No Sanctuary Box Set: The No Sanctuary Omnibus - Books 1-6

by Mike Kraus

  Frank turned and ran back into the building faster than before to grab the scattered pieces of clothing on the floor and his and Linda’s backpacks. He raced back to the car and threw open the driver’s side door before tossing the backpacks and clothes across into the passenger’s seat. He paid no attention to the sharp crack of glass as a piece of metal on the outside of one of the backpacks left a chip in the side window.

  After getting in and closing his door Frank put the car into gear and quickly took off, heading around the side of the annex towards the back of the building. The parking lot came to an end on the side but there were wide walking paths behind the annex. The sedan jumped the curb with ease though the handling grew looser as Frank drove across the grass and gravel, turning sharply to avoid the well-manicured hedges and trees. He weaved his way through the park-like area until the opposite side of the parking lot became visible, then he turned away from it and headed towards the fence that ringed the perimeter of the annex grounds.

  While Frank wasn’t sure whether or not he could ram through the fence in the sedan he saw no other option at his disposal. Off to his left at the end of the parking lot sat the two Humvees and the patrol car with two soldiers standing in front of them at the gate with a pair of bolt cutters in hand. One of them glanced up at the sedan as Frank was watching and pointed as he said something to his fellow soldier.

  Not waiting to see what they were about to do, Frank glanced back at Linda and shook his head. “Sorry about this.” He double-checked to make sure his seatbelt was fastened and then accelerated toward the fence. He was heading toward the section set at the top of a small rise in the ground and aiming for the area in between the fence posts themselves. He hoped that if he hit the rise at the right speed the car would impact the middle or upper portion of the fence which would then tear it off of the posts and allow him to drive over the chain link.

  Formulated in blind panic and executed with numerous flaws, Frank’s plan somehow worked exactly as he had intended. The car’s wheels momentarily soared above the ground by approximately three inches as he hit the rise at a speed of nearly sixty miles per hour. The nose of the car, angled upward, hit the middle of the fence above the mid-way point causing the most stress on the middle and top wire connectors that held the fence to the posts.

  The fence, while effective at keeping casual intruders out and tearing up perfectly good jackets, was no match for the two-ton chunk of metal and plastic. A horrendous screech came up through the bottom of the car as the undercarriage scraped on the fence, making Frank wince as he imagined all of the bits and pieces beneath the car that could be damaged or torn off.

  Much to his amazement the fence did not get caught on the car and the airbags didn’t go off either despite the speed at which it was traveling when it hit the fence and then landed back on the ground. The wheels posed the biggest problem as they twisted to the right, sending the car into a spin that Frank was not expecting to have to deal with. While his first instinct was to hit the brakes and turn to the left, he instead did his best to keep the car steady while turning into the spin. The sedan weaved to the left and right as Frank fought with it on the soft grass until he finally got it under control.

  Behind him past the deep ruts in the soft grass, the mangled fence and the parking lot in front of the annex building stood the two soldiers. They along with their companions still in their vehicles watched in disbelief as the sedan sped away, heading toward the bridge a short distance up the river. They scrambled to call the other patrols in the area to get them to divert to the bridge to stop the unknown intruders but by the time the call went out the sedan was already on the road and heading over the water.

  Chapter 17

  With the morning light comes a break in the rain over Pittsburgh, an easing of the rising waters and a chance for the military to enter the city and try to bring out any survivors. Transport vehicles equipped for dealing with high water levels roll out into the city, forming long convoy lines as they deploy along predetermined routes.

  The soldiers in the back of the convoys wear thick waist-high rubber boots, rubber gloves and filters that are tightly affixed to their faces. All reports indicate that the disease has completely died out in the city but there are no chances being taken. It is suspected that some individuals may be immune to the virus or that it somehow jumped from human hosts to animals or insects. The disease could yet again spread unchecked if even a single soldier becomes infected so discipline is key.

  Deep into the city the convoy begins to break up. Every vehicle is assigned to a small section of the city. Each one rolls through its assigned streets slowly, searching for signs of life visually and with the help of thermal scanners. The scanners penetrate the walls of most buildings, showing heat sources on the interiors. Most houses are empty but a few have people huddled in the top floors of their homes or in their attics.

  When live survivors are found the vehicle stops and a four-man group exits the back of the truck and proceeds to the home. They announce their presence before breaking down the door and search room by room until they find the survivors. The soldiers’ weapons are kept shouldered and holstered with the safeties on. The city is not a war zone.

  Until it is.

  The first attack comes from the western side of the city when five survivors are detected inside of a home. The group of soldiers that proceeds inside never comes back out. There are no shouts or gunshots or emergency calls over the radio. A few minutes pass before the man in the front of the truck operating the thermal scanner pans back over to the house with the tool, wondering why the soldiers are taking so long. The five survivors are still present but they are accompanied by the slowly fading heat signatures of four bodies lying on the floor.

  More soldiers pile out of the back of the truck, leaving the already-rescued survivors in the back with instructions to stay perfectly still and not move. Before the soldiers can make it to the front of the house they are gunned down. One of the five figures in the house stands at a top window with an automatic weapon in hand.

  The two soldiers in the front of the truck are shot next. Multiple weapons open fire on the back of the truck, wounding and killing the few remaining soldiers and survivors as they try to get out. One of the soldiers manages to croak out a message on his radio before he dies, calling out his location and reporting unknown sources of heavy gunfire.

  While several vehicles converge on the location of the massacre, the rest of the rescue parties go on the defensive. Survivors are no longer greeted by friendly faces but by the barrels of guns, instead, as they are systematically searched before being escorted to the waiting transports. This matters little, though, as only a few more survivors are rescued before the attackers coordinate their next assault.

  IEDs placed on the road ahead of a portion of the convoy on the eastern side of the city detonate, destroying three trucks and severely damaging two more. Dozens are killed in the blast and those that survived are almost immediately gunned down. On the southern side of the city near the perimeter border where survivors are being unloaded from trucks and passed through biological screening stations the screech of tires is heard. Two reinforced dump trucks speed in from out of nowhere, plowing into the crowd of survivors and the screening station. The drivers of the trucks go on a rampage for ten minutes before a Black Hawk can bring its weapons to bear and destroy both vehicles.

  The chaos in the city is not isolated. Similar situations play out in eight more cities across the country that are all under lockdown thanks to the viral outbreak. While the attacks occur hours apart—more than enough time for the military to form an effective response under normal circumstances—the unique situation means that some cities don’t hear about the first attacks until after their attacks have been dealt with. The loss of life numbers in the thousands split between military personnel and civilians. While the death toll isn’t high compared to that inflicted by both the initial and biological attacks it does have an exponential effect on th
e response over the next few days.

  Even without regular means of communication word travels fast through military channels and through select civilian channels. The impact of the first two attacks is well known even to those who were lucky enough not to be affected by either. The impact of the multitude of brutal terrorist attacks following the biological attacks is even greater.

  People already afraid of vehicles exploding or dying to mysterious illnesses are now on edge about the possibility of being shot or stabbed by terrorist cells. It doesn’t matter that the attackers are all dead. Their goal has been perfectly achieved. By adding additional worry and fear to that already existing in the populace they successfully encourage more people to migrate towards the survivor cities that the government has set up.

  Those already en route to the cities move there faster. Many of those who planned to survive on their own second-guess their decision and choose to move to the cities instead. Heavy military and police presence in the cities along with power, running water and food rations are all strong motivators.

  “The survivor cities are safe.”

  “The survivor cities are disease-free.”

  “The survivor cities will enable us to rebuild.”

  These are the words spoken by a government on its knees, gasping for breath after being punched in the gut thrice in a row. The words are truly spoken but they are hardly the truth.

  Chapter 18

  Two miles past the bridge and through a few neighborhoods later, Frank finally stopped the sedan to take stock of Linda, himself and the car. His hands shook as he pushed the shifter into the park position as his body tried to recover from the massive amount of adrenaline that was dissipating in his system.

  After holding tight to the steering wheel for several seconds, Frank took a few deep breaths and turned around slowly in his seat to see how Linda was doing. She was still on her back but was moving around slightly as she tried to sit up. Frank unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to kneel on his seat so he could give her a hand up.

  “What the hell?” Out in the afternoon sunlight Linda looked worse than ever. She was still sweating, her pants were still nearly down to her ankles and her jacket was down on the floor. She was weak enough that she couldn’t sit up properly on her own but as she twisted and turned Frank could see the wound on her leg was oozing blood and pus onto the seat.

  “Take it easy, Linda. Take it easy.” Frank abandoned the idea of helping her sit up and instead pulled her back into a position where she could curl up across the back seats. “You need to lay still there, okay? We’re on our way to find this friend of yours.”

  “Friend?” Linda’s energy levels were so low that although she still wanted to sit up she had no choice but to stay still. Keeping her eyes open and staying awake was a difficult enough challenge and she started nodding off as Frank tried to talk to her.

  “Yes. Sarah. The lady from the CIA?”

  “Sarah.” Linda gave a slight nod. “Where… where are we?”

  “North of the annex somewhere. I don’t know where.”

  “Head south of the mall. Westfield. Look for Wildwood. Don’t know the house though. Maybe car in front green?” Linda’s sentences started to fall apart and Frank touched her on the head.

  “Dammit, Linda. You’re burning up. Just be still back there, okay?” He turned around in his seat and buckled his seatbelt again. “We’ll get there somehow. I don’t know what this lady’s going to be able to do to help you but we’ll get there. Somehow.”

  Frank turned out of the neighborhood and headed back towards the highway, taking it slow and keeping his head on a swivel while he watched for any signs of the patrol that had nearly caught up to them at the CIA annex. The streets were quiet, though, and he drove on down the road as he looked for any signs indicating that the Westfield Mall might be nearby. Ten minutes of back-and-forth later and he finally noticed a giant billboard towering over the highway indicating that the mall was off the next exit.

  The ease of driving on the roads near Washington surprised Frank but he quickly noticed that they looked like they had been cleared in the recent past. Much like the short stretch of road outside Pittsburgh there was a lane or two clear along the major roads he drove on since the debris and remains of destroyed trucks and cars had been pushed to the sides.

  Frank took the exit towards the Westfield Mall and almost immediately had to drive off into the grass to get around a cluster of burned-out cars that were in the way. After going for a quarter of a mile on the shoulder and grass he finally saw the Westfield Mall off to his left. A glance at the sun told him that he was driving roughly in the easterly direction so he began looking towards the south for the Wildwood neighborhood that Linda had told him about.

  Sure enough, as if on cue, an elegant sign for the Wildwood subdivision appeared next to a small two-lane road that disappeared back into the trees off of the main road. The layout of the area reminded him of the neighborhood he had driven through in Maine right before his first encounter with Linda and he grew wary of any people that might still be around. Each day that passed caused those that still clung to life to grow more desperate and Frank was in no mood to encounter anyone.

  After passing through thick trees whose leafless branches formed a lattice overhead that nearly blotted out the sky, the sedan emerged into a neighborhood filled with rows of townhouses on both sides of the street. Short hedges dotted the curves in the landscape in front of and between the chunks of tall, narrow houses pressed up against each other. The homes were in chunks of five to seven with small gaps half a house’s width in between the chunks. The exteriors were uniform for the most part with the only differences being in details like the color of the door, the trim on the windows and the color and type of doorknobs.

  Most of the parking spaces in front of the houses were empty, their occupants having long since left for a destination they deemed safer than inside their own homes. None of the houses appeared occupied though with the interiors darkened and the sun still bright outside it would have been difficult to see anything anyway.

  “What was that number again?” Frank racked his brain as he tried to remember the house number on the sticky note. He turned to look at Linda to see if she still had the note before he remembered seeing it fall to the floor. He couldn’t remember if he picked it up or not and dug through his pockets before retrieving it with a triumphant shout. “Yes! All right, then. Twenty-eight fifty-four. Hmm.” The numbers on the houses were going in the right direction but they ran out before he reached the specified number. He turned right at the next street and continued up through the next row until, around the middle of the road, he spotted the twenty-eight hundreds.

  Frank felt unexpectedly nervous as he realized they were extremely close to arriving at the home of Linda’s CIA contact. Scenarios flashed through his mind of all the ways the meeting could go wrong. What if she had set a trap for some reason? What if she never left the note, but someone else did? What if Omar had sent someone to wait for them there? Each idea that passed through Frank’s brain was more outlandish than the last until, finally, he shook his head and clenched his jaw.

  “No. This is stupid.” He eased up on the accelerator and pressed down on the brake as he saw the house number appear on his right.

  “Everything’s going to be fine.” Frank put the car into park and turned to check on Linda. Her condition appeared unchanged.

  “Everything’s going to be just fine.” Frank got out of the car and pulled out his pistol. He pulled the slide back a few millimeters to ensure there was a round in the chamber and then tucked it back into his pants.

  “I’ll just walk up there.” Frank mumbled to himself, narrating his actions as he went along as he tried to derive some sort of courage from his own words. “I’ll walk up there, go up the steps, ring the doorbell and hope someone answers.”

  The fact that there was no power in the neighborhood didn’t register with Frank until he had pushed the doorbell b
utton, heard it ring and then stepped back a few paces from the door. His eyes narrowed and his expression changed to one of confusion as he realized that there must actually be power in the townhouse in order for the doorbell to ring. That fact didn’t make sense, though, and it was in his confusion over what was going on that he nearly took a bullet to the face.

  “Get away from here right now!” A woman’s voice came from a window above Frank and he looked up just in time to see the barrel of a rifle pointed down at him. He scrambled to the side as a shot rang out and the round sent up a small puff of concrete dust from the top step.

  “Holy hell!” Frank pressed his body up against the front door to take cover under the narrow overhang as he shouted up at the woman. “Calm down, lady! I just need to talk!”

  “Get out of here now, dammit! If I have to come down there I’ll make you look like a block of Swiss cheese!”

  “I’m not here to hurt you! I’m here with Linda!”

  The woman’s voice hesitated for a second. “I don’t know what you’re going on about but if you don’t get out of here now I’ll kill you!”

  “Linda Rollins is in my car out there! Look! You can probably see her lying there in the backseat!” In truth Frank had no idea whether Linda’s form was visible but he hoped that the woman upstairs—presumably this Sarah person—would be persuaded to not take any more shots at the mention of Linda’s name.

  “Why the hell have you got her out there with her clothes half off?”

  Ha! Frank thought to himself. So you do know her after all! “She’s got a fever! I’ve been trying to keep her cool but we were chased!”

  Frank listened intently, not daring to peek out to see if the rifle barrel was still poking out of the window. There was nothing but silence for several seconds and he spoke again. “Here, look! We were at the CIA annex. She told me we had to go there to find you. I found your note on your monitor, see?” Frank pulled the note back out of his pocket and held it out nervously, hoping that the illegible scrap of yellow paper would accomplish what his words and the sight of Linda’s still form had not.