The Dying of the Light (Book 2): Interval

by Jason Kristopher

  “Yes, and we will try to use them as soon as we find the right equipment.”

  “I guess that’s it, then,” he said, holding out a hand to Sven and wincing as the man’s strength tugged on his wound. He turned to shake hands with Tatiana, but she stepped in for a hug, a tear in her eye. “Spasibo, moy drug. Ya tebya nikogda ne zabudu. Do sleduyushchey vstrechi. Proshchay. Thank you, my friend. I will never forget you. Until we meet again. Farewell.” She stood back, and saluted.

  Anderson returned it quickly, ignoring the pain in his wounded chest.

  Gunny Rains would’ve been proud, Gaines thought as he said goodbye to the both of them. Sven was one of the few men that Dalton Gaines could look eye-to-eye with, and as he shook the Swede’s hand he smiled. “Take care of her, bud. You never know what can happen. Trust me.”

  Sven nodded gravely, then smiled back. “I will, Sergeant. Thank you for saving us,” he said, stepping back. “Thank you all.”

  Moments later, the idling jet was closed and rolling down the taxiway, then turned onto the main runway. Anderson looked around, and he could see that nearly everyone had come out to wish the others well. Word spread fast, he thought, then turned back to wave along with the others. Zavrazhny wasted no time, and the jet blasted down the runway and was banking in to the northwest only a minute later. Here’s hoping they make it.

  It took Mahoney and his men, working through the night, two more days to complete the repairs on the 767.

  “The hardest part was all the storm damage,” he told Anderson as they looked over the repaired plane. “They get some pretty bad wind and storms here, apparently. Lots of debris damage, but the underlying structure was sound enough. She should be OK, at least enough to get us to Maui or Honolulu. If we can find a place to land there, I’d like to switch up for something not quite as beat up, but if not, then as long as we top her up she’ll get us home.”

  “That’s not exactly a sterling recommendation,” said our sole remaining pilot, Colonel Archer. “Lots of ‘should’ in there, Mahoney.”

  Anderson hid a grin as Mahoney grew red and his Irish ancestry came to the fore, along with his Boston accent. “Look, boyo, if I say she’ll fly, then she’ll fly!”

  Archer held up a hand and apologized, mollifying the stocky mechanic. “I’m sorry, I’m just… well, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Or ocean, whatever. It’s a lot of pressure for both of us.”

  Mahoney grumbled for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, that it is. Don’t worry, son. I’ll get us home.” He moved off to check on some last-minute work by one of his technicians, and Anderson glanced at the pilot.

  “Why do you do that? You know it sets him off.”

  “You just answered your own question, sir,” Archer said.

  Anderson chuckled. “All right, get your crap onboard, will ya? I wanna be out of here ASAP.”

  “You got it, sir.”

  It took longer than Anderson had expected to load everyone into the plane, but there was plenty of room for the remaining survivors. He looked back through the passenger cabin as Archer began the startup sequence with the help of Gaines. Though exhausted from their ordeal, the survivors seemed to be in a reasonably good mood, and looking forward to their new lives in the AEGIS bunkers. Anderson stepped forward and raised his voice.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Air AEGIS.” There was a spontaneous cheering, and he smiled. “Given the circumstances, we’re going to skip today’s safety briefing, because I’m sure you all know how to operate a seatbelt. Since we’ll be flying over a few thousand miles of open water over the next day or so, it would be a good idea to familiarize yourself with the lifejackets equipped on this particular aircraft. Also, take note of your nearest emergency exit, which may be behind you.” The survivors were laughing as they listened, and he was glad to hear it. “Now, please stow your tray tables and make sure your seat is in an upright and locked position for takeoff.”

  He went up to the cockpit and took the jumpseat just behind the pilots. “Everything good up here?”

  Archer nodded. “Yes, sir, Captain. Ready whenever you are.”

  “Take us up, Mr. Archer.”

  The plane taxied slowly toward the end of the runway, and Anderson took advantage of the view while he could. As the plane moved into position, he buckled into the seat, pulling the strap tight. Archer and Gaines pushed the throttles forward, and the plane began moving quickly down the runway, soon gaining enough lift to claw its way into the sky. A few minutes later, and they were on their way to Hawaii.

  As they leveled out, Anderson unbuckled his harness and stood up, stretching. He glanced down as he looked back at the survivors, who were in good spirits, and grinned.

  Speaking of spirits… He looked at the assembled survivors as he unlocked and pulled the bar cart out of its place in the galley, verifying it was almost fully stocked. Raising his voice, he made sure it would carry to the back of the plane.

  “Who wants a drink?”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Dalton Gaines looked out over the rippling waters of Kahului Bay. Dusk was coming quickly, now that the sun had set. He didn’t relish flying at night, but it’s not like they had a lot of choice. Honolulu had been a bust, but they’d been more fortunate with Maui’s airports. Only one runway was clogged with debris, and the other was serviceable, if not in great shape.

  A sparse walker presence had made for a quick clearing of the needed facilities, and they’d found fuel, though no planes that were any more serviceable than the one they were already on. Still, they’d had good luck. It was enough. It meant they’d be going home—at least, what was left of them.

  Now he was in the cockpit of the 767, trying to connect with the satellites to reach Rescue One or any of the bunkers to communicate that they were about to be on their way. He’d been trying for the last hour while everyone else was either stretching their legs or catching what sleep they could—or, in the case of his fellow soldiers, keeping watch for any strays that might show up.

  Suddenly the radio crackled, and a voice came through, interrupted by distortion and the satellite version of static. Although it was nearly incomprehensible, he thought he recognized the word AEGIS.

  As soon as the transmission paused again., he said, “AEGIS Rescue One calling AEGIS Bunker One. Come in, Bunker One.”

  Another pause, and another garbled transmission.

  “Say again your last, Bunker One, I did not copy. Say again.”

  The speakers squealed for a second, and Dalton winced as the sound cut through the cabin. “—epeat, this is Bunker One. It’s hard to talk right now—we are under attack.” A pause, and he heard someone yell in the background. “Get over there, then!”

  “Roger that, Bunker One,” Dalton said. “What is your situation?”

  A new voice came on the line, and Gaines recognized Daniel, the governor’s aide and husband. “Mr. Gaines, it’s good to hear your voice. Is Captain Anderson with you?”

  “Yes, but he’s not here at the moment.”

  “Are you all safe? And able to travel?”

  “Yes, we’ve refueled and are about to head to LAX.”

  “That’s good news. Mr. Blake and his team made it safely all the way to Bunker Seven. You’re to rendezvous with them there before coming here.”

  “I’m having a hard time maintaining this link, Daniel. Can you pass on word to them that we’re on our way?”

  The interruptions and garbling returned, and Gaines could tell Daniel was stressed. “I’ll try, but these attacks are nearly continuous. We’ll get them something as soon as we can. Good lu—” There was another squeal as the transmission cut out entirely, and Gaines finally gave up.

  Time to find the captain, he thought as he stood up and moved to the open cabin door, the mobile stairway parked beneath. At least this time it’s good news. Kinda.

  Angel Fire Airport

  Santa Fe, New Mexico

  Just under seven hours later
by our watches, AEGIS Rescue One landed at the dry, desert airport near Bunker Seven in northern New Mexico. It had only been a few days, but to me it felt like much longer since I’d seen my friends, and since there had been a good chance I’d never see them again, it was something of an emotional reunion. At least for me.

  I was waiting in the first Humvee in line when they rolled to a stop, and Reynolds and I were the first to jog over, with Colonel Shaw and Jennifer following at a somewhat slower pace. I clapped Gaines on the back and pulled him in for a hug, then moved on to Anderson who held up a hand. “Careful, son. I’m still healing.”

  “What? From what?”

  He pulled his uniform shirt aside to show the wound he’d received.

  “What the hell happened? I always thought you were bulletproof,” I said, grinning.

  “Funny you should say that,” he said, laughing, and told the story, then repeating it again as the Shaws arrived. “It’s not as bad as it looks, just hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  As he said that, I saw George Maxwell coming up behind him, but I thought it would be more fun not to telegraph that fact.

  “Pain is just weakness leaving the body, soldier,” said Maxwell. “Or so I hear.”

  Anderson immediately stiffened, then did a frankly amazing about-face, saluting the general, who returned it. “General, sir. I… I didn’t know you were going to be here.” Anderson gave me a withering look, and I held up my hands in innocence.

  George chuckled. “Spare me the melodrama, Frank. Why wouldn’t I be here? What the hell happened? And welcome back, by the way.”

  Anderson shook his head, laughing, then repeated the story for a third time.

  Maxwell listened quietly, and then nodded. “Sounds like you made the right call to let them try to go home. Now let’s get everyone loaded up and back to the bunker. Recon says there’s a herd moving nearby, and we don’t want to get caught out here.”

  Anderson turned to Gaines, who nodded and dragged Reynolds along to corral the civilians into the trucks we’d brought with us. It wasn’t comfy, but it was a damn sight better than being cooped up in a plane for days.

  Anderson surprised us all when he turned back. “Sir, I’d prefer to get back to my people at Bunker Eight. If you can get us refueled, we’ll be on our way.”

  Maxwell looked at him. “Look, Frank, I know you want to get back to Morena and the baby, but they’re fine, and you need medical attention now, not later. You’ll be on your way in a day or two, tops, I promise.”

  “Sir…”

  “That’s an order, Captain,” Maxwell said. “Besides, there are things going on that you all need to hear. We’ve got a problem, and we all need to figure out a solution soon. Or all of this,” he said, waving his hand at the planes sitting on the tarmac, “will have been pointless. So pardon my French, Captain, but get in the fucking truck.”

  I laughed, as did the others, and Anderson finally nodded and walked with us back to the Humvees. Once the survivors were loaded up, we secured the aircraft and headed back to the bunker. With Maxwell, Anderson and the Shaws in the lead Humvee, I was in the second with Gaines, Reynolds, and Archer.

  I brought Gaines and Archer up to speed on what had been going on with Bunker One and the renewed attacks by Arthur Beoshane. Gaines, in particular, was pissed, and kept saying we should just take the bastard out however we could. Cut the head off the snake. While I didn’t disagree with him, I was sure it wouldn’t be quite that easy.

  I was soon filling in everyone about the constant attacks on Bunker One. The round-the-clock assaults were still happening, giving Kim and me little time to talk by radio or phone, and I was more than a little anxious to get back home.

  With Maxwell, Anderson, and me there in the conference room, it was as close to a ‘council of bunkers’ as we were going to get anytime soon. Gaines, Reynolds, and Bill and Jennifer Shaw made up the rest of the small group.

  “Basically, Beoshane’s a tool with delusions of grandeur and a really creepy dude who works for him. Not sure what the creepy dude is all about, but I do know he seems nigh-invincible,” I said.

  “I can vouch for that,” said Reynolds. “It’s the same guy I saw with Beoshane ten-plus years ago, chasing us down in Tacoma. We don’t really know much about him, though.”

  I shook my head and sat down. “There’s… more to the story.” I glanced around the room, taking stock of those sitting there. Leaders, all of them, and they could handle what I had to tell them. They’d been through Hell and back. But their people were a different story. “What I’m about to tell you has been classified by Governor Gates and Colonel Barnes as need-to-know only. Not even you know about this yet, George. Nor do you, Tom, Dalton.” Maxwell was surprised, but remained silent. Dalton and Tom just waited, trusting in me.

  “His name is Driebach, and he’s not just your average creepy, invincible guy.” I went on to describe the scene that Masters had witnessed on the slopes of Mount Rainier, and what he’d found there. “Driebach survived an avalanche, but was obviously severely injured, judging by the blood where he dug himself out and how he had to drag himself through the snow. Then, he consumed about half of another survivor, who was alive at the time, and then walked away under his own power. That suggests that he can regenerate his health by eating people. I don’t know how it works, so don’t ask. We’re not even sure if that’s what really happened. All we know is that when we went back with a full tactical team, we couldn’t find him. So whatever he did allowed him to escape. Again.”

  There were more than a few green faces at the table.

  “Need-to-know basis, remember. There’s no need to go scaring people to death with stories of bogeymen, even if this one’s real.

  “We know he works for Beoshane. The question is, how do we get to him? We’ve got to stop these attacks.”

  Unexpectedly, Maxwell chimed in. “Actually, that fits with what I’ve been hearing.” We all looked at him, wondering where he was going with this. “Since before this whole thing started, I’ve had… well, let’s call them friends… in place in certain key areas to provide me with information that others might not want known. I’d heard rumors of something along the lines of Driebach, but I never paid them much attention. With what you’ve told us today about him and everything else, I think there’s a much bigger picture, here. I don’t think it’s Beoshane calling the shots on this, at all.”

  “Then who?” I asked. “There’s no one else in the area.”

  “That’s my point, exactly. I don’t think it’s someone in Seattle, or even Washington.” He pulled over a rolled bundle from a rack against the wall and spread it out on the conference table. It was a map of the US, with the locations of all ten bunkers marked. The sixth bunker had a large X drawn over it in red marker, and Bunker Nine just had a question mark. “I think what’s happening is that someone’s trying to take over the bunkers.”

  “What, like Gardner?” asked Tom, who had a special place in his heart for that bastard, just as I did.

  “No, Gardner wanted to rule with laws and structure, order amid chaos. Whoever’s doing this, though, is just looking to rule. Strong versus the weak, that sort of thing. I’m fairly certain, from reports I received at the time, that whoever it was is testing some sort of new weapon on these populations. I had word from Bunker Nine before we finally lost all contact, and they said they’d had a visit from someone. My guy in the bunker was pretty far gone at that point, so I never got a positive ID on the visitors, but he said that after they’d left, the people around him were… well, he used the word mutating. They weren’t turning into walkers, but they were going crazy, attacking and eating each other. Your report on Driebach reminded me of it.”

  He pointed toward Bunker Six. “I can’t prove it, but I think he had something to do with Six as well. I had Kim send me over the records of your recon team, and I looked through their videos and reports. There was evidence of some sort of impact on or just above the mountain, roughly cent
ered over the bunker. At the time, you weren’t looking for anything external, so you didn’t do too much investigating outside. But from what I saw, I think I know what happened.” He paused and sat back down. “I think it was a prion bomb.”

  There was dead silence in the room as we all considered the implications of that statement. I was the first to speak. “So what you’re saying…” I had to swallow to get the words out. “So, what you’re saying is that someone has weaponized the zombie prion?”

  George nodded. “Yes. And, more importantly, I know who did it.” When no one spoke, George continued. “I think it’s Malcolm Dagger. I’ve got some sources on the inside—and no, I can’t tell you who, yet—that found out that just before Z-Day, Dagger had somehow gotten himself assigned to a private research facility that was doing some black-ops government work using material ‘borrowed’ from USAMRIID. The records that my source has been able to recover indicate some high-level work with the prion, attempting to weaponize it. From what I’ve read, it looks like one of Henry Gardner’s pet projects that Dagger somehow appropriated.”

  “Goddamn Henry Gardner straight to Hell. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.” It was only when I noticed everyone staring at me that I realized I’d spoken aloud. I looked back, unapologetic, and no one disagreed with me.

  George coughed, and continued. “So based on this and other evidence I’ve put together, I’m pretty sure it’s him. I can’t prove it, yet, but I will, and soon.”

  By this point, I’d been hit by so many surprises that this one just didn’t have the impact it might have, otherwise. Still, I had to make sure of what I was hearing. “Wait… you’re telling us that the head of Bunker Four’s military unit is behind this?”