How much power has been wasted in the last few weeks? All the homes have their lights on but the owners are all…dead…
He moved into the kitchen and ran warm water in the sink. A quick search of the nearest drawers found a few clean washcloths. He soaked one in the warm water from the tap and wiped his face clean. As he moved into the living room, he reached out to kill the lights in the kitchen out of habit when another thought struck him.
If the lights were on, he couldn't turn them off—it might look suspicious to anyone outside. Chad lowered his hand from the light switch and made his way to a window in the front room, being careful to stand to one side. He peered down the street. Only one house sat completely dark. That house looked suspicious compared to the other and would be the first target if the soldiers showed up.
He stepped back from the window and put his back against the wall, his knees suddenly weak. "Shit. They can see me in here." He looked around, trying to familiarize himself with the layout of the first floor of his new residence. He needed to hide.
The ground floor had lots of windows—worse still, many had no curtains or blinds. He was almost as exposed inside as he was outside.
Thup-thup-thup-thup…
He saw a laundry room on the other side of the kitchen, but though it had no windows, it also had no other way out. The front rooms on either side of the front door were way too exposed. Chad moaned and looked at the stairs, his only option unless he wanted to hang out in the garage all night. He couldn't see any lights in the hallway at the top.
Dark as a tomb.
He swallowed, moved up the first couple of steps, then stopped. "Hello?"
He didn't smell anything too bad until halfway up the curved, majestic staircase. Chad paused and closed his eyes against another olfactory onslaught.
Come on, remember the pit—you can do this.
Chad forced himself to breathe through his mouth and continued up the darkened stairs. He half-expected to see zombies waiting for him at the top when he turned on Jess' flashlight, but all he saw was a framed picture on the far wall of a middle-aged couple with two teen-aged boys.
The layout of the upper floor was almost the same as Jess' house; a long hallway went left to a pair of closed doors. He assumed the master suite lay on the other side of the double doors to his right. Halfway down the hallway, an open door led to a bathroom—he saw a tub illuminated by weak light through a window. Opposite the bathroom was a linen closet with its pocket door wide open. Sheets and towels had been scattered across the floor, covered in filth and dried gore. Chad looked down at the footprints leading to and from the bathroom and both ends of the hall. A dark smear on the wall outside the bathroom trailed back toward the stairs.
The smell was definitely worse toward the master bedroom. He knew what he'd find in there so he turned the opposite way and stepped carefully on the crusty carpet. Clenching his teeth as he passed the bathroom, he couldn't help but shine the light in for a closer look. The room was deserted, but had been abused much like the hallway. His stomach clenched and turned away from the evidence of a family fighting inescapable death. Chad barely made it to the far end of the hallway before the first helicopter flew overhead.
The walls shook as the aircraft passed, the whine of its engines competing with the thunder in Chad's chest. He opened the door on the left into a darkened bedroom and shined his light around the room. Mercifully, it looked clean and unoccupied. The sharp creases in the corners of the twin bed screamed military precision. Someone had taken care to make that bed look presentable. A stack of books graced the nightstand and he found a basket of folded clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed.
It’s like someone went away to college or something and they left the room ready for a visit…
Realizing anyone outside would see his light sweeping around in the darkened room, Chad froze. He snapped the light off and cursed as he stepped in and shut the door, which simultaneously blocked much of the smell and ambient light from the hallway.
The curtains in the room had been drawn back and tied with little decorative ropes, letting in the orange glow from Fort Worth. Blinking lights from the helicopter flashed across movie posters and swimsuit models tacked up on the walls.
Drawn to the window by the incredible noise from the helicopter, Chad held his breath as he peered around the corner. Despite his fear, he had to admit the house afforded a great view of the neighborhood.
"There was an entrance off Pool Road," Chad muttered as he traced the road around the neighborhood. He spotted lights blazing up into the sky from the other side of a tree line at the far end of the neighborhood. It reminded him of his school, all lit up for Friday night football games.
He had no idea if there was an actual school over there or not, but someone was sure making their presence known. He shook his head. If he'd continued up Pool, he might have run right into them.
The window rattled as a second helicopter swooped low over the house. The two helicopters hovered near the neighborhood entrance before one lowered to the ground. Trees blocked his view of the aircraft for a few minutes, then the engines whined again and it clawed back up into the sky, turned, and moved north.
The second held its position as it slowly rotated. Chad suddenly felt like the pilots were looking right at him. He slipped away from the window and crouched low.
I can't close the curtains—someone may notice. Shit—should've thought of that first…
As he listened to the helicopter hover in place, he shrugged out of his bags and settled in. Once everything had been lined up under the window, he set to finding his food and water. He'd have time to explore the room when the helicopter moved on.
After what felt like an hour of constant noise, he couldn't stand it any longer and peeked through the window again. The second helicopter was just lifting into the sky from the intersection. It crested the trees, pivoted to the north and moved toward the lights like the first one had. He checked his watch—it had only been on the ground for nine minutes.
Chad watched as the second helicopter dropped out of sight behind the silhouetted tree line. The noise faded, then the world fell silent again.
I wonder how many soldiers those things can hold? There could be dozens of them out there now…
Chad munched on his second pack of cheese and crackers. He glanced toward the road and stopped eating, the food suddenly gone to ash in his mouth. Two soldiers were setting up wooden saw-horses across the road while a third stood, by rifle at the ready and guarded the nascent roadblock.
"Are you kidding me?" he hissed.
Chad watched as one man pointed at the houses across Pool. Two more soldiers appeared from cover and walked across the road. He watched as they kicked in the front door of the closest house and disappeared inside. A few moments later, an upstairs window opened and a long black rifle appeared, pointing south.
He slid down the wall and sighed. He'd done everything he could think of to get away. Between the radio and misleading Jess, taking the bike and hiding in plague houses—he'd thought he actually had a shot at escape.
Chad closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. "I'm so screwed."
CHAPTER 15
Release the Hounds
LIEUTENANT DANIELS HELD HIS sat-phone with a trembling hand. He'd never been so scared in his life. If we don't find Huntley everything will collapse and they'll kill me.
Murata had signed off on his plan easily enough, but now that the damn kid was missing, everything was balanced on a razor's edge. If they couldn't find the boy, they'd be out of viable blood samples in a matter of hours. The plan would fall apart and the Council—the king—would not be pleased.
He swallowed. Despite the fear, Daniels felt a thrill of excitement course through his body, momentarily dispelling the fatigue that had plagued him for the past few hours.
Murata took my plan to the king. The king!
And it evidently had met with some enthusiasm. He smiled despite the f
ear gnawing away at his stomach. The king asked Murata to personally head up the project. According to Murata, the king had ordered one of his colleagues on the Council—a British noble from Scotland—to find someone willing to deliver the as-yet developed bioweapon to American soil.
"You will work with Boatner to find a cure—officially. But that is predicated upon you securing access to the boy. When you have enough blood for a cure, we will take control of him. You will coordinate the transfer," Murata had commanded.
Kidnapping a 16-year-old wasn't exactly in Daniels' overall career plan, but damn it, the boy shouldn't have run off. His blood was priceless right now and soon enough the entire world would be hunting him.
It was up to Daniels to find a cure for the Pandemic first. Then the Council would find a weapon and the king could retake his throne. Such a dramatic shift in the balance of power would change the world—everything hinged on finding Huntley.
Daniels stared at the darkening sky. A boy. They let a God damn boy escape.
He sighed and made another call on the sat-phone. It was answered after the first ring.
"Meigs."
"Are you ready?"
"Always. What's the op?"
"The boy. The one everyone’s after."
"Huntley?"
"Yes," replied Daniels. "I need him alive. You'll get a hefty bonus for bringing him in unharmed."
Meigs grunted. "Not a scratch. Scout's honor." The line went dead.
Daniels put his phone away and stretched his back. He'd been up almost 24 hours straight and the idea of retreating to his cot was looking pretty damn good, but he rolled his neck and sighed. He put the sat-phone back in his briefcase and reached for a fresh cup of coffee before heading over to see Boatner.
No rest for the wicked…
CHAPTER 16
Captive
CHAD CRAWLED TO THE closet on the other side of his bedroom sanctuary and pulled the folding doors shut behind him. Inside, he could turn on the flashlight and not worry about being seen from the growing roadblock. He found stacks of neatly folded clothes, two large duffel bags and an external frame backpack. He ignored the clothes hanging neatly from a couple dozen coat hangers. After the shower and running his own clothes through the wash at Jess' house, he felt almost normal.
Except for the whole end of the world thing.
Chad put the small flashlight between his teeth and opened the first of the two duffels to find a neatly folded tent. The smell of waterproofed plastic and mesh wafted up out of the bag. It made him think of camping trips with his family to the piney woods of east Texas.
He ran a hand over the slick material. Their annual trip wouldn’t happen this summer—it wouldn’t happen ever again.
Chad sniffed and re-closed the bag, reaching for the second one. After listening to another helicopter fly overhead, he opened that bag and found a treasure trove of camping gear including a collapsible shovel, a small pair of binoculars and a date-expired first aid kit. The other items in the second bag—tent stakes, mosquito netting, and ground tarps—he left in place.
Extinguishing the light, he gathered his loot and dragged it back across the floor to his own bags. He stuffed the shovel and first aid kit in Jess’ satchel along with her journal. The binoculars, however, he couldn’t resist trying out right away.
Chad crept up to the window and raised his head just enough to peer at the roadblock on the other side of the neighborhood. What he saw made his heart sink.
Across both sides of Pool Road, soldiers—equipped with rifles and a truck twice as big as a Humvee—stood guard behind orange and white traffic barricades apparently commandeered from the Grapevine Police Department. The soldiers were alert and looked ready to fight. He focused on their frowning faces, half-hidden by bulky combat helmets.
They’re probably pissed they have to be out there in the cold, looking for me. Chad grimaced. Great.
He shifted his gaze to the tree line and saw the corner of a tent appear under a branch. They had set up their own shelter by the side of the road. He lowered the binoculars. The soldiers weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. That threw a major monkey-wrench in his plans to escape the DFW metroplex.
Chad turned the binoculars north. Through the bare trees he saw men and trucks move back and forth across an open space.
That sure looks like a high school football field. Man, that’s messed up.
As he lowered the binoculars, movement caught his eye to the right, just down the street. He zoomed in and held his breath. Three soldiers, all in black with weapons at their shoulders, scurried across the street. The men scanned left and right, sweeping their rifles back and forth as they moved. One of them looked his way—Chad got a good look at several glowing dots where the man's face would have been.
“They have night vision,” he hissed and dropped below the window. "Shit!" His heart raced as he scrambled to pack his meager belongings. He had to find a better hiding spot. Maybe he could slip into the neighbor’s house—
A rattle from below stopped his frantic movements. He listened and heard another rattle, then a sharp crash. Boots echoed off the foyer’s wood floor.
“No, no, no,” he muttered, grabbing his bags. “This isn’t happening.”
“Hello?” a deep voice called from downstairs.
Chad froze. I am so screwed.
“I know you’re in here…I saw you in the window.”
God damn it.
“Look, we're here to rescue you—I don’t want to hurt you…okay?”
The boots thumped over to the stairs. The soldier started up slowly, one at a time. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“I’m coming upstairs, okay?”
No—not okay. Definitely not okay. Chad stared at the door to his sanctuary. Any second now the soldier would open it and drag him back to the airport to let Dr. Raythie do who knows what to him. Fear locked his limbs in place. He couldn’t move.
There's no where for me to run…
“Jesus Christ, it stinks up here,” the soldier muttered out in the hall. His radio chirped, and a garbled message echoed beyond the bedroom door. “Roger that. Wait one,” he replied.
Chad listened to the footsteps approach his room. He closed his eyes.
Go away. Just go away…
“Okay, I’m going to open this door, nice and slow," the man's voice said from the other side of the door. "My weapon will not be pointed at you, understand? I hope you’re not pointing one at me. Here goes…”
The doorknob turned slowly, followed by the click of the latch disengaging. Chad watched as the slow trainwreck of terror resolved into a tall man wearing all black.
He opened the door all the way, his free hand up to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. True to his words, the man’s rifle hung over his shoulder, pointed at the ground. He slowly reached up and flipped the night vision goggles from his face and smiled, his teeth glaring white in the dark room.
“I’m Sergeant Meigs. I’m here to help you, okay? What’s your name?”
Chad stared at the man. Something seemed off. Meigs was dressed in black, where the soldiers at the checkpoint—presumably the ones who’d found Jess—wore camo, just like the ones at the airport. The rifle on Meigs’ back also looked strange. It had the same basic shape as the weapons he’d seen with the other soldiers back at the airport, but this one looked more sleek…or maybe refined.
It was Meigs’ eyes that scared Chad the most, though. He didn’t look relieved to have found his target—he looked annoyed and very dangerous despite the reasonable tone he had used. Chad could understand if he was forced to stay out until his job was done—but there was more. He looked like a predator: his eyes never blinked and remained locked on Chad’s own.
“You got a name, son?”
“Uh…” Chad blinked. An Apollo astronaut saluting from the surface of the moon caught his attention. “Joey. I’m Joey Armstrong.”
The smile faded from Meigs' face. “Cut the bullshit, kid. It’s cold out th
ere and I’ve been looking for you all fucking day. I know you don't live here—this house is registered to Dan and Margaret Winslow. Deceased. We found your girlfriend’s bike out back—”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Chad blurted. Damn.
The smile came back. “I don’t blame you—all skin and bones.” He stepped into the room, filling the doorway. “Look, I’m here to bring you in, Mr. Huntley. So come on, grab your shit and let’s go.”
“I don’t want to go with you,” Chad said, his voice cracking. He grimaced but held his ground.
“Well, since I’m the one with the gun, I'll say tough shit. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going to that base at the airport. They won’t even tell me what—”
Meigs raised a gloved hand. “Relax, kid. I’m not taking you back there. I’m not even with the army.”
Chad stared. That explained the black outfit. He knew something wasn't right about Meigs. “You’re not?”
Meigs shook his head and moved next to the window, forcing Chad to back up. He glanced outside and gestured at the roadblock. “See those grunts over there? Those guys are the army. I’m with Oakrock Security, we're private contractors.”
“What's that?” asked Chad.
“Private contractors." Meigs sighed. "Look, I don’t know who the hell you are kid—or why you’re so important—but someone paid my employers a ton of money to track you down and bring you back alive and unharmed before the army finds you. I get a $10,000 bonus if you don’t have any scratches or bruises.” He stared at Chad. "You're not hurt or anything, are you?"
“So that’s why you’re in a rush to leave. You’re trying to kidnap me.”
Meigs laughed, watching the roadblock again. “I’d say those guys are trying to kidnap you. I’m offering to take you to a private facility controlled by my company where you’ll meet the people who paid me.” He shrugged. “That’s all I know—they don’t pay me to tell you stories. Come on, hand me that bag of yours and let's move out.”
The Source: A Wildfire Prequel Page 10