agony. “Plenty more where that came from.”

  Kleinmann checked the radio settings and pressed the clip on the mike. “Bravo Foxtrot Tango, this is K
ilo One Niner, copy.”

  The message was instantly returned via the small speaker. “Bravo Foxtrot Tango here. Got a problem, copy?”

  Franklin yanked the mike from Kleinmann and said, “Yeah, asshole, your people are out here getting slaughtered like sheep.”

  “Who is this, copy?”

  “The big bad wolf. And when I catch up with you, you’re going to be yapping about what big teeth I have.”

  “Where’s Kilo One Niner?”

  “Drop the code words and talk straight. Why did you use us as bait?”

  There was a pause punctuated by a muffled volley of gunfire. Then Munger said, “So we could meet objectives. This is war.”

  “So I keep hearing.”

  “You’ll see why soon enough. If we don’t take this city, we’re all dead anyway.”

  “See you in hell, then. Copy.”

  Franklin hurled the radio into the churchyard and it smashed on the unkempt grass. The sky was alight with an array of strange colors that pushed away the darkness. The ground shook with what felt like a distant explosion.

  “Are you bombing the city?” K.C. asked Kleinmann.

  “That’s part of the plan, yeah. And now that we’ve got the Zaps bottled up and occupied here, you’ll understand why we had to do it.”

  The thropping of the blades arrived before the Blackhawk helicopter came into view, rising suddenly from a shopping center to the west. It kept low and swooped down the boulevard, machine guns blazing on each side, their tracers piercing the air.

  The metal birds spun in confusion, attempting to amass in formation, but the high-caliber bullets ripped through them. They fell from the sky one by one, some of them gliding with their flat wings skewed to one side. A couple of birds broke away and veered toward the helicopter, one even managing to smash against the cabin and punch a fist-sized hole in the fuselage.

  Franklin was so enrapt by the air battle that he didn’t notice Kleinmann now had his pistol halfway out of its hip holster. K.C. noticed, though, and ordered him to drop it.