Overrun: Project Hideaway

by Michael Rusch

He flicked his finger across the device causing two lights near its top to blink. He closed his fingers and curled his palm across its arming lever. He then lowered his arms as far down as he could between his legs out of reach of his assailant.

  Out of reach at least while he still maintained his hold around RadCom’s neck.

  For the next few moments, neither man moved. RadCom doubled over at his knees. His attacker crouched over him across his back.

  RadCom stretched his arms as far away from his body as his limbs would allow keeping the grenade just out of reach of the man holding him.

  "I just want to know who you are." This time the voice seemed to softly plead.

  RadCom released the grenade and let it drop to the floor. It made a dull clink when it bounced against the deck between his legs. The two lights blinked faster across its surface as the activated device worked to arm itself.

  The hands around his neck released their grip.

  While RadCom slowly edged away, his assailant punched him hard at the center of his back.

  RadCom dropped forward to the ground and sprawled across the device readying itself to explode. His attacker turned and sprinted down the nearest corridor.

  RadCom reached to pull the grenade from beneath his body. He rolled over and hurled it down the hall after him.

  Pain coursed through the muscles of his arm from the force of his throw.

  Everything ceased to matter at this point. Excruciating jabs of pain ripped through his body. He felt his eyes roll to the back of his head.

  Outside, the image of the J.G.U. ship still hovered in plain view.

  Through the corner of his eye, RadCom saw the small device bounce once down to the end of the corridor.

  The man who held him dove around the corner of the next hall. The grenade rolled after him at his heels. Its metal casing tapped against the steel floor and rang dully down the empty passage.

  RadCom rolled across his stomach and covered his head with his arms.

  The device then erupted into a large fiery blast.

  The walls on either side of the far corridor crumbled to the ground like they were made of sand. The floor fell in on top of itself and disappeared deeper into the depths of the ship.

  The floor grating beneath RadCom tilted towards the gaping hole in the middle of the deck. His body slid along its decline and followed the wreckage down.

  RadCom reached out through the pain of his injuries and snagged a piece of the shattered deck an instant before his ragged form toppled through. He dangled in the air by one arm from a thin piece of twisted metal. It was the only thing that kept him from falling through the three levels of the ship the concussion grenade had ripped its way through.

  For what seemed like an eternity, RadCom hung there while the damage from the blast settled about. The piece of destroyed deck he clung to twisted under his weight and began to bend.

  RadCom didn't allow his mind or body to react. He just tried to keep his weight from shifting and putting more pressure on the piece of shredded metal. He slowly raised his head. The metal curled further in on itself, but for the moment did not break.

  A bead of sweat rolled slowly down his cheek.

  Bouncing his weight slightly, RadCom threw his free arm into the air.

  His palm slid across a piece of open grate still attached to the main floor, and his fingers managed to clamp themselves through its small openings. The metal piece he clutched to with his other arm finally snapped and fell to the ground.

  Hanging on with only his fingers, RadCom dangled from the floor grate of the destroyed deck.

  With a grunt, he swung his other arm around and jammed his feet up against a large piece of the shredded corridor wreckage.

  His arms and fingers screamed with pain. Even in the darkness, his knuckles glowed white from the strain. Clinging for life by both arms, he used his legs to maneuver himself from the hole. With a final push, his shoulders cleared the deck.

  He used his elbows to haul his battered frame the rest of the way from the opening in the obliterated floor. When his legs finally swung back up on level ground, he rolled over on his back. His lungs gasped, and his body tried to rock away the pain.

  The corridor was finally silent. The wailings of the Hideaway sirens had been silenced by the blast.

  RadCom laid there for a moment and allowed the dust from the explosion to settle across his eyes. He coughed once as it went into his nose.

  He felt the warm salty taste of blood from deep in his throat and across his tongue. He raised his arm and tried to wipe it away.

  RadCom rolled over on his side where several feet of openness separated him from the rest of the ship. Entire sections of the corridor area had crumbled and dropped away to the bottom layers of the ship through the gaping hole in the center of the deck.

  RadCom rolled himself tiredly across his knees and stood slowly to his feet.

  He stepped to the hole in the floor and stared over its side. There wasn’t any sign of his assailant in the shattered metal littering the ripped passageways beneath.

  RadCom walked to the side of the passageway and tried to find a way across. Behind him, the J.G.U. warship was still visible through the cockpit window as was the wreckage of the explorer frigate that floating silently around it.

  Chapter 27

  “Light the wall,” the words still echoed eerily in his head.

  “Sir?”

  “Light the goddamn wall!” the President screamed at the man daring to question him.

  And now listening with Administration Dome command center staff to the man on the monitor in front of him, he knew he was not the only one that questioned the President’s actions.

  In fact, Ford questioned it all himself.

  “….we consider the men running your government and leading your armies nothing less than global fugitives. The biggest perpetrators of war crimes in this world’s history.”

  J.G.U. Prime Minister Talhir’s voice was quiet and stern. His public address, Ford could now only assume, was being broadcast to the entire world.

  “We offer you freedom from your newfound tyranny and protection for your besieged peoples. We propose a quick end to this war in exchange for your compliance and denunciation of your current rule.”

  Ford felt the room begin to spin around him and fade from view.

  “We promise the creators of this ‘Plan Zero’ will be brought to justice. And pledge our support for the use of new technology to bring healing to all the people of the world.”

  It was the first time, Ford had really heard it out loud. Talhir’s voice boomed large and accusingly in the President’s ear as he outlined Plan Zero to the United States people in complete detail. It was the first time Ford had heard himself named as its creator. The one person behind the death that had befallen the country.

  He felt raw bitter tears form in his eyes. A lump threatened to choke him in his throat.

  It had been eight hours since Ford had given the order to light the Administration Dome’s own Death Wall. It was an order he never dreamed would be given in the whole history of the United States. But all too quickly it had come to that.

  The location of the Administration Dome had been compromised. Most likely by someone standing with him in that very same room. There had been little U.S. resistance to the J.G.U. advance. Ford wouldn’t have been surprised if the troops had simply stood aside and watched them come.

  The takeover of the United States was nearly complete.

  While still listening to the J.G.U. prime minister’s direct address to U.S. citizens from the command center central holovid, Ford felt a gloved hand reach to him from the shadows.

  Ford didn’t bother to turn around. He allowed the hands to gently pull him back into the comfort of the darkness.

  He stepped slowly back as the gloved hands drew him gently away from the stunned gathering of the Administration Dome personnel listening to the J.G.U. prime minister speak.

  No words were exchan
ged as the two bodyguards silently ushered him and Baldwin out into the hall.

  Their silence brought Ford a new sense of remorse. Remorse and deep sorrow. He had not ever before even seen the faces of the two men that had taken it upon themselves to pull him from the control room and stand by his side. Even after everything they had just heard.

  It made the President think of all the citizens outside the domes. Those directly affected by his actions. The same trust some of them must have felt. He knew they felt. If they hadn’t, things never would have gone this far. Even when they heard of Plan Zero. Even while he was allowing events to progress that were causing their families and the world around them to die.

  Ford lowered his head and silently followed the two men.

  Baldwin was silent next to him.

  They came to the entrance of a small room where one of the guards lowered his hand to swipe an access card. The door opened and Ford and Baldwin were escorted quickly inside.

  Another door opened after the guard swiped his card another time.

  The next entrance was smaller. The guard with the card ducked his head and walked through. The other stood at the entryway of the small weapons chamber and took the gear the first guard passed him from inside.

  Wordlessly, they handed Ford and Baldwin the round-resistant jackets and darkened plastic faceplates worn by the Administration Dome Guard.

  After strapping one of the jackets tightly around his chest, Ford took a final look into Baldwin’s frightened eyes and lowered the darkened protective shield across his face.

  When they were both completely clad in full military protective gear, the two guards pulled Ford and Baldwin back out into the hallway.

  Just as the door shut completely behind them, the firing began.

  Seeing their assailant a split second before, the guard leading them down the hallway leapt in front of Ford taking most of the unexpected weapons burst.

  The first round of slugs buried themselves deep into his shoulder. He sank down to his knees while his lips mouthed a deep silent pain.

  The other guard yanked Ford and Baldwin hard around the next passageway corner for cover.

  When the President was safely away from the corridor, the assailant recharged his weapon and fired again at the wounded guard. Rounds splashed off and tore across the protective plating covering his head. Dazed and helpless in the openness of the shredded passageway, the guard raised himself painfully to his knees and tried to crawl after them around the corner.

  A new burst of rounds pounded across his protective gear. The ferocity of the shots pressed him harshly back to the ground and threw sparks in the air.

  Everything happened fast. Too fast for anyone to think including the President. He reached into the depths of his armor to his shoulder harness and grabbed the Sunszk hanging at his side.

  The guard that had pulled them back to safety was too busy raising his own weapon to stop him.

  Ford stepped from around the corner and standing alongside the guard returned fire on their attacker.

  His fingers flew across the Sunszks’ triggers. His rounds tore mercilessly into the ceiling and corridor walls. Combined with the firing of the guard, they were able to effectively push the assailant back.

  Using a weapon the guard had thrown in his direction, Baldwin also sent weapons fire down the corridor. The gunman retreated back into the darkness of the shadows to avoid their fire while the President dove toward the other fallen guard.

  Beneath the lightning of discharged weaponry flashing over his head, Ford grabbed the guard’s gear near his shoulder and dragged him with one hand backward across the floor. With his free hand, Ford continued firing one of his weapons.

  The President pulled the guard back towards the passageway corner until he reached the outstretched arms of Baldwin and the second guard. All three dragged the first guard’s battered body to safety around the corner.

  By then the gunman was gone.

  The corridor smoked with the stink of discharged weaponry and recently spilled blood. Destroyed sections of the surrounding walls further marked the recent battle. The ring of shots still filled the air and battered their ears.

  They didn’t stay there for long before the first guard yanked them all to their feet.

  When they were all standing, he led them down a darkened corridor which led further underground. Only a small light in the distance lit their way.

  The President moved faster to follow. The guard he had just saved walked close behind him. The President could feel the warm metal of his recently fired weapon pressed up against his back.

  Without turning around, Ford also sensed the limp in his walk. And the façade of unwavering strength the wounded man tried to convey but did not actually feel.

  Some of the rounds had punctured his protective gear leaving wounds that were quite severe.

  Ford felt sorrow and reassurance from this man’s desire to continue with the duty he had undertaken. Especially when most others in the world most likely simply wanted him dead.

  The tunnel widened ahead of them into a vast expanse of open space. Several small tanks, jeeps, and trucks waited silently in the gloom.

  The guards hustled them through the vehicle bay towards a large armored assault vehicle.

  Ford and Baldwin hurried quickly between them.

  Quietly, they clambered up into one of the assault trucks. The unwounded guard climbed behind the wheel. Baldwin sat next to him. Ford fell into the back seat and pulled the wounded guard in after him.

  The engine turned almost noiselessly over. The guard pulled the truck slowly out towards another dimly lit corridor.

  He didn’t turn on the lights even when everything around them became lost in the dark.

  The truck moved silently ahead. The vehicle bay fell quickly away behind them.

  Chapter 28

  It had taken more than two days for Tuttle and his team to slink their way from the Science Dome 15 command center and make their escape.

  Most of those days were spent cowering in darkness and hiding amidst the rot of the murdered many strewn about the halls of the destroyed dome.

  After making contact with the Administration Dome, they had run through the tunnels of stinking flesh and trampled upon the bodies lying before them in the dark.

  Samuel led the way as they fought to escape the nightmare the facility had become and eluded the ghosts of the dead hovering about the passageways.

  Tuttle trailed at the rear. The voices raged in his head and pounded against his skull. All cried for a vengeance. One he could never give.

  Tuttle ran just to get out.

  Samuel was the first to step back into the burning outside air once they had reached the ground level. Most of the structure was completely gone. They exited through the cracks of the twisted metal of the destroyed facility back onto the battlefield where the wreckage of the Vulture chopper and the remains of their second team still laid somewhere in the smoldering flames.

  With his weapon ready and raised, Samuel stepped cautiously from the wreckage. His eyes scanned the dying fires and gutted vehicle debris.

  Tuttle stood next to him just behind his left shoulder.

  His eyes ignored the flames. They centered on the comforting darkness on both sides of the battlefield. Only burned air separated them from the calm blackness outside the fires and away from the collapsing structure. There, he saw an escape from the stink of death and the voices that followed him.

  Tuttle felt the darkness call him. He longed for it.

  In a moment of maddening weakness and pain, he tore into the openness of the smoking battlefield shoving and breaking free from the hands that tried to stop him.

  He ran from the men that screamed at him over the chaotic din of the dying fires. He could barely hear them over the screaming whispers filling his ears.

  The voices of the dead were loud. The hollowness of the destroyed dome amplified their pitch creating an unending shrill of accusation that swirl
ed through his brain.

  Tuttle feared he might already be insane.

  He prayed for a stray bullet. A gift from a straggling soldier. Something to escape the voices and give him an opportunity to join them in their screams against the nightmare the world had become.

  But nothing came.

  Tuttle made it away from the flames into the welcoming arms of the encompassing blackness. When the fading light of the dying fires no longer lit his way, he stopped running and dropped against the sun-ravaged ground.

  He was more than a hundred yards from the closest burning tank or truck.

  Once there, he didn’t move. He felt his body begin to drain of spirit. His willingness to go on was almost gone. He prayed for the onset of the coming sun so that his body could just wither away beneath its mammoth heat.

  And allow his tortured soul to finally slip away.

  Tuttle laid there for only a short time before the running footsteps of Samuel and Cranden approached from the darkness. Neither man spoke as they dropped to their knees next to him and soundlessly pulled him to his feet.

  Tuttle’s cheek burned from the radiation-poisoned sand that stuck to the edges of his face. He allowed the men to help him stand and retook the weapon one of them put in his hands.

  Tuttle felt strength and a quiet pity in the eyes of the medic who had handed it to him. Cranden’s back blocked out the last of the dwindling light from the dying flames of the overrun dome. Some of the last remaining pieces were now collapsing down within themselves along the ground. The roar of the crash bellowed out into the far reaches of the night.

  They walked more than ten miles before activating their location tracers. The chopper extraction force arrived within the hour. Blades churned noiselessly in the sky overhead as they scurried up tow ropes hanging from beneath the center craft.

  When they were inside the cabin, they dropped wearily onto its vibrating deck and settled down to briefly rest.

  By the time Tuttle awoke, the helicopters had taken them to one of the remaining underground ship ports.

  Tuttle breathed in a sigh of satisfaction that this one, one under his own command, had been successfully held by his men. Most of the ports had already been overrun or outright destroyed by the J.G.U. land assaults that were steamrolling across the country.