Up From the Depths

by J. R. Jackson

  “Captain?” he said quietly. He pressed his ear against the door and listened. She was saying something but he couldn’t make it out. Opening the door he stuck his head in and looked around.

  “Captain?” he called again. Furtive movements caught his eye. Brandon was tossing and turning, the sheets and blankets had been kicked to the foot of the bed and she was crying out softly in troubled sleep. Stepping closer to the bed, he stood and watched as her body contorted and twisted. He leaned his rifle against the wall then reached out.

  “Captain?” he said as he grasped her shoulder and shook her. Brandon sat up and screamed. Hathaway backed away then stepped forward and grabbed her about the shoulders. He shook her and repeated her name several times before she gasped and then turned to look at him. He realized what he had done; he had seen this before in soldiers who had been in combat. The pounding of feet in the hall told him that Ax and Val had arrived.

  “Captain!” Axtell called out. The knob rattled and the door was thrown open to reveal Axtell and Valdez, weapons ready.

  “It’s ok,” Hathaway said to them as he held Brandon in his arms. Both soldiers looked at their sergeant and at the sweat soaked captain clothed only in a brown t-shirt and thermal bottoms. Valdez closed the door, pushing Axtell out of the room. Hathaway slowly rocked Brandon as she held him tight and cried into his chest. He moved one hand to the back of her head and softly rubbed.

  “It’s ok, captain. You’re among friends,” he said as her body shook. “No one is going to hurt you,” he said softly. He felt wetness on his chest as she sniffled into his shirt. She took a few calming breaths.

  “Thank you, sergeant. I’m fine now,” Brandon said but made no effort to release him or move out of his arms. Hathaway moved to release her but she hugged him harder.

  “No, please don’t go.”

  “Ok.”

  He held her and felt her warm breath on his chest.

  “Tell me what we’re doing,” she said.

  “We’re holding each other.”

  “No. I mean what we’re going to do here. Are we staying here or are we moving on?”

  Hathaway nodded slightly.

  “If we stay here, we’re going to need more supplies. Defenses, evacuation routes. More personnel would be nice. And we’re probably going to need to build a latrine.”

  Brandon pushed away from his chest and looked up at him.

  “A latrine?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said with a grin. “It’s just a matter of time before the four of us overwork the septic system here.”

  “No way,” Brandon said as she looked at him.

  “Yes way. Ma’am,” Hathaway said, trying to distance himself and retain some decorum yet knowing somehow that it was futile.

  “I have a first name, sergeant,” she said, resting her head back on his chest.

  “Yes ma’am, I know that.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to use it sometime.”

  “No, ma’am. Yes, it would. We need to maintain separation of ranks. Too much familiarity and we get chaos.” He felt the hard points of her nipples press against his stomach. He tried to get his mind off that feeling by attempting to recall the UCMJ articles in numerical order. That wasn’t working so he began to picture in his mind how to disassemble the M240 in the other room. He was disgusted with how he was reacting to holding a female. After all she had been through, she didn’t need this. He felt the tingle of arousal leave him when he remembered what had happened to her.

  Brandon leaned back and looked at him.

  “Sergeant, that’s bullshit. We’ve danced around this issue for months. I, we, have to work together. It’s required,” she said then looked away and studied the wall. “At least I think it is.”

  “Ma’am,” Hathaway started to say. Brandon shot him a sideways look.

  “Angelina,” he corrected himself. “This isn’t a good idea. Familiarization leads to fraternization. And between enlisted and officers that are in the same chain of command is not only illegal it’s a very bad idea.” Hathaway could smell the shampoo she had used. They had ransacked a small motel on the way here and took all the small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, soap, and cleaning supplies. Brandon looked at him.

  “We’re not in the same chain of command. You’re National Guard and I’m regular Army. Big distinction there and two separate chains of command.”

  “True,” Hathaway said. “But changing our professional relationship is still a bad idea.”

  Brandon leaned closer, her eyes hard and squinting

  “We’re not changing our professional relationship,” Brandon said. “I just want to be held. Nothing more. This is not an invitation for you to jump my bones. I just want to be held.”

  “Is that an order, ma’am?” Hathaway asked with a grin.

  “I can make it one, if you’d prefer.”

  “No ma’am. I think I can manage this just fine,” Hathaway said as he held Brandon tight. He thought he heard her softly mutter asshole but he wasn’t sure.

  In the main part of the house, Axtell and Valdez were in the kitchen.

  “You think that Top and the captain are, you know, knocking boots?” Axtell asked.

  “I don’t think anything. I’m not going to assume anything unless I personally see action that confirms said activity,” Valdez said. “Even then, it’s their business, not ours. The captain, she’s been through some serious shit. We don’t know what she went through before we found her but I kind of doubt that’s what’s going on in there.”

  Valdez had never told Axtell what he and Hathaway had found when they rescued Brandon from her captors. That was the first time he had fired his rifle at another human. The infected didn’t count in his book as human. They were hostiles and as long as they went down when shot there were no problems. But, when he had shot two of Brandon’s captors? That had been different. He didn’t know why, but he had actually felt good about it.

  ***

  Chapter 14

  Brooks Mountain Range, Alaska

  The assault group had a small respite from the storm as they passed through a narrow valley. The defile required them to move single file and prevented the wind from blowing through the crevasse which meant the snow wasn’t powdery or deep allowing them to make up for lost time.

  “How far are we from DZ Fox?” Sands asked when O’Toole had called a short break.

  “I figure 15 klicks,” O’Toole replied. “That’s if it’s there.” He left unspoken that the lead plane might have aborted due to weather and not dropped their supplies. “How’s Harris holding up?”

  Sands looked back towards the rear of the column.

  “He’s probably still a little pissed off. But, he’s young, he’ll get over it,” Sands commented.

  “I’ll tell you though, those fucking squids are serious hard core studs,” Sands said. “They’ve been switching off between themselves and they brought a shitload more gear with them then we did. Not one of them whines or bitches.”

  “Noticed that,” O’Toole agreed. A shout from the head of the valley made them look up.

  The Ranger pathfinder element was approaching, but they had someone with them. As the small unit drew closer, O’Toole could see that the newcomer wasn’t military. He was dressed in a North Face parka, quilted, thick insulated pants and heavily furred boots. His face was covered with a balaclava and ski goggles. He drew back the hood of his parka to reveal a knitted watch cap. It was obvious he was Inuit by his skin tone and features. The man lifted up the ski goggles and looked around.

  “What are you boys doing out here?” he asked, surprise in his tone.

  “Training mission gone bad,” O’Toole stated studying the native Alaskan resident.

  “Bullshit,” the man said. “No way you boys are on a training mission,” he said looking around at the Rangers and Special Operations personnel, the weaponry they bristled with and the heavily loaded cargo sleds. “You got a case of the ass for someone,” he added.
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  “OK, you got us. We’re invading Russia,” O’Toole said. The man scowled, looking hard at the Special Forces captain.

  “Then you’re really fucked because you’re heading the wrong way,” the Inuit replied.

  O’Toole didn’t say anything just looked at the man.

  “Where’d you come from?” O’Toole asked changing the subject.

  “I was out checking my traps,” the man said pointing back the way he had come. “Ran into this storm on the way back and headed here. Then a couple of your people stopped me,” he explained.

  “You live around here?” O’Toole asked.

  “Hell no. No one lives out here. I live a few miles back that way,” he replied pointing in the direction that the team had come from.

  “You got a name?” O’Toole asked.

  “Do you?” the reply came back defensively. “OK, OK,” the man said holding up his hands and nodding his head when he saw the men tense. “I’m Elian Weatherstone.”

  “You from that Inuit village a few miles from here?” Harris asked as he walked up.

  “Yeah, what of it?” Weatherstone asked cautiously.

  “We sent some of our injured that way,” Harris replied.

  “You got injured people here?” Weatherstone asked with disbelief. “Sucks to be them,” he added.

  “How’d you get here Mr. Weatherstone?” O’Toole asked.

  “You mean here? As in this state or in this area?” Weatherstone asked.

  “I mean here in this valley,” O’Toole clarified.

  “Well, shit, dude, everyone who lives in this area knows about this pass,” Weatherstone stated. “It’s the best place to head for when the weather turns bad.”

  “Did you walk all this way?” O’Toole asked.

  “Shit no. I left my snowmobile a few miles back. The little bitch crapped out on me. Figured the best thing I could do was head here before there was a total whiteout. Can’t see shit in this weather,” Weatherstone stated.

  O’Toole, Harris, and Willis who had joined them stepped away for a quiet conversation.

  “The only other place around here that has shelter is that research station,” Weatherstone muttered off handedly. “And no one goes there.”

  The three officers looked at him.

  “Research station?” Willis asked.

  “Yeah, some private research place. It was built a few years back and no one goes near it. Built into part of a mountain, looks real solid and official like,” Weatherstone explained. “Thought maybe you boys were part of it, but you’re a lot nicer than the assholes who work security.”

  “You’ve seen it?” O’Toole asked.

  “Well yeah,” Weatherstone gave O’Toole a strange look. “How else would I know that the security guys are dicks?”

  “How far are we from it?” Willis asked.

  “I don’t know,” Weatherstone said looking up at the sky then back towards the way he had come. “Eight, maybe nine miles, hard to say without seeing the stars,” he added.

  Harris pulled out his map and traced his finger along their route before tapping a section.

  “Oh yeah,” Weatherstone said peering over their shoulders. “That’s the place.”

  “What’s the perimeter look like?” Willis asked.

  “Open,” Weatherstone replied.

  “Open?” O’Toole asked.

  “Yeah, there’s no fence or nothing,” Weatherstone answered.

  “What about patrols?” Harris asked.

  “They use Snowcats mostly. Unless it’s like this,” the Inuit replied indicating the blizzard that swirled above them and whistled past the entrance to the narrow passage they were in. O’Toole looked at the faces of the other men; they could do this.

  “In your travels to get here, did you come across anything unusual?” O’Toole asked.

  “Besides you guys?” Weatherstone asked then thought for a few minutes. “Yeah, I heard a plane a while back, wasn’t sure at first because you’d have to be totally fucking nuts to fly into an arctic storm. Pretty sure it was a plane, kind of low, came in over Tyson’s Meadow,” he pointed in the general direction. “Then I didn’t hear it no more.”

  “Tyson’s Meadow?” Harris asked looking at his map.

  “You ain’t gonna find that on a map,” Weatherstone stated. “That’s a local name.”

  “Show me where that is,” Harris stated. Weatherstone stepped into the circle of officers and studied the map.

  “That’s it right there,” he said pointing to a section of the map. O’Toole leaned closer and looked then trailed his eyes over to where their objective was. If what Weatherstone had heard was the lead plane coming in low and dropping the rest of their equipment, then they stood a better than average chance of completing their mission.

  ***

  Chapter 15

  Camberley, Surrey, United Kingdom

  Jack Larkin sat on the floor and stared at the image of Leesa Tobias as she stood by the delivery door. Her image, ghost, or whatever hadn’t disappeared for hours. The two children that he and M’Banga had found in the back room were asleep. Maybe the only real sleep they’d had in months. M’Banga stood by the doorway that led to the main store, out of sight of the infected on the street but still in a position to watch them and the rest of the small storeroom. He had been watching Larkin for the last few hours trying to understand the young man’s fixation with the delivery door.

  Larkin lowered his head and closed his eyes. Images of the time he had spent with her danced in his head. As he nodded off, the images slowed down then sped up, never staying at the same speed as they flashed through his mind. The final image of her that stayed was that of her smiling at him then pointing a pistol at his head. The barrel seemed huge as she brought it up to his face, a wide smile on her lips. He watched as her finger slowly applied pressure and the trigger moved back. Just as the bullet was fired he jerked awake with a loud gasp.

  The storeroom was dark, Larkin was unsure of what time it was, maybe midnight or pre-dawn. Larkin slowly got to his feet and peered out towards the front of the store. He didn’t see M’Banga but knew he was out there, somewhere, in the shadows watching the street. He strained to see out the dirty windows but couldn’t tell if the infected were still present. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds and cast its pale glow, illuminating the town. The street outside was empty. The infected had moved on. A shadow detached itself from the interior of the store and stealthily moved towards Larkin. M’Banga materialized out of the gloom, a smile showing his white teeth as he drew closer. Larkin stepped aside and let the Ghurka pass then followed him into the back.

  M’Banga squatted down and using his finger, drew a diagram on the dust that coated the floor. Larkin was well acquainted with the Nepalese warrior’s shorthand and quickly understood what was being shown. They would have to exit the store, circle around to the service alley and then move through the back streets and most likely the backyards of some of the the homes to avoid contact with the infected. Larkin nodded agreement then moved to awaken the children. He glanced over towards the service door but didn’t see the image of Leesa standing there. Maybe it was too dark or maybe she had finally left him alone. He looked at the service door again. Maybe that was a better option, use that door to exit the store instead of the front door. Then he paused, they had already used the front door and it didn’t make noise when opened. The service door was a total unknown. For all he knew, it was locked from the outside or it squealed when opened. The less noise they made, the better their chances of survival.

  The children, Mike and Rachel, stayed quiet after Larkin woke them. They had been alive this long to know that noise drew unwanted attention. Larkin removed a small flashlight from his pocket, covered most of the lens with his other hand and slowly swept the interior of the storeroom looking for anything they could use that might have been overlooked.

  Mike was picking up one of the mesh shopping bags when the side ripped open and spilled ca
nned food onto the concrete floor with a loud clatter. Everyone froze in place as one can rolled along the floor, hit the doorframe and then tottered back and forth before finally stopping. M’Banga quickly looked towards the front of the store then back at the small group in the store room. He looked back to the front in time to see the moon light blocked out by shadows and the crash of glass as infected pushed in the front door.

  “Move!” he yelled as the time for silence was now past. Larkin looked at the service door, Leesa stood by it gesticulating wildly. He herded the children towards it knowing that M’Banga would cover him for as long as he was able. Larkin squatted down by the door and studied the locking mechanism. Grasping the lever, he moved it up and open then grabbed the handle and started to pull. The door protested with a squeal then moved a couple of inches. Months of disuse and the lack of maintenance had taken their toll on the parts but Larkin, straining with both hands on the handle and using his legs, was able to get the door to open halfway. He let go of the door and it dropped a few inches before stopping, using his flashlight, he quickly looked outside, the alleyway was clear. Motioning to the children, he shoved them out the door as M’Banga opened fire on the infected that had gained entrance to the front of the store. Rachel froze when she heard the gunfire. Larkin had to push her out the door and into Mike’s hands. Larkin looked back at M’Banga as the Ghurka reloaded, nodded to him then stepped out into the store and continued firing. Larkin slid out under the door and dropped to the alley. Crouching and bringing his rifle up, he scanned both ends of the narrow street then grabbed Mike’s hand and pulled. The boy didn’t move. Larkin looked down and saw that he was holding his little sister who was now in a catatonic state, eyes wide open yet staring at nothing. He assumed it was probably their first time outside the store in a very long time. Larkin let his rifle hang by its sling, scooped up the little girl and grabbed Mike’s hand pulling him towards the end of the alley where Leesa’s spectral image stood and beckoned them.