by Dirk Patton
“Chief!”
“Sorry, sir. We’ve scrambled fighters and it’s already turning away.”
“Oh, my God,” Blanchard breathed, looking up at the sky as if he could see the inbound bomb.
I did too, then realization sank in. Nothing and no one that wasn’t in a rated shelter was going to survive this.
“Downstairs!” I said, grabbing Jessica’s arm and dragging her along with me.
We rushed through my quarters, down a long hallway then descended several levels below ground in a musty stairwell. At the bottom was a heavy blast door, still standing open. Waving everyone through, I went last and came face to face with Senior Chief Wilkins. The look on his face echoed what I was feeling.
“That everyone, sir?” he asked quietly.
I looked around, making sure all of my friends and family were present. There were also a handful of other officers I didn’t recognize that were probably staying in the VOQ.
“All of mine, Senior Chief,” I said.
He nodded, pressed a combination into a small keypad and the solid steel door slowly trundled closed. It seated into its frame with a resounding boom, then there were a series of loud, metallic clicks as hydraulic rams shot locking bolts into place around its perimeter. I stood staring at the inside of the door, glancing at Rachel when she took my hand.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she whispered.
Unable to speak, I settled for nodding. She squeezed my hand and we stood there, waiting for the sound of the shockwave as the last outpost of America was wiped off the map.
9
The current that had nearly carried Igor to a watery grave was slow moving, somewhat less than four miles an hour. It was several minutes before Strickland realized they were being pulled farther from land. By the time he did, they were beyond the rough surf that piled up in the shallows near the beach.
As they were pulled further out to sea, the wind changed directions and began pushing them on a course parallel to the coastline. Estimating they were more than two miles off shore, he was at a loss for what to do. He knew he could make the long, cold swim to land, but also recognized that without the buoyancy of the capsized boat, his two companions would drown within minutes. Seconds, in Irina’s case, he realized after looking at her semi-conscious face.
“What we do?” Igor shouted to be heard over the wind and waves.
“Don’t know yet,” Strickland said. “At least we’re far enough out the fucking infected can’t track us.”
He’d been watching the distant beach as they drifted. The females had quickly lost sight of them in the rough water and as they moved away from the area where they’d originally landed, the sand was empty.
Strickland glanced again at Igor and Irina. The big Russian soldier was all that was keeping her head above water. Without his strong arm wrapped tightly around her, she would have slipped beneath the surface and been lost. But drowning wasn’t the only concern.
The water temperature was in the low fifties, Strickland estimated. Cold enough to induce hypothermia, even in someone like him who was almost as at home in the sea as he was on dry land. They had to get her out of the ocean soon, or she wasn’t going to survive.
For a moment, he considered trying to move her up onto the boat’s hull but dismissed the idea immediately. It would be nearly impossible for the two of them to lift her out of the water, and that was if there wasn’t a thick coating of slimy algae to contend with. And it wouldn’t put her in any better situation. The air was at least as cold as the ocean and between her wet clothes and the wind, the loss of body heat would only be accelerated.
Resigning himself to the only option he could come up with, Strickland released his hold on the boat and swam a few yards to the narrow bow. He had no idea how much the craft weighed, nor how much structure was actually beneath the surface and being pushed on by the current, but he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
Fumbling beneath the water, he finally found the cleat mounted to the edge of the deck. The rope that had tied the boat to the dock was still attached, though shorter from when he’d cut them free. But it was still long enough for him to loop it through his belt at the small of his back. Once it was secure, he began swimming for a point on the shore that was in the general direction the wind was pushing them.
Strickland quickly settled into a steady stroke, disconnecting the pain of his cold, aching body from his mind. Every ten to fifteen minutes he would stop swimming long enough to check his progress. The first two times he looked, the shoreline seemed even farther away, but he didn’t allow that to discourage him. Then, after forty minutes of struggling against the drag of the boat, his heart leapt when they were noticeably closer.
With a smile that was more a grimace of pain, he turned to shout encouragement to Igor, a jolt of fear passing through him when he didn’t see either of his companions. Fumbling with the knot that secured him to the boat, he finally got it free and swam frantically to the back of the boat, surprised to find Irina by herself.
On the vertical stern were two heavy eyebolts. Irina was held fast to them by a pair of straps cinched tightly across her chest. Her head was well above the water which was good as she was unconscious and didn’t respond when Strickland touched her icy skin. Turning away, he spun a slow circle in the water, searching for Igor. There was no sign of him.
“Why didn’t you tie yourself on with her, you fucking...” Strickland said aloud.
He made another survey of the area, then with a heavy heart swam back to the bow and reattached the rope to his belt.
Anger, frustration and a profound sense of loss drove his arms and legs when he resumed swimming. He hadn’t liked Igor at first. Hadn’t liked anything about the mission into Siberia, but he’d had a job to do and his personal feelings hadn’t been a factor. But as they’d fought their way through the frozen forests of Russia and North Korea, he’d gained a fresh appreciation for the big Spetsnaz.
Igor’s final act cemented the fondness and respect that Strickland felt for him. He obviously knew he was at his limit and that when his strength failed, Irina would die as well. So, he’d done the only thing he could to save her. But why hadn’t he secured himself to the boat as well?
Had he used the last ounce of strength in his body to save Irina and was unable to help himself? Strickland knew that Igor would gladly sacrifice himself to ensure her survival. But why hadn’t he at least tried to hold on or find a way to tie himself to the boat?
All of these thoughts roiled through Strickland’s mind as he attacked the water. He no longer was stopping to check progress. Every second was precious time that brought Irina closer to death. She needed out of the water as fast as he could make it happen. And he wasn’t about to let Igor’s sacrifice be in vain.
He was so focused on the water directly in front of him that he looked up in surprise when a wave lifted him and the boat onto a crest. He’d reached the outer edge of the surf that was pounding a broad beach directly ahead.
Caught in a maelstrom of swirling water, a hard tug suddenly snapped him around and nearly slammed his head into the boat’s prow. The danger now was being smashed by the boat or dragged under as it was more affected by the larger waves than a swimmer in the water.
Tearing at the knot holding him to the boat, he was whipped sideways again at the end of the rope. His fingers, numb from the frigid ocean, refused to cooperate. He fumbled a hand across his body, searching for a knife but only finding an empty sheath.
Another wave roared in, crashing over his head and driving him beneath the surface, but it lifted the boat and he was brutally jerked backward where he impacted the hull. The breath was knocked out of his lungs and he had to fight against a steadily rising panic. He tore unsuccessfully at the rope before diving beneath the craft.
Following the line, he found the cleat to which it was secured. Saying a prayer that was peppered with words that certainly didn’t belong in any conversation with God, he jerked on the rope
in hopes it had only been looped and not tied. When it came free in his hands, he shot for the surface, sucking in a huge breath of air.
The beach was close. Thirty yards. He didn’t spend even an instant looking for infected. He had to reach Irina before the boat was flipped by the surf and she drowned, or it was pulled back out to sea and he was unable to catch it. Holding fast to a submerged rail, he moved hand over hand towards the stern as the sea tried its best to rip him free and send him tumbling away.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Irina. She was still out, her head slamming into the hull as each wave violently shoved the boat around. Ripping at the straps holding her in place, Strickland released them and pulled her into his arms a moment before a large wave lifted the boat high above them and sent it twirling shoreward. Flipping over, the hull skipped across another breaking wave and was sent spinning skyward before slamming onto the sand, stern first.
Ignoring how close he had come to watching Irina be crushed to death, he held tightly to her belt as he half swam, half walked through the chest deep surf. Refusing to allow himself to quit, he trudged up the beach, dragging Irina. He only stopped when they reached a steep bluff.
Dropping to his knees, he struggled to reposition Irina’s limp form so she was facing the bluff and lying on her side. Shivers racked him as he dug into the beach with leaden hands and arms. It felt to him as if an hour passed, though it was less than ten minutes before he’d created a berm of sand high enough to shield Irina from the wind whipping off the ocean.
Struggling to his feet, he slowly looked in each direction. To his right, nothing but sand stretching away as far as he could see. But to his left, something. Taking another look around to cement Irina’s location in his mind, he began slowly trudging away in search of shelter.
Five minutes of walking and he came to a sudden stop. He hadn’t checked Irina after pulling her out of the water. Had no idea if she was still alive. Numbly, he turned in the direction where he’d left her. Looked at his tracks in the sand. Tried to decide whether to go back and make sure she was still breathing or continue on in search of shelter where they could recover.
Strickland stood in the wind, unable to decide what to do. He was far into hypothermia himself and unable to recognize the effect it was having on his mental processes. After nearly a minute of staring at his tracks in the sand, he slowly sank to his knees before passing out and falling to the side.
10
Strickland slowly came out of a near catatonic sleep. He was warm and dry and wasn’t about to open his eyes and dispel the wonderful feeling. Part of him knew this was his mind’s way of coping with the end stage of hypothermia, but he shoved that thought away. He was just too damn comfortable.
He thought about Irina and Igor, a profound sadness washing through him. There was no doubt that she had to have already succumbed to exposure if he was this far along. And Igor. All he could hope was that the end had come quickly for the big Russian.
Taking a deep breath, Strickland paused and slowly exhaled before sniffing the air. A frown creased his face as he smelled a wood fire. Was this all a part of his dying brain’s hallucination? A loud pop caused his eyes to suddenly flare wide and he found himself staring at a ceiling lit by a flickering light.
Sitting up quickly, a thick layer of blankets fell to his lap as he looked at a cheery fire burning in a massive fireplace. Looking around in utter confusion, he found himself on the floor of a large, elegantly appointed room. An expensive rug covered a marble floor and through a giant window he could see the heaving surface of the ocean. The water was the color of steel, reflecting the low hanging, leaden clouds. A steady rain fell, occasionally pattering against the glass when a particularly strong gust of wind kicked up.
He didn’t move, other than to carefully survey his surroundings. It was dim inside, the fire seeming bright compared to the weak, gray light that filtered through the windows. A thick layer of dust coated every horizontal surface and an underlying mustiness lent a sense of long abandonment to the house.
Seeing and hearing nothing, he lifted the covers, only slightly surprised to find he was completely naked. Ignoring protesting muscles and joints, he gingerly got to his feet and wrapped one of the blankets around his waist. Another look around for his clothes yielded a sodden mess in the corner. He quickly dug through, looking for any of his various weapons, but other than waterlogged clothing and boots, there was nothing.
Part of him was concerned that he was in danger, but he quickly dismissed that thought as ridiculous. Whoever had plucked him off the beach and brought him here had saved his life. If they’d intended to harm him, all that would have been necessary was to leave him where he was and let the weather finish the job. But where was Irina? The thought of her still lying where he’d left her galvanized him.
“Hello?” he called, his voice harsh and raspy.
He cleared his throat and tried again, this time speaking loudly enough that the word echoed back to him in the empty house. After several seconds of not receiving a response, he picked one of three doors that led out of the room and began searching for his rescuer. If they were able to bring him, maybe they’d also found Irina and she was just in another room.
The house turned out to be far larger than he’d expected. And colder when he moved away from the roaring fireplace. Gooseflesh prickled his bare skin as he padded barefoot through what he’d already realized was a palatial estate. The floors were marble and expensive art graced the walls.
He passed through a kitchen that was larger than the entire apartment he’d rented in Virginia Beach. A formal dining room with a table that could seat thirty. He counted the chairs. And a game room with two pool tables and all variety of classic console video games.
Turning a corner, he found himself in a long hall that was nearly pitch black. At the far end, through a door, he could see a flickering light. Another fireplace. Moving silently on the cold floor, he paused a foot before the opening and listened. The crackle of a fire. Nothing else.
Easing forward, he peeked around the jamb. The first thing he saw was the fireplace. It was another giant construct, the fire burning low. Moving farther in, he spotted the largest bed he’d ever seen in his life. Easily the width of two kings and a couple of feet longer. Oddly, the first thought that went through his head was to wonder where the hell the people that owned this place found sheets to fit.
A single figure created a lump beneath the covers of the enormous bed and after scanning the rest of the room, he carefully moved through the door and cautiously approached. His heart leapt when he saw a matted tangle of blonde hair on a pillow and he threw caution to the wind and hurried forward. A gasp of relief escaped his mouth when he saw it was Irina.
Gently reaching out, he touched her exposed face, shocked and concerned at how cold her skin felt. Next, he verified she was breathing by holding his fingers close to her nose and mouth.
She was okay! But how? Who had saved them, and just as importantly, why?
A soft sound from the door caused him to whirl. A giant figure stood just outside the circle of light cast by the fire, a pile of wood in its arms. Strickland’s heart rate shot up, even though he had no reason to be worried. Yet.
“Do not wake,” Igor said softly as he stepped fully into the light.
Strickland stared at him with his mouth hanging open, watching as he added several logs to the fire. They caught immediately and he quietly put the rest of his load onto the hearth, well away from the flames.
“How?” Strickland whispered, coming forward.
“I tell,” Igor said, tilting his head toward the hall.
Strickland nodded, but was rooted to the spot. Igor gave him a smile, leaned over Irina and fussed with her covers for a moment, then gestured for him to follow.
Strickland followed Igor’s broad back down the hall and they wound up back in the room where he’d awakened.
“Okay, just what the fuck? I thought you were dead!”
> Igor smiled and shook his head.
“Soon. Wave knock me off.”
“A wave? After you tied Irina to the stern?”
Igor nodded and eased himself onto a leather sofa. For the first time, Strickland noticed how stiffly he was moving.
“Are you okay?”
“Hurt all things, but alive,” Igor said with a shrug.
“How the hell did you survive? Get to shore?”
Igor looked at him a long moment before shrugging again.
“What? You don’t know, or you don’t understand?”
“Understand. I here. Find you. Follow tracks. Find Irina. Bring both here. Two days.”
“What?” Strickland blurted. “I was out for two days?”
Igor nodded.
“Are we close to where you found us?”
“Da. Two thousand meter.” Igor pointed, indicating where Strickland and Irina had come ashore. “Find house. Empty. Bring you here. I wake some hour ago.”
“Well, fuck me,” Strickland said softly. “Thank you.”
“Thank you save Irina.”
Strickland nodded, then frowned.
“Seriously, how did you get here? You weren’t in any condition to make that swim.”
Igor turned away and stared into the fire for a long time. Strickland remained quiet. Waiting.
“I dead,” Igor finally said without looking away from the fire.
At first, Strickland thought he was joking, but the expression on his face left little doubt that he was being sincere.
“You died? In the ocean?” Strickland asked cautiously, a small shiver of concern for his friend’s sanity running up his back.
“Da.”
They sat there for several long minutes, Igor staring into the depths of the fire and Strickland staring at him.
“Okay, so you’re creeping me out a little. How can you be here if you died?”
Igor slowly swiveled his head and looked directly into Strickland’s eyes.
“Rusalka bring me on beach.”