Shadows of Ash (The Nameless Book 2)

by Adrian J. Smith

  There was a long pause filled with squelching. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

  “The agreement was for Takeshi. Later, you added Ando. I’m sorry, but we barely got your son out.”

  “This is a disaster. Years of research blown sky high. I hope for your sakes that the backup server has done its jo—”

  Sudden bursts of gunfire echoed over the airwaves.

  “Shit. We got incoming!” Booth warned. “Six groups of hostiles, approaching fast. Three from the north and three from west. And more of those Hounds.” Booth was peering out the window into the car park.

  Ryan pulled Takeshi behind the main bank of servers, next to the trapdoor. He pressed the talk button. “Yamada?”

  “We’re pinned down at the cell phone tower.”

  “We have incoming hostiles. Initiate back-up plan. Now!”

  Ryan didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he kept low and glanced out the corner of the window. He spotted the approaching commandos, their dark uniforms silhouetted against the dawn.

  As before, the pain started behind Ryan’s ear. To be more specific, inside his ear. It reached out like a poltergeist squeezing his brain. He gritted his teeth as a quick flash of doubt struck him. Had Sofia stuffed up the code?

  As quick as it began, the pain vanished. He looked around. Allie, Cal, and Sofia were huddled together, holding hands. Booth had his knees drawn up to his chest, a faraway look in his eyes. Takeshi stared blankly, his mouth open in shock.

  Screams and howls came from outside as the kill code took effect. The Black Skulls contorted and twisted on the ground, Heckler and Koch rifles forgotten, backs arched, convulsing. As Ryan watched, their skin first turned gray, then black. Their flesh lost density and crumbled into ash.

  The Hounds were unaffected apart from sinking to the ground, tails between their legs, letting out long howls.

  Cal laced her fingers into Ryan’s. He knew what she was thinking. Had Keiko and Hogai survived?

  Fifteen

  Portland, Oregon

  “Quick. Put these on,” Josie said. She handed Tilly and Zanzi two Hazmat suits.

  “What was all that shooting?” Zanzi asked as she struggled to do up the zip.

  “We’ve been having problems with raiders since yesterday. They like to test the defenses periodically. This group herded the Rabids as a distraction.” Josie shook her head. “Idiots. We’re heavily armed. Now Juno’s going to electrify the fence, and he’s posting double guards. So this is our only chance to get you out of here.”

  “Juno?” Zanzi said.

  “Guy in charge.”

  Zanzi made sure all her hair was tucked into the hood of the suit before resting the mask on top of her head, ready to drop into place. Then she helped Tilly. For once, the young woman remained silent. She was probably still thinking of the last vacation she went on with her family to Mexico when her parents were killed. For as long as she’d known her, Zanzi had wanted to ask Tilly how she’d ended up at The Eyrie, but she could never draw up the courage.

  How did you ask someone how they became an orphan? Was it rude?

  Shaking off her questions, she followed Josie between the trailers and tents filled with supplies, with Tilly close behind. Armed men and women rushed to the perimeter, rifles clasped.

  Josie slid back the door of a white Ford Transit van and ushered them into the back seat.

  “If anyone asks, you’re my assistants. Okay?”

  “Sure. What’s the plan?” Zanzi asked.

  “One of the patrols spotted a group of survivors that had been picked off by the Rabids. They managed to shoot a couple of the Rabids. It was early this morning, so the specimens will be fresh.”

  “How far?”

  “Across town, maybe ten miles. You can sneak away while we’re taking samples.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’d better stay put for now,” Josie said as she checked that their suits were fitted correctly. “There’s a park near the hospital. Give me two days, then meet me there at midnight.”

  “Two days from now?” Zanzi said. Already she was trying to figure out where to hide for those forty-eight hours.

  “Yes. I need time to learn more, gather some things.”

  They didn’t have to wait long before more personnel arrived. Two more scientists, both wearing glasses, and three armed men dressed in black uniforms. One of the armed men slid behind the wheel and gunned the engine. The van was waved through the gate without having to slow down. They turned left and headed into the city center. Zanzi stared out the window at the abandoned buildings. Most had doors open to the elements and piles of ash were still present. Some buildings had been looted.

  They’d only driven a couple of miles when the driver cursed and swung the wheel a fraction before something slammed into the Ford Transit sending it spinning, tires screeching. The driver strained, determined to keep the vehicle upright, but they were hit for a second time. The tires hit the curb and the van toppled onto its side before grinding to a halt. The passengers’ grunts and cries of pain were drowned out by gunfire.

  Pop… Pop… Pop.

  Looking out the broken window, Zanzi spotted several pairs of legs, leather-clad and wearing boots. She checked on Tilly; the young woman blinked but was alert. The driver and armed men returned fire as they all scrambled from the crashed van. Rounds pinged off the vehicle, adding to the noise that thumped inside Zanzi’s skull. Whoever had crashed into the van had given them an opportunity to escape in the confusion.

  Zanzi glanced at Josie, noticing the doctor was clutching her left shoulder. “Okay?”

  The doctor shook her head. “Broken something.”

  “We have to go. This is our best chance.”

  “I’m not going to make it far. Go. Good luck.”

  “You’re coming with us. You’re our ticket inside The Eyrie,” Zanzi insisted.

  “I can’t, Zanzi. ReinCorp will come looking for me. You’re better off on your own.”

  She shuffled over to Josie, ignoring the doctor’s protests. “Tilly, give me a hand.”

  Together, they managed to drag Josie free of the wreckage. The Black Skulls were exchanging periodic shots with a motorcycle gang. Five, wearing leather pants and denim jackets and leather vests covered in patches. The gang members had taken shelter behind an overturned car, occasionally popping up to fire. The commandos had overcome their shock at being blindsided and had regrouped, flashing hand signals. One commando popped up and lay down covering fire as two others sprinted in opposite directions in a flanking maneuver. The fight would be over in another few minutes. If Zanzi, Josie, and Tilly were going to go, it had to be now.

  Zanzi scanned the vicinity. The Transit had come to rest against the bank of a shallow culvert. She followed the culvert to where it emptied into a stormwater system. Up ahead was a street lined with shops. She recognized a narrow entrance to the Docklands mall. With the Black Skulls distracted, the trio ducked into the drain. The gunfire faded as they crouched low and moved away. Zanzi ignored the other shops and buildings, instead focusing on the mall. With dozens of shops, there was a better chance for them to hide until the firefight ended.

  They entered the mall through its wide sliding doors, which whisked open and closed behind them with only a slight bump. Countless piles of ash littered the floor, the seats surrounding the fountain and the still-humming escalators. Next to a hot dog stand were three frozen ash forms. Two short figures huddled together, and a taller form stretched out as if reaching for the hot dog that had fallen out of his hand to land, half eaten, a yard away. The short couple had a bag of heavy metal T-shirts. One had been pulled out and lay in a crumpled heap next to them.

  Zanzi played the scene out in her head. The couple had been showing the taller figure their purchases as they ate hot dogs. Perhaps they were all going to a concert that night. She kicked the crumpled T-shirt with her foot. Ghost was the name of the band.

  Tilly and Josie flinched as t
hroaty motorcycle engines echoed through the mall.

  “Up there,” Zanzi said.

  “They could help,” Josie said.

  “They were the ones fighting.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I saw bikers.”

  Josie shrugged and peered deeper into the mall. The roar of the engines grew, rebounding off the glass and tiles. It sounded like dozens of bikes.

  Zanzi paused on the escalator. “Josie!”

  Josie jerked her head around as three Harley Davidsons roared into the foyer and squealed to a stop next to the fountain. The riders laughed and hopped off their bikes before grasping their AR-15s.

  “Let those wankers come to us,” the tallest of the three said. A snake tattoo coiled up his arm, its head poking up above his vest collar. He turned away from the women. On the back of his jacket, the words “Outcast Mongrels” surrounded an emblem of a bulldog wearing a top hat and monocle.

  “I told you smashing their fucking vehicle wouldn’t work, Grub. They’re armed.”

  “Shut your piehole, Mutton, or I’ll shove this gun up your ass,” Grub snarled as he shoved the barrel of his carbine into Mutton’s face. “I’m president now, so do as you’re fucking told. Now spread out and find those three hot chicks I saw running away.”

  “How do you know they were chicks? All I saw was bomb suits.”

  “’Coz I saw their heads. Now fucking look for them.”

  Mutton grumbled something inaudible and ambled away, his rifle held casually by his side.

  Zanzi ducked down and hustled into the nearest shop, waving Tilly and Josie on. From the looks on their faces, they’d also heard the conversation.

  They passed rack after rack of clothing. Suits and dresses. Shelves of shoes, handbags, and wallets. Zanzi headed for the back of the store and flicked off light switches as she found them. With the power still on, it was too damn bright inside the shop. The mall hadn’t changed when everyone’s lives had stopped in one way or another. Either you were dead, a Rabid, or living in the nightmare that was now. Zanzi clung to Tilly’s hand and flicked her eyes from side to side, searching for a hiding place or, better yet, an exit. Surely these stores had back entrances, where the goods were delivered? She pushed through a door marked Staff Only. A long corridor stretched in both directions, the air here cool. Directly across the corridor was an open lunchroom. Josie was already making her way there and started to strip off the bulky Hazmat suit.

  “Lock that door. Give us some time,” she said, “I might need some help getting this off.”

  Tilly gently rolled back Josie’s suit.

  Josie groaned and stomped her foot. “Find something to cut it off.”

  Tilly found a pair of scissors in a drawer and sliced through the fabric. Once she’d cut the suit off the doctor, she laid it on the table and cut a large triangle, making a sling for Josie’s injured arm.

  Josie sighed in appreciation. “How’d you learn to do that?”

  “Girl Scouts. Mum took me.” Tilly smiled, unzipping her own suit.

  The door leading to the clothing store thumped and rattled in its frame. Grunts came from the other side. Zanzi quickly grabbed the discarded suits and shoved them in a cupboard. She kept the gas masks though, knowing how useful they could be. The trio glanced at the door as they crept past and down the corridor.

  Zanzi instinctively headed north, back the way they had come. She hoped the corridor led to a loading dock of some kind. She wanted to avoid elevators and fire escapes. Each door they went by was conveniently labeled with a store name. Most were clothing stores or gift shops, though one or two were food places selling frozen yogurt and candy. She stopped at one marked Adventure Sports.

  She tried the handle. The door swung open with silent ease.

  “Zanzi,” Josie whispered. “C’mon.”

  Zanzi pointed through the open doorway. It was too tempting not to investigate the store. It could have weapons. Guns. Knives. Food like MREs. All the supplies they needed.

  “Zanzi,” Josie whispered again, more urgently this time.

  “We need supplies. This is our best bet.”

  “The bikers?”

  Since they’d thumped on the door, there hadn’t been any further indication of the Outcast Mongrels’ whereabouts. Was it worth the risk?

  Yes. “We need weapons,” Zanzi said. “Without them, people like them will kill us.” She stepped into the store and Tilly followed. A door crashed open farther down the hallway. Josie yelped and bolted inside.

  “I see you, bitch!” one yelled.

  Zanzi recognized Grub’s voice. He whooped and sprinted down the corridor, his boots thumping on the concrete. Bullets thudded into the sheetrock, sending pieces of plaster flying.

  ***

  Lisa waited patiently outside General Munroe’s office. It reminded her of her Army days. Waiting. Waiting for orders. Waiting for food. Waiting for something to happen. Anything. When it did, it was normally zero to a hundred in an instant.

  The door opened and two sergeants left the office, hats grasped in their hands. Neither made eye contact nor acknowledged Lisa in any way.

  “Omstead,” Munroe’s voice boomed from inside.

  “Sir.”

  “Come in. Shut that door.”

  He waited until she was standing in front of his desk before sitting. Lisa cast her eyes over his décor, or lack thereof. Only one painting adorned the walls. A print of Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. Munroe’s dark timber desk was just as bare, save a framed photo of his family.

  “I’ve been on the horn to Secretary Ward. Now President Ward. Sworn in this morning.”

  “President?”

  “Exactly. He was the most senior politician left. President Jackson. Vice-President Roberts. Cohen. Hudson, all gone. They’re still completing a census but are operating on a skeleton crew. Reports are coming in from every major city. The black-uniformed soldiers you reported are sweeping through. Mass casualties confirmed. All turned to ash. FEMA camps are being set up. We don’t know which are the real deal and which are fake. It’s a shit storm out there. I have a report of heavy fighting at the camp in Portland. We’ll take care of anyone we find up here. I want you and your team down in Oregon for now.” Munroe glanced up at Lisa and slid a printed piece of paper across the desk to her. “This came in. Direct from the president.”

  Lisa spent a few moments scanning the paper. It contained a list of names. Hers was third. Ryan and Cal’s names were there too. There were fifteen in total, and she recognized them all from various agencies and private security companies. Agencies like LK3. Retired special forces who had started up firms specializing in kidnap resolution. Finding people. Tracking down smugglers and criminals hiding in countries with no extradition agreement. She smiled at the last name on the list: Brandon Taylor. Needed to locate someone and solve a problem? Brandon was your man. He was ex-LK5 and worked solo. He was all but a ghost. A wraith. No one had physically seen him in years. Her last intel placed him in South East Asia.

  “What’s this?” Lisa said.

  “The president’s main suspects. Traitors, apparently.”

  Lisa coughed and almost choked. “Traitors? All these men and women have served. Bled for this country. Done things that would make even your skin crawl. Those brown-nosers on Capitol Hill should be giving them medals, not adding them to a list. They may be a lot of things but traitors they are not. I’m on that list. When have I ever done anything but serve America?”

  “I agree with you, Omstead.”

  “What are your orders from the president?”

  “Locate and, if alive, neutralize any persons on this list.”

  Lisa gave a humorless chuckle. “Good luck finding Taylor or Connors.”

  Munroe stood up, shredded the list and sat back down. “Take your team and get out of here. Find out exactly what’s going on. It’s like we’re driving at night, blindfolded. We have a few operational satellites, with more coming online, and nothing but
conflicting reports. Avoid civilians but give me locations and numbers.”

  “Understood. Do I have any support? Drones, men?”

  “Negative. You’re on your own for now.”

  “I don’t like it, Munroe. Watch your back. Oh, and Doctor Johnson needs some medical equipment. She found something strange in the specimen but needs to test her theory further.”

  “I’ll give her everything she needs.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Lisa hurried from the office building and went straight to the armory and the quartermaster. With the general’s orders, she could take whatever she needed. Knowing their mission was recon and stealth, she opted for small and light arms. She selected a Glock 17 and an MP5, and five extra magazines for both. Next, she grabbed a dozen MREs, water, field kit, spotting scope and NVGs, and shoved them all into a tactical pack.

  After securing all the gear, she met Reid, Torres, and Clough in the forecourt. She nodded a greeting. “Munroe has issued new orders. We’re taking my vehicle south. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  “Ma’am,” was the only response.

  Sixteen

  Tomari Nuclear Power Plant

  Hokkaido, Japan

  The Nameless still had a few magazines of ammo for their handguns. Sofia handed out what little they had as they prepared for the Hounds sniffing around outside. The RHIB was tied to the end of the jetty. Close, but so far.

  The trapdoor to the cable access tunnel thumped, and muffled howls broke through in the hushed silence. Ryan turned and looked at Takeshi Yamada. He still hadn’t moved. His face still wore the same expression.

  “Takeshi?” Ryan said, giving him a nudge.

  Takeshi slumped over like a drunk falling off a barstool and collapsed to the floor.

  Booth crouched and felt his neck for a pulse. He shook his head and looked at Ryan.

  “Sorry, Connors. He’s dead.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent.”

  Sofia groaned, checked for a pulse herself and groaned again. “Damn it all the hell.” She stood, shook her head, and shoved her laptop and tablet into a rucksack. “He was our ticket home. Keiko and Hogai’s survival depended on him.”