by Ford, Lizzy
“I know—six hours a day,” she said before he chided her as he often did. “I don’t think I’ll get any real sleep for a long time.”
“How are things?”
“We have two weeks of food left and a commander confined to my quarters to ensure he doesn’t do anything rash.”
He chuckled.
“Is it that much of a mess out there?” she asked.
“Yeah. And we’re almost out of supplies.”
“You should have mentioned that before. Do you have your coordinates?” She withdrew a microcomputer from her pocket. “I can tell you where the nearest emerops supply is. I’ll release the locks, if you promise to take only what you need and not sell the rest, like the feds in Florida.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes.”
“What else can you do?” he asked.
“What else do you need?”
“More than you’d like to know,” he promised. “For now, food and water will be good. We’ll take what we need and nothing more. Sending coordinates.”
She reviewed the numbers that popped up on her screen.
“You’re not far,” she murmured, typing in lock and alarm release codes. “I’m sending the location of the nearest supply center.”
“If you control all these stores, why not send people out for food?” he asked.
“It’s complicated,” she responded, mind on the manic commander and his equally unreasonable decisions.
“Complicated,” he repeated. “I won’t ask. You go shooting this evening?”
“No. In the morning. My friend Elise is on the special security team. She lets me train with them, and the general is very supportive.”
“Good girl.”
“The locks will open at zero four twenty-five. The facility will rearm at four forty-nine exactly. You don’t want to be trapped inside when it does.”
“We’ll move quickly.”
Lana tucked the microcomputer away, gazing at the valley again.
“How are you?” he questioned.
“I’m well. Healthy, at least. I worry we won’t be enough to maintain government ops for much longer. This type of contingency was not one we planned for. I guess I’m scared, but I’m too tired to tell,” she answered. “I was thinking today that I wish my dog was with me, so I don’t die alone. I had hoped to be married by this point of my life.”
“Married? Even with the amendment outlawing divorce? Sounds like madness to me.”
“There was a time when the national marriage rate was fairly high,” she reminded him. “Before the East-West War. The point of being married is not to get a divorce.”
“We see how well that worked. You have to admit that seven of ten marriages ending in divorce is not a very promising statistic. It’s one of the few Wartime laws I agreed with. At least companions have the same rights as spouses without the hassle of marriage. That seems like a better deal to me.”
“Didn’t you ever hear your grandparents tell stories about how they met and got married?” she pursued.
“Yes. And how they got divorced, my grandfather four times over.”
“My grandparents had better luck,” she admitted. “They met when the classes were divided after the war. My grandfather was from the elite and my grandmother from the manual labor class. He gave up everything to be with her, and they died quite old, holding hands even in the end.”
“You’re from the manual labor class?”
“I am. I guess my grandfather was at one time a friend of Mr. Tim’s. He contacted Mr. Tim when I was four, after my mother died. I never knew my father. Mr. Tim paid for my education and training. He sponsored my entrance into government service. I’ve worked for him since.”
“I never would have guessed,” Guardian said.
“Everyone assumes I was born into this class.”
“You carry yourself like you were. Look, I’m being summoned to hunt some bad men. God willing, I die in battle sometime soon. If not, I’ll make you a promise. Keep my men with food and water, and I’ll marry you if our paths ever cross,” he said. “I don’t starve, and you don’t die alone. Sound like a good plan?”
“I don’t think either of us will live that long, but I’ll agree to your terms,” she replied with a laugh. “Be safe, and don’t be in the facility when the alarm rearms.”
“Will do. Guardian out.”
Lana’s smile remained as she crossed the helipad towards the barracks. She tried not to think of the Guardian dying. He had been with her since the world began its plummet into chaos, and she hoped he remained at the other end of the network until the world righted itself. It was not likely for the paths of a soldier and a member of the political elite to cross paths, but he was the closest thing she had ever had to a friend since leaving her home at the age of four. Mr. Tim kept her too busy to allow her time to have her own life.
Her stomach fluttered at the idea of her Guardian offering to marry her. He was brusque and candid, two traits she hadn’t yet gotten used to. She’d daydreamed of what he looked like. Even if their paths never crossed, his offer still made her feel special in a way she’d never had time to experience with another man.
The net buzzed, and she tapped her implant to open her channel.
“Lana.” General Greene’s gruff voice held a tense note.
“Yes, sir?”
“Are you in the hub?”
“No, sir. You sent me home,” she reminded him.
“Someone’s in the hub, and it’s not me or you. You seen Arnie?”
“No, sir.”
“You may want to make your way back here. I think you’re the only one who knows how to fix anything that madman breaks.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she ran. She reached the command hub to find the general pacing in front while three guards waited a short distance from him. The doorframe was red, indicating it was locked. Out of breath, she waited for the general to speak.
“You feel it?” General Greene asked. “I think he disabled the field.”
She listened for the familiar thrum of energy over her breathing. It was gone.
“It’s the least of my concerns,” the general mumbled, jabbing at the keypad. “But I am concerned about any other systems he decided to disable.”
She pulled out her microcomputer and approached the door. The security system didn’t recognize her thumbprint. She maneuvered through the complex network systems available to her remotely.
“Ready,” she breathed. “I’m disabling the power. We’ll have a few seconds to blast the door without affecting the rest of the networks.”
The general signaled the three guards over and pulled her out of the way. The guards prepared their laser weaponry and waited. The light around the doorframe went dark, and the three opened fire. The screech of metal on metal drove her to cover her ears as she moved farther away. Sparks and blue fire erupted around the door until it glowed red. With a boom and a crunch, it folded in a cloud of smoke.
The guards lowered their weapons.
“You two, drag the commander out and wait here,” General Greene snapped. “Lana, see what’s broken.”
She followed the two through the acrid smoke into the command hub. The commander was slumped over a workstation, out cold. One screen was a flash of colors and shapes. She went to the workstation monitoring the underground systems and saw with relief that the underground lair was functioning as normal. Her eyes strayed to the wall kept behind translucent, titanium-reinforced glass. Arnie knew the importance of the buttons and keypads behind that glass, but the wall looked secured. She dragged the unconscious commander to the floor and replaced him in the seat before the energy terminal, assessing the damage done.
“We’ll have to post guards with the security system inoperable,” General Greene muttered as he stepped through the hole in the door. “What do we have?”
“I don’t know what he was doing,” she replied, puzzled. “It looks like he was attempting to ar
m the remaining weapons systems in the East.”
“Madman.”
“He didn’t get far,” she said. “The specialist can fix it in the morning.”
“How are they downstairs?”
“All systems read normal. The only system error is … five sensors were tripped when the field was disengaged,” she murmured with a frown. “Two different locations. We have a possible infiltration.”
“You stay here. Lock everything. I’ll post a guard. We’re going to have to search the compound.”
Her hands flew over the keypads as she checked the networks for signs of tampering. She moved from station to station. She had a good working knowledge of the systems after her training and the two weeks up here, but she relied on the sector specialists to assess the systems for issues she didn’t know to look for. When she finished, she sat down at the station that was her specialty: communications. An alert popped up on the screen before her as well as on her micro, and she opened it.
Hidden messages detected. Lana had never seen this error message before. Authorizing the computer to open the messages, she received another message, one saying they were encoded. The dates were all from the past week, and she recognized two of the originating net codes as being from Mr. Tim and General Greene.
There was something odd about sending out messages that didn’t go through normal channels. She rubbed her face and considered ignoring her instinct, wanting to give the high-level government members the benefit of the doubt.
Her instincts, however, insisted that she check into one of the messages. Lana programmed her micro quickly to mirror the messages and set it to work decrypting the encoding. She erased the error message.
Coldness seeped into the command hub. Within the hour, guards returned with a sheet of heavy metal to brace the disabled door. Two posted guard outside while two more rigged the repaired door to open and close.
“I rotated out of the dungeon for this?”
Elise’s voice pulled Lana from her work. Lana twisted, grimacing when her neck cramped with the simple movement. Sunlight streamed in through the propped door.
“I had a feeling this week would be rough,” Elise said with a smile. She sat near the door, weapons slung across her back. “Greenie’s got us searching under every rock. Looks like you had a rough night, too.”
Elise held out a meal bar, which Lana accepted. She retrieved her microcomputer with the other hand and checked the supply store she granted the Guardian access to. True to his word, he’d removed little from the storage facility. She allowed a tired smile before returning the computer to her pocket. At least there was one good man outside the Peak, despite the constant stream of bad news about how crazy all the survivors were.
“Lana, get your anti-sleepers and meet me in the commander’s quarters,” General Greene called, poking his head into the hub. “We’ve got work to do. “
Without a word, she obeyed.
Chapter Three
BRADY APPROACHED THE FIVE soldiers in urban gray tactical suits crowded around the small box with a hole still smoking from a hit by a wayward laser bullet. The box was marked with a biohazard symbol on the outside. It was small and black, and yawned open to display a single keypad with a red serial number emblazoned along its side. The world around Brady was eerily quiet after a chaotic battle over the facility. The air was tinged with the scent of burning wood and melted metals, sulfur, and the facility’s damp mustiness.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Maybe if we—” one started, pulling off the protective second-skin glove to reach into the box.
“Don’t do that!” Brady growled, taking the box. “We don’t know what this thing is.”
He held it up to the light coming from the sole window in the massive basement. The dilapidated, abandoned facility fiercely defended by the soldiers in Western uniforms was not worth their efforts when compared to the buildings in much better shape down the road. There was no running water, no food supplies, no energy whatsoever, just a deteriorating building with a score of insurgents and a small black box.
Uneasily, he looked to the others. His team continued to clear the building and toss flares into corners as they sought out any living insurgents or incendiary devices.
“They were defending it for a reason,” another added. “That’s the worst fight we’ve had yet.”
“All for this thing,” Brady agreed. “We’ll take it with us. Fan out and see what else we can salvage from here or if there are any survivors we can talk to about these funky uniforms.”
He closed the box. Brady’s sharp gaze took in the smoldering remains of an escape ladder leading out of the basement’s opposite end. Some had escaped, though not with the treasure they sought to protect. He looked around, unnerved that such fervent men would retreat. His dark gaze returned to the box, and he reached up to the earpiece as he moved away from the others.
“Yes,” the voice at the other end of the network responded.
“Larry, we found something,” he said. “Not sure what it is.”
“Wait one, Brady,” Larry responded then bellowed at the crowd of aides-de-camp Brady knew regularly surrounded him. “Someone grab me an intel guy!”
“Brade, I think we should get outta here,” Dan said. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Me, too,” Brady said and met the gaze of his closest friend since basic training. “Let’s pull everyone out.”
Dan activated one of the buttons on his command headpiece that sent his rally orders out to the soldiers in the building.
“Brady,” Larry said. “Intel guy.”
“I’m ready,” Brady said, trotting up the stairs to the main floor. He strode towards the entrance behind several others exiting the building.
“Major, this is Lieutenant George.”
“George, I have a small black box about the size of your hand with nothing but a keypad in it. It’s marked with biohazard signs and a serial.”
“Read me the serial, and I’ll see who I can get on the net to tell me what it is.”
Brady complied and closed the connection. He placed the box in his cargo pocket and joined the two teams in the chilly predawn morning. He turned to address Dan, when the sagging building behind them exploded into flames and light. Heat rolled over him as he was flung towards the weed-infested parking lot.
He hit the ground with a grunt, one ear ringing and his face stinging from pelting, hot debris. Surprise was replaced by anger and concern as he vaulted to his feet, intent on ensuring his men were safe.
“Dan!” he shouted.
Groans and curses rose from the grassy area around the blazing facility. Heat pulsed off the building in waves, aided by a soft, cold breeze. Brady hit the rally emitter on his command headpiece. He paced as men rose from the ground and trotted to him, counting as they came. To his relief, he counted all five of his team members. Dan cursed as he trotted from an area to the side of the building.
“Medic!” Brady called.
“Here!”
“Check everyone. Every man here needs to check his gear for tears or other issues!”
“Brade, we’ve got one down,” Dan called, motioning to a soldier carried between two others.
The medic rushed forward. In the near distance, beyond the other dilapidated buildings on the abandoned street, came the sound of small arms laser fire. Flares went up to the east and south. Brady looked from the injured man to the streaks of red in the sky, which were answered by two more streaks to the north. He bristled and checked his weapons. Adrenaline and battle lust reared once again.
Ambush. He met Dan’s gaze and saw the same sense of dread on his counterpart’s face. The dark-haired man frowned at the unspoken exchange.
“Rendezvous threat camp,” Brady said. “Medic, get him ready to go!”
Dan rallied his team and broke towards the east, where the first flares had appeared. Brady turned to his team of five, which were gathered around the downed man.
�
��Sir, I stopped the bleeding with skin patches, but he’s got metal in three—” the medic started.
“Can he travel?” Brady asked.
“He’s in shock.”
Brady knelt beside the unconscious soldier. His face and neck suffered severe burns while his right side looked as though a Brillo brush had been taken to it. He saw the skin patches, fracture brace, and laser-sealed wounds—evidence of the medic’s quick work—but he also saw the unusual bulge in the wounded soldier’s side. Large pieces of shrapnel were stuck inside.
“What’s near here?” he demanded, twisting to see the team’s scout.
“Nothing for miles in working condition, except the fed buildings down the road. They have a hospital, but—”
“Hospital,” he breathed.
“It’s a feds hospital, wrapped in armor and surrounded by one of those biohazard elimination fields and landmines. There’s no going near it,” Jem replied. “They don’t take our kind there, anyway.”
“But it’s up and running?” Brady pressed.
“The only thing running for a hundred miles.”
Brady rose, hope flickering through him. He motioned for his men to stay where they were and jogged out of earshot. He tapped his personal net implant and murmured “Angel” to direct the implant in his brain to contact her.
“Angel, you there?” he asked.
“Please wait,” came the woman’s response. He did so impatiently, shifting his gear around his body. “I’m here.”
“You of all people could probably help me about now,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern entering her tired voice.
He paused, glancing at the yellow stripe of dawn nudging back the night sky. He wondered often about Angel, the woman with the soft-spoken voice and peculiar perspective of the world. She was a fed, and a powerful one if she held the keys to the government’s secret emerops facilities. Tim trusted her, but Brady was cautious, suspecting she was unwitting of Tim’s activities in the PMF.
“Do you have access to the hospitals?” he asked and braced himself for more bad news.