“Don’t move! Remain where you are!” Andrews shouted, pointing the weapon directly at the shadowy figure. As soon as he was oriented into the fighting posture, the figure ducked and leaped behind a pile of crates, moving with the speed and dexterity of a cat. The figure was small and lithe—a child or a small woman? He moved his finger from alongside his rifle’s lower receiver frame to the trigger. He had kept the weapon indexed since the safety was off, as he didn’t want to accidentally shoot anyone friendly. But now, he was ready for business.
“Andrews, give me a SITREP. Over.” There was a hint of emotion in Mulligan’s voice now.
Andrews stepped toward where the figure had stood, crouching slightly, rifle tight against his shoulder. “We’re not alone here, Sarmajor—”
As he spoke, more shapes swam through the gloom on either side of him. Andrews reacted, spinning to go to guns on the threat to his right, but something slammed into him from behind. Andrews cried out as he was flung face-first into a metal shelving unit. The durable plastic visor on his facemask cracked, and the impact was hard enough to allow some air to leak out through the seal around his face. Ignoring the possible contamination, he threw himself away from the metal obstruction and tried to spin around. At the same time, more figures piled onto him, laying him out on his chest and trapping his assault rifle beneath his body. Hands tore at him; in an instant, the mask was ripped from his face. Andrews yelled Mulligan’s name, then something struck him in the side of his head with so much force that he saw stars.
Then the world went black.
***
Mulligan had moved to the far side of the warehouse upon leaving the office, moving as quickly and furtively as he could. His situational awareness was low—all he had to go on was what the others had reported. As their numbers diminished and he failed to generate any actionable intelligence from Andrews’s reports, the big Special Forces soldier could reach only one conclusion: he was utterly fucked.
“Andrews, SITREP.”
No answer.
“Andrews, give me a click of your microphone if you can’t speak.”
His radio earpiece remained silent, not even a vague hiss of background static. Everyone was off the air, which meant he was the last man standing. The others were armed and had been taken down with silent rapidity, which likely meant that Mulligan was not only fucked, he was quite possibly severely outnumbered, as well as having the dubious honor of being the next target the opposing force was looking to service.
He kept the warehouse wall to his back. He realized he had made a tactical error by moving deeper into the structure to maneuver himself closer to the action and perhaps outflank the attackers. But he hadn’t expected the others to be taken so quickly, and practically without a fight. That could only mean overwhelming numbers and substantial coordination. To get back to the entrance—and to the SCEV—he would either have to backtrack or cut through the center of the warehouse.
Where the others had been taken.
That’s a non-starter.
He turned and slowly began to pick his way back the way he had come, taking great care to move as silently as possible. In this situation, stealth was superior to speed. The gloomy interior of the warehouse worked to his adversaries’ advantage. No doubt they knew its layout quite well, otherwise their ambushes wouldn’t have been so flawless. With that thought in mind, Mulligan switched off his flashlight. The return path was relatively free of obstructions, so he wouldn’t need the light to help him skirt around anything in his path. Even though there were areas in the warehouse where shadows grew dark and deep, he would stick to the near-twilight areas, where he stood a chance of seeing an attacker closing on him.
As he walked, he became hyper-aware of the sounds inside the warehouse. Wind whispering through the holes in the structure. Sporadic creaks as the warehouse settled. The soft scuffling of things moving somewhere in the gloom.
And those scuffling noises seemed to be drawing closer.
Outstanding.
“SCEV Five, this is Mulligan. We need immediate evac. Over.” Even though the other rig was miles away and the suit transceivers didn’t have the power to reach it through the covering structure of the warehouse, Mulligan hoped that Laird or the others would at least catch something. Even a fragmented sentence or a series of clicks might cause them to come in. Jim Laird was extremely conservative, the kind of small unit commander who could be counted on to follow orders and never do anything that too risky, but this mission was far different from anything he had been given before—would he be able to break the mold and rise to the challenge? Mulligan wasn’t counting on it, but Kelly Jordello, SCEV Five’s XO, was a real firecracker and had an intuitive grasp of tactical situations her commander lacked. Then there was Tony Choi, the Korean kid who was all goofy on the outside but who had a core of hard steel he kept tucked away where no one could see. Even though she wasn’t military, Rachel Andrews had a lot riding on this, too. After all, her husband was out here with the man who had murdered her parents, so a fragmented transmission might get her dander up …
There was no reply. Mulligan repeated his call as he kept falling back, his head on a swivel, alert and vigilant. He repeated the call, but the result was the same—unbroken silence.
A sudden sound from above made him whirl. A vaguely humanoid shape leapfrogged across the stacked crates, passing from shadow to shadow like some kind of demented gymnast. It moved with an almost simian grace, deeply unnerving Mulligan. Was it even human?
He didn’t pause to consider that he might be surrounded by monsters. He simply raised his rifle and squeezed off two rounds—crack-crack!—with a practiced ease that was still second nature to him, even though he hadn’t fired a weapon in anger in over a decade. His skills were still up to par, for he watched the figure jerk and spin as the steel-jacketed NATO rounds found their target. It howled as it tumbled off a stack of crates and crashed to the floor, where Mulligan couldn’t see it. As he moved to his right, his foot hit something—a large chunk of concrete. He glanced down at it, then quickly stepped back to his left.
He stood on the edge of a large hole in the concrete floor. Its presence puzzled him for a moment, until he saw something moving in the opening’s black depths. He was surprised to find a filthy human face peering up at him. It wasn’t just a hole. It was a tunnel.
Mulligan brought his rifle to bear, but the man in the tunnel shrieked and darted back into the darkness.
Stealth was no longer going to cut it. As the sounds of movement grew louder throughout the warehouse, drawing nearer, the big Green Beret broke into a run.
11
The sun was low in the sky, bathing the shattered city in fiery light that was beginning to turn a brilliant shade of orange. That was the thing about nuclear exchanges, Jim Laird thought as he piloted SCEV Five down a dusty avenue. They left enough contaminants in the air to refract the light in such a way that they doubled the beauty of a sunrise or sunset.
“SCEV Four, this is SCEV Five. Can you copy? Andrews, Eklund, Spencer, Mulligan, kick it back. Over,” he said into his headset as he steered the big rig down the same streets SCEV Four had taken over two hours ago. He gripped the control column in his left hand, and the instrument felt slick beneath his fingers. Laird was sweating, despite the cool air blowing over him from the vents overhead.
“We should have gone in with them,” Choi said suddenly. He sat in the right seat, dividing his attention between the instruments and the view outside.
“Yeah, no kidding. Unfortunately, Andrews is the mission commander, and he told us to stay,” Laird snapped. He regretted his tone immediately. Choi normally served with Andrews and Eklund and Spencer, so of course he would be worried about the sudden silence that had descended over the comms. When Laird had insisted they hold station for another half hour, just in case Andrews and the others were delayed for some harmless reason, Choi and Rachel Andrews had been pretty direct in voicing their displeasure. Even Kelly had questioned the
decision, though not aloud. Laird had only to look at her eyes to get that, but he had held firm. Andrews and the others were probably so absorbed in looking for the supports that they had blown past the radio check. Overreacting to that wouldn’t make things any easier.
“Sorry, Tony,” he said lamely.
“Don’t sweat it,” Choi said, and Laird had to wonder if he was joking.
Rachel entered the cockpit, and Laird had to fight not to groan. She’d been the poster child for worry and despair during the entire trip, and now circumstances had conspired to make her even more tightly wound. Laird felt the weight of her stare as she knelt between the cockpit seats.
“Anything yet, Captain?”
“Not yet, Andrews. I’ll let you know as soon as things change. Now go back and strap in. There’s a lot of broken ground ahead, and—”
“What the fuck?” Choi said suddenly.
Laird backed off on the control column, slowing the SCEV. “What is it, Choi?”
“Check this out!” Choi tapped the center display excitedly. “According to Four’s transponder, her bearing is changing. She’s moving!”
Laird glanced down at the display. Sure enough, the rig was moving. Dead slow, but it was definitely moving. Which didn’t make any sense at all.
“Could their radio be out?” Rachel asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice. “That would explain why they haven’t been able to respond, right?”
Laird shook his head with a sigh as he accelerated again. “Each rig’s got three separate radios with dedicated antennas. We can broadcast on VHF, FM, and HF. The chances of all three failing are …” He reconsidered what he was saying, and who he was saying it to. With a sigh, he glanced over at Rachel and gave her a jerky smile. It was the best he could do at the moment.
“Ah … yeah, Andrews. They could be NORDO. Maybe that’s it.”
Choi was apparently oblivious to what he was trying to do. “Whatever, sir, but the engineering uplink says she’s on standby, and the rig’s engine isn’t running. Even if they were moving on auxiliary, the entire system wouldn’t be in standby. For instance, the airlock doors haven’t been cycled, and the security code wasn’t entered—”
“Yeah, great, thanks a lot, Choi.” Laird took his eyes off the road to stare daggers at the younger man. “You’re a big help, man. Keep it up.”
“Watch out!” Rachel screamed suddenly, gripping Laird’s shoulder with enough strength to hurt. Her fingers dug into his flesh hard enough to leave bruises, but the pain barely registered in Laird’s mind as he snapped his eyes forward and looked out the viewports. What he saw made him swear, and both he and Choi stomped on the brakes at the same time. The big rig shuddered to a vibrating halt as its anti-lock brakes stuttered like a machine gun. Laird and Choi both reached out and grabbed Rachel at the same time, preventing her from flying into the instrument panel as the SCEV suddenly decelerated. From the back, Kelly Jordello let out a shout, and Laird heard something go flying to the floor of the second compartment.
Then everyone jerked backward as the vehicle came to a full stop and thrashed backward on its suspension. Rachel fell back onto her ass with a cry, her feet kicking up into the air. Laird ignored her and fumbled for the parking brake before hitting the quick-release on his harness. Beside him, Choi did the same. Both men stared out the viewports as a cloud of dust slowly rolled over the rig. Before it obscured their view through the thick glass, they saw a stumbling figure approach the rig, hands held high, as if in supplication.
It was Mulligan. He looked like he’d been through one hell of a fight. Laird grabbed the seat release and kicked the seat all the way back until it smacked into the bulkhead. He hauled himself out of the pilot’s seat as Mulligan collapsed to the ground outside, his MOPP suit ripped and torn, his respirator assembly and facemask gone.
***
Blessedly cool air whispered over Mulligan as Laird and Choi pulled him through the tight airlock and half-carried him into SCEV Five’s second compartment. They’d already removed his tattered environmental suit and tossed it into the incinerator before cycling open the inner door, leaving him dressed only in his sweat-soaked Army Combat Uniform. The two men dragged Mulligan over to the faux leather settee and eased him down onto it as Kelly Jordello moved toward him with the rig’s medical kit in hand.
“Gotta shower,” he said to her. “I’m hot—”
Kelly shook her head, and her ponytail swayed back and forth. “Not necessary right now. You haven’t been exposed for very long.” She glanced at Rachel, who stood nearby. Mulligan followed her gaze and, when he saw Rachel, he could tell by the set of her jaw that she was barely hanging on to her emotions.
“Rachel, get him some water, please,” Kelly said.
Rachel hesitated for a moment, then stepped over to the kitchenette and drew a cup of water from the sink. As Laird and Choi pulled off their suits, Kelly snapped on some rubber gloves and slipped on a surgical mask.
“Procedure,” she said to Mulligan when he looked at her.
“Lieutenant, I need to hit the shower and decon,” he said.
“You have open wounds, Sergeant Major. You’d better let me tend to those first, unless you want to scrub them out with water and bleach yourself. Are you light-headed? Nauseous? Having trouble catching your breath?”
“Well, yeah. It’s been a tough couple of hours.”
“You’re dehydrated. Rachel, the water?” Kelly pulled out a stethoscope and unbuttoned Mulligan’s soaked ACU blouse. The T-shirt beneath it was dark with sweat.
Rachel held out the cup to Mulligan. He reached for it with trembling fingers and missed it on the first try.
Kelly took the cup from Rachel and put it in Mulligan’s hand. “Drink that. We’ll get you loaded up with electrolytes in a bit.”
Mulligan brought the cup to his lips and drank down the contents. Some slid down the wrong pipe, and he coughed mightily, almost spilling the rest all over himself.
“Take it easy, Mulligan,” Laird said.
“Blow it out your ass, sir.” The sound of his voice reminded him of a metal rasp being dragged across stone. “We have a bit of a situation here.”
Laird apparently chose to overlook the insubordination. “Where are the others, Sergeant Major?”
“Captured, I think. Maybe even dead. I was cut off from the rig—”
“Captured?” Rachel said, her voice high-pitched and shrill, a perfect counterpoint to Mulligan’s dry, husky rasp. “By who?”
Mulligan took a moment to drink the remainder of his water, managing not to drown himself at the same time. He cleared his throat and looked at her directly. “By survivors of the war, ma’am. Like the judge always said—when you’re hot, you’re hot.”
Rachel stared at him for a moment as her cold dread suddenly blossomed into a hot fury. “So you just left them there? You ran out on them, you fucking bastard?”
Before Mulligan could formulate a reply, she was all over him, pounding him with her fists. Mulligan took the punishment. He didn’t have the strength to fight her off, anyway.
“You left them! The only reason you’re here is because you were supposed to watch over them, and you left them!”
“Rachel, get off him!” Kelly shouted, shoving her away just as Laird and Choi grabbed her shoulders and yanked Rachel back. Laird pinned her up against the sealed inner airlock door with one thick arm, pressing it under her chin. She fought against him, but Laird just increased the pressure.
“Keep this shit up, Andrews, and I’ll fucking choke you out!” he bellowed, right in her face. “Get a grip—now!”
Rachel’s lips pulled back from her teeth as she continued to fight, thrashing and kicking, but Laird was not a small man, and he was true to his word. Rachel began to choke when he put enough pressure on her airway that she couldn’t take a breath. She finally relented, but it took longer than Mulligan would have thought.
That girl’s got some fire in her, for sure.
When she bega
n to sag, Laird quickly released her and grabbed her under the arms so she wouldn’t fall to the deck. After she took several ragged gasps of air, Rachel raised her head. She didn’t look at Laird; instead, she glared directly at Mulligan, and the hatred he saw in her eyes was truly impressive.
“Business as usual for you, isn’t it?” she gasped.
“That’s it, Andrews. Knock it off,” Laird said. “Can you stand?” When Rachel finally nodded, Laird straightened. “All right, I’m going to let you go. Don’t go batshit again, otherwise we’ll tie you up in back. You get me?”
“Yes, Captain. I get you.”
Laird slowly withdrew. After exchanging a glance with Choi, he turned back to Mulligan. It was pretty obvious even to Mulligan in his current state that Laird’s mind was whirling. Finding survivors of the nuclear conflict has been Laird’s mission for the past decade; now that he’d nearly realized his mission, it was too much. This was something the team just couldn’t handle right now.
Still, he had to explore it.
“People?” Laird asked, finally.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. But there are a lot of those bastards, and they’re apparently none too happy to see us.” Mulligan started to laugh then, a laugh that sounded a little crazy even to him. When he saw the others staring at him as if he’d lost his marbles, he got himself under control. “I’m sorry, but it’s kind of ironic, huh? We’ve finally found life outside of Harmony. Boy, I’ll bet Benchley’s going to pop a boner over this.”
Laird shook his head, stunned by the news. Kelly resumed her work, listening to Mulligan’s heart and taking his blood pressure.
“Jesus,” Laird said after a loud sigh. “Yeah, I’d probably get a little hot and bothered over it myself, if we didn’t have other things to take care of right now.” He rubbed his face, then crossed his arms. “All right … we’re still getting Four’s transponder signal. Whoever your new friends are, they’re apparently moving the rig, but we can track it down. Hopefully, the others won’t be too far from it.”
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