Dead Tide Surge

by Stephen A. North

  A detached garage was further to his left. A concrete driveway stretched from the garage, passed in between him and the house, and swept around the property to the closed steel and reinforced gate in the wall about sixty feet away. A blue Trooper SUV and a yellow VW bug were parked near the gate. The trunk of the VW was open, and a few engine parts lay on the driveway nearby.

  He couldn’t see anyone, or hear anything that hinted at a human presence.

  So far, so good. Someone had been working on that car; it was a question of how long ago.

  Jacobs stood, and with only a slight limp, crossed to the screen door and tried the handle. It turned and he pulled the door open. He braced it with his back and turned the inner door’s handle. It was also unlocked.

  “Come in,” someone inside said, and he froze. The voice had a faint accent that he couldn’t place. He should have acted one way or the other—by going inside or retreating.

  “Please, compose yourself and come in,” the male voice repeated. Jacobs thought the accent might be Asian.

  He holstered his pistol and opened the door. A tall, slender, middle-aged man stood in the kitchen beyond. The man wore a long-sleeved, checkered shirt, jeans and what looked like army boots. His dark brown hair was long and swept back, and the shape of his eyes indeed hinted at an Asian background. He stood behind the table and nodded toward a chair across from him. A small handgun lay on the table, alongside a hardback book. There was also a tea service, and two cups. He had been expected.

  Jacobs crossed the floor and sat on the chair.

  “I am Sid,” the man said with great seriousness.

  Like El Cid? Jacobs thought, and nearly smiled. “I’m Sergeant Jacobs.”

  Sid picked up the small tea pitcher. Steam rose as he poured a cup. “Would you care for some tea, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Help yourself to the milk or sugar.”

  Jacobs took the proffered cup and spooned some sugar into his tea.

  “So, what can I do for you, Sergeant?”

  Jacobs thought it over, deciding honesty was best. “I’m looking for a safe haven for a bunch of kids. Your house looked promising. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  Sid lifted his cup to his lips, and with a small satisfied smile, took a swallow. He placed the cup back on the table, and said, “Few places are safe without a lot of work these days. How many children are there?”

  “Twenty or so, most of them teens. Are you willing to help?”

  “What would you do, if I said no, Sergeant?”

  Jacobs let the wall come down over his emotions. He sensed that this guy loved to play games. With the coldest look he could muster, he replied, “Well, Sid, I am a direct man…a man of action, you might say. I’ve never had much use for selfish people, and under the present circumstances, no patience with them. If your answer is no, I’d like to know why, but I can’t say that it’ll change how I react. So, what do you say?”

  The other man looked up at him, and met his eyes unflinchingly. “I don’t share what’s mine, Sergeant. People do what I say. I’m a cultured man living in a savage world. This requires me to come down hard first. I’m proactive in my lifestyle.”

  Jacobs held Sid’s gaze. “So, I have your answer then?”

  “Before you decide to do anything hasty, Sergeant Jacobs, you should know that we have your young friend…” Sid put a finger to his ear, and Jacobs realized that the man was wearing an earpiece, probably to a walkie-talkie. “Kyle? Yes, we have Kyle in custody. And to answer your question, I will consider sheltering these children, but on my terms.”

  Jacobs kept his face expressionless, and made himself sit still as Sid picked up the pistol and pointed it at him. Sid’s smile was more of a sneer.

  “Looks like I have no choice but to accept those terms, Sid. Anything else on your mind?”

  Sid raised an eyebrow, dropped the smile and said, “Enjoy your tea, Sergeant. Kyle is leading my men to your people now. They will bring them here, and we will proceed from there.”

  “We could’ve discussed this without threats,” Jacobs said.

  “Why would I do that from a position of strength? Really, Sergeant, I didn’t take you for a dullard.”

  “It’d be better for you not to make any assumption about me, Sid,” Jacobs replied.

  “Is that right? I’ll remember. In the meantime, what say you stand up very slowly?”

  “You’re sure this is how you want to play this, Sid? It isn’t too late for you to apologize and for us to start over.”

  “I have few regrets, Sergeant, and this would qualify as the least of them.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jacobs answered, and stood up slowly.

  “Turn around, Sergeant.”

  Jacobs had a bad feeling, like none he’d ever known, not even in that stinking South American jungle when their native guide led them into an ambush, or in Mexico when Booth set off a booby trap, and they both were chased for days in the mountains by American mercs hired by a drug cartel.

  “Kneel down,” Sid said, in a hoarse whisper.

  Jacobs couldn’t be sure how close the other man was behind him, but went with the only idea he had. He dropped down into a squat with his hands out and on the ground to either side, and then, thrust out behind himself with his legs. His booted right foot made contact with Sid’s knee, and then Jacobs was rolling to his feet, right hand drawing his pistol.

  A door swung closed, and Sid was gone.

  47. Foster

  One moment they were walking along side by side, and the next they were plunged into total darkness.

  “They cut the power,” Green said.

  “Guess so,” Foster answered. “What’s their angle? They think they’re going to scare me?”

  “Maybe no one turned it off, sir. The generators could just be out of gas.”

  “That leaves us with a number of choices, Lieutenant. One, we get the hell out of here. Two, we go to the generator room and see if they need gas, or whether someone just turned them off. There are other options, but I’m not sure that any of them are productive. I’m leaning toward checking the generator. Any opinion?”

  “There is a chance that we killed them all, sir. If we left without checking, we’d probably regret it more.”

  Foster wasn’t used to being scared. He didn’t like it one bit. Being blind in the depths of a bunker complex, knowing people wanted to kill you, wasn’t pleasant either. He wished he could see Green’s face as he said, “I’m going to find the generator and turn it back on. You don’t have to come. I should’ve asked you a long time ago whether you wanted to go. I’m the president of nothing now. I’m just a guy, and I’m getting old. Not much use to anyone anymore.”

  Green was quiet a moment, while probably thinking things over. The silence drew out.

  “Honestly, sir, I’m scared, and I’m not a Ranger, or Special Ops guy. My primary MOS was Supply. I got transferred over to the MPs last year, but I’m no Rambo. I think I’m going to try retracing our way back to the exit, and out of here. I don’t want to die down here in the dark.”

  Foster’s resolve was crumbling. “Where would you go?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I just don’t want to be here. If you order me to stay, though, I will.”

  “It’s harder to be brave in the dark, isn’t it? I make all these decisions that affect millions of people, and have still, for the most part, slept like a baby.”

  “I couldn’t do that, sir.”

  “No, how can you be so sure, son?

  “Just a feeling.”

  “Tell me again, how do I reach the generator room from here?”

  ‘Follow this tunnel for about two hundred yards. Keep your hand on the left wall, and when it opens out, you turn left. You’ll come to a door marked Generator Room. Go in there.”

  Foster smiled in the darkness. “Thank you, Green. Now get out of here.”

  The other man took his leave. For several minutes, Foster
heard Green fumbling around in the dark, and talking to himself occasionally, steadily getting farther away.

  He was making too much noise though.

  As if to prove that theory, someone, presumably Green, made a strangled cough, and a death rattle.

  Foster bit down the urge to call out. Green was a good companion, and he was sorry if the young man had been murdered, but what could he do? People make choices. Whispered voices hurried him down the corridor, trailing a hand along the wall. Foster was fighting to keep his composure, but was terrified, no matter how hard he tried not to be. He was all alone now.

  Up ahead, he saw the red glow of emergency lighting. It seemed hard to believe that someone hadn’t filled a gas reservoir. It had to be by design. People were still trying to kill him.

  If they had night vision, there was no hope. One could be behind him right now, toying with him as he felt his way along like a mole in…well, a hole.

  Some minutes later, he caught himself holding his breath. If he didn’t calm down, the game was going to be over. He stopped and inhaled deeply. Let out a long exhale. Didn’t worry about how much noise he was making. He’d taken up yoga in the second year of his first term, trying to find a way to manage the stress that was literally stealing away years of his life. Ideally, he’d like to find a small room and get centered, but that wasn’t possible. He took another long breath while counting slowly to six, then expelled it loudly.

  He listened.

  Absolute silence.

  He took another breath and finally felt some of the tension go. He hoped it was enough.

  He resumed walking, still trailing his hand along the wall and trying not to think about the almost certain fact that he was lost. He wasn’t familiar with the layout of this place, and Green hadn’t had a chance to brief him fully. Go straight ahead two hundred yards… What kind of bullshit was that? Was this how Bilbo—no, was it Frodo?—felt in Moria? He was glad, no matter what, that men were chasing him, not orcs, or Gollum.

  He laughed, thinking, And don’t forget the undead virus!

  He heard voices. Female voices. He slowed down, trying to follow them to their source. When he came to a tunnel crossroads, he stopped and listened closely again.

  The voices were coming from the passage to his right. He caught a fragment of echoed conversation: “…just can’t take much more, April. People trying to kill each other, even with all this other craziness going on! What for? I don’t blame the president. He doesn’t know everything.”

  Then, another female voice, “That’s right, Barb. General Kyler is doing all kinds of things, and not reporting to anyone! I’m surprised he’s been getting away with it, but maybe I shouldn’t be. I’ve been talking to Kevin over at the Comm Center, and he says everything is falling apart.”

  Foster walked toward them, once again trailing his hand along the wall, and the other hand was on his gun.

  “…understand why…mutinied…but shouldn’t we be…”

  He was close now. There was a faint, whitish glow coming from a doorway about ten feet ahead on the right. Apparently these women weren’t worried that anyone would kill them. He felt a small measure of relief that the women hadn’t quite spoken out against him.

  Just in case, he stopped a few feet from the open door. “Hello, ladies. May I join you?”

  “Who is that?” the one called Barb, asked, “Is it you, Mr. President?”

  “Yes. May I come in?”

  “You have to ask?” the other one, April, asked. “Please do, we’re all alone.”

  “I just didn’t want to startle you,” Foster replied, and stepped into the room, into the light.

  The secretary he knew as Barb, a middle-aged brunette with a good figure, sat behind a desk just inside. April, an attractive, but mousy blonde twenty-something, was sitting next to her.

  Both of them were pointing handguns at him. April waved toward an empty chair on his side of the big metal desk.

  “Have a seat, Burt,” April said. “Good to see you, again.”

  Foster tasted bile and tried to swallow it back. He sat down. “Can’t say the same, April, sorry to say. At least with you two pointing guns at me.”

  “All the same, Burt, I know some people who’ve been looking for you. So nice of you to join us.”

  Foster was pretty sure she couldn’t see his waist when he sat down. It was below the level of the desk. Both women were watching him. He noticed that Barb was staring at him with an almost hungry intensity. She winked, realizing that he’d noticed. She licked her lips.

  He barely knew either woman, but knew they’d been closely screened for loyalty. Of course, everyone around him had sworn an oath at one time or another, but now all bets were off, he supposed. He couldn’t afford to find out if they were still loyal, but he could be patient and wait for the right moment. His fingers were on the grip of his gun, but both women still had their guns pointed at him. He wished he knew whether they’d learned how to use them and what Barb’s smile meant. Was she an ally?

  “You know they’re trying to kill me, right?” he asked.

  April raised an eyebrow. “You always stated the obvious too much, Burt. Hell, I’d like to kill you. Your health care policies killed my parents. My husband lost his job. I’m sitting here, trying to convince myself that I have to keep you alive. Think twice before you speak. My tolerance for your bullshit is at an all-time low.”

  Foster glanced at Barb. Her smile looked a bit strained now.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, April,” he said, pouring compassion into the words. Some people compared his voice to James Earl Jones’. He stared into the faded blue eyes of the blonde woman and didn’t flinch away.

  April’s smile morphed into a resigned expression. “Please don’t waste your time and mine patronizing me, Burt. I’ve always wanted to believe your bullshit, but I’m blonde, not blind, or deaf. Think long and hard before you speak again. My finger is getting tired of resting on this trigger. Just one squeeze, and blam, you’re gone.”

  Foster’s hand was now wrapped around the gun. He was pretty sure that the barrel was pointed in her direction under the table. He even had his finger on the trigger, but wasn’t sure that the safety was off. He also worried that the bullet would deflect on the metal desk, and not punch through.

  “You ever kill someone, April?” he asked. “I’m betting the answer is no.”

  April looked startled a moment, but she recovered quickly and smirked. “No, Burt, I never killed anyone, but you don’t count! You are some kind of lizard, a chameleon who can be whatever he needs to be…” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to finish the thought. “You blend right into the jungle.”

  Truth was, she was pretty close to the mark.

  He glanced at Barb. Her smile was fading. It could be that she was a decent person who didn’t want to kill anyone, or see it happen. There had to be a way out of this.

  “April, while all you say is true, you must realize that I have advisors. I listened to them, and tried to make the best of bad situations. Our country went down a one-way, dark road long before I was sworn in. I’m not blameless or innocent, but I always tried to make the best choice— the choice that was the best.”

  April’s eyes were flinty, reminiscent of the rough, rocky wall behind her head. She either wasn’t buying it or wasn’t listening. Foster’s finger tightened on the pistol’s trigger. It was better to go out in a blaze fighting for his life than to die on his knees, but he decided to try one more time.

  “I’ve killed quite a few of them, you know,” he said, locking eyes with her. He saw her blink, and bite her lip.

  “Is that so?”

  “With this gun on my hip. I intend to live, ladies. Whether you believe me or not, you have to ask yourself, why would professional soldiers resort to cutting the power unless they were desperate or afraid? I’m sure you’ve heard the gunfire. I’m a resourceful man. Not just a leader, but a survivor. Think it over, April. Your friend is. Don’t take to
o long, though. I’m getting impatient enough to pull this gun and end things one way or the other.”

  April laughed.

  Barb’s lips were parted. He caught a glimpse of her teeth. She raised a hand to her temple and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. She turned to her friend. “What do you think, April? Do we trust him?”

  “Are you really considering it, Barb?” April asked.

  “I like him,” Barb answered, “always have. I want to see how this plays out. “

  Foster had to fight the urge to grin, and kept his poker face. His finger loosened a fraction on the trigger. The barrel of April’s gun dropped, and she rested the weapon on the table.

  April lowered her head a fraction and looked up at him with a small smile. “Okay, prove to us how much of a man you are, and get us all out of this mess.”

  Foster stood up. “Follow me.”

  48. Julie

  Her thoughts drifted far from the gloomy darkness that surrounded them. She remembered happier days, images that spooled out like a roll of film, most of them back in college, before the White House days. She and Burt Foster had met in a British Literature class. One night he’d read Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress to her; she’d been anything but coy in her response. The memory was so good…

  George was finishing on the toilet when Julie heard the helicopter engine’s tempo increase. She knew that couldn’t be good. “Hurry, George, they’re going to leave us!”

  She pulled him out of the stall despite his protests, yanked his pants up, and hefted him onto her hip. She ran blindly out of the bathroom, struggling to hold him and steer with the flashlight. The engine noise drowned out any other sound as they burst back into the hangar. The crack of gunshots almost made her stumble, and when the helicopter lifted, she saw the colonel’s body sprawled on the ground. Julie ran, heart in her mouth, knowing it was too late, and emerged back into the sunlight. She saw the long, straggling line of walking dead people coming across the grassy field from the direction of the terminal, and then heard more firing. Booth was shooting at the helicopter as it flew away, taking careful, deliberate shots. She wondered whether he could hit it since it was moving pretty fast. Then, there was a gout of flame, and oily smoke trailed behind it. She was shocked to see such a little gun do damage to such a large machine. George slid almost unnoticed down her hip and landed on his feet. He clung to Julie’s leg, and she held him tight with her right hand.