She looked into his swollen eyes. They made her feel safe again. To Greg, her gray eyes were like an oasis. She passionately pressed her lips against his again, breathing heavily. This time he kissed her back. Then for a moment he just held her, rubbing his palm over her back, a kind of reassurance that they were going to be OK.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for getting me out of here.”
“Thank you for trying to rescue me,” she replied. “I’m sorry—”
Greg held his hand against her cheek. “No. No apologies.”
They stepped away from each other and began to strategize. Veronica’s pistol had four rounds in it; not nearly enough to take on Hodder’s army. Greg had heard of an underground armory from Joel. Veronica had heard the same from one of the doctors who had met his own fate at her hands. They both agreed that the key to any victory over Hodder relied on getting into the armory.
“There’s other people locked in these cells,” Veronica said. “I don’t know how many in all, but we can build our numbers. Give us a fighting chance.”
Greg was apprehensive about the idea. “We don’t know them. We don’t even know why they’re locked up.”
“We need them!” Veronica said, pacing. “They’re probably in here for the same reason we are: awaiting some ridiculous trial at the hands of these madmen.”
“I met a man we can trust,” Greg said. “I gave him and his family two rifles I stole from some guards. That gives us something.”
Veronica opened her mouth, ready to object. Greg held up his hand. “I’m not discounting any of these people locked up. I’m just saying that we need to be careful.”
“The clock is ticking, Greg. How long before another guard comes waltzing in here wondering what happened to his partner?”
“We move now. You have the keys ready?”
Veronica rolled her eyes and put her hands over her face. “I left them in the door. I can’t believe it.”
“It’s OK,” Greg assured her. “Let’s get our heads straight and get ready.”
Veronica suddenly rushed into his arms again. He held her gently. “We can do this,” he said. “I know we can.”
***
Bill Hodder walked across the stage overlooking the public square—his favorite place to be. It was where he felt he held the most power. Microphone in hand, he spoke endlessly to the people lined up in rows as his men conducted headcount checks. They had come up a few short. Anyone not present was immediately flagged.
Hodder was confident of the men he had guarding the bunkers, even the CDC researchers he rarely saw. Those people didn’t concern him. At the top of his wanted list was Joel’s family and the Freeman couple. A search of the base hadn’t yielded any results, which infuriated Hodder, but he knew that eventually he would run them down. He kept the tired crowd out under the hot sun to the point of exhaustion.
“If anyone can give me information on the whereabouts of Joel Carson, Jordan Carson, Ruby Carson, Rosie Carson, and Rhianna Carson, please let me know. I’m also looking for an elderly couple you may be familiar with, Dolores and Pat Freeman. The sooner we find these people, the sooner you can all go back to your living quarters.”
From below the stage, overlooking the crowd, Marcus stood next to Specialist Santos. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “He really knows how to drag things out lately.”
Santos looked at him but he was hard to read, given the thick sunglasses concealing his eyes. “I hear ya’. We could be out here all damn night. He better hurry up, I got some tail to get with later.”
Marcus scoffed. “Yeah right. Who?”
Santos laughed. “The Rodriguez girl. She’s taken a liking to me. What can I say?”
Marcus leaned in closer in disgust. “You and everyone else around the base. How much is it gonna cost you, two cases of MREs?”
“Hey, fuck you, puta,” Santos snapped. “You’re just a jealous old man.”
“Whatever,” Marcus said.
They both resigned themselves to looking out into the crowd as Hodder droned on endlessly from the stage.
“It’s not just the numbers, my fellow survivors. I fear that friends of our terrorist outsiders may have infiltrated the base and perhaps taken them hostage. There is no way of knowing until we find our fellow residents.”
Marcus looked to Santos again. “Is he fucking serious?”
“Got to keep the people in line,” Santos said, shrugging.
Hodder looked out into the crowd with fire in his eyes. Despite his calm, concerned demeanor, inside, he was raging. He wanted to pull the crowd on stage one by one and hold a gun to their heads until they revealed the whereabouts of the traitors among them. Either that, or spill their brains on the wooden platform. It was all the same. He began to yell now, growing angrier. His requests soon turned to demands. He ordered the crowd to talk, but still no one said anything.
“All right,” Hodder shouted into his microphone. “Have it your way.” He turned to one of his men standing guard on the ground. “You there, bring up the first person in line.”
The burly man went right to the first person, a young woman, and pulled her onstage. She fought every step of the way, screaming out for help. Hodder’s man dragged her up the steps and threw her on the platform at Hodder’s feet.
“What we’re lacking here is the proper motivation!” Hodder paused and pulled his revolver from its holster. “One of you knows something, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it if it takes every last one of you!”
The woman pleaded as Hodder pointed the gun at her head. Instead, he kicked her down, shocking the crowd—and even some of his own men. He then pointed the revolver at the crowd as people fell to the ground and ducked their heads.
“One of you knows, and we’re going to get to the bottom of it no matter the cost!”
Revolution
Greg and Veronica moved quickly from cell to cell and tried to open each door. Veronica unlocked the doors as Greg held the pistol at the ready. They were greeted by residents who were pale, frightened, and underweight. Many had been incarcerated for weeks. There were eight men of varying ages and three women in all. Each of them was confused and disoriented upon their release and had little clue to what was happening.
They had all been locked up under similar circumstances—suspected of aiding a resistance movement. Some had indeed played a part in what they were being accused of, though others had not. It became patently obvious to Greg that, under Hodder’s control, Base 42 had turned into a modern-day gulag.
They were normal people, for the most part, who had been through hell. Some were eager to fight back. Some had lost people close to them through disease or murder at the hands of Hodder’s men. Some had lost their will, while others had lost their way. Greg knew that they needed numbers and weapons. It would make all the difference. Once everyone was gathered outside their cells wearing orange and blue jumpsuits, Greg and Veronica stood in the middle of the hall to address them.
“This is our last chance to save not only ourselves, but the innocent people at this base,” Greg began. “We have tremendous odds against us, but as long as we unite, we can still do it. Veronica and I were prisoners here just like you. She managed to break out and free me. Now we’re offering the same chance to you. But freedom doesn’t mean a thing if we can’t leave this underground cell block. The real fight is out there.” Greg pointed up and then held up Veronica’s pistol.
“This weapon makes all the difference. Hodder and his men are able to do whatever they want because the people they control are unarmed. But that is now about to change. Our plan is to get into the armory for more weapons. For this, we’ll need a few things. We’ll need people to help us take out the guards from both this bunker and the other one containing the armory. As we get to the armory, I’ll need a group to go to the hangar and gather some basic tools so I can bypass the vault and alarm system.”
A skinny, scraggly man with long brown hair parted in the middle stepped f
orward. “How can you be sure that we will get in there, even with tools?”
“In my job, I’ve installed many of the same systems that this base uses. I’m not one hundred percent, but it’s the best chance we have.”
Veronica noticed the solemn, despondent faces of the people around them.
“Hey, we can do this, people. Greg and I were set for trial tomorrow.” No one said anything. “I have no doubt that they planned to kill us both. Look at us now. We have a chance to change everything.” A woman muttered, “Maybe.” Veronica smiled at her. “We’ve all suffered so much during this terrible time, but all is not lost. We control our fates, not the people who run this place.”
A gray-haired woman wearing a faded jumpsuit stepped forward. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. It’s just not right. The minute we emerge from the bunker, they’re going to gun us down. You don’t know what these people are capable of.”
All eyes watched as she walked back into her cell and closed the door.
Greg could see that some others felt the same way. “You can do things her way, or you can do them our way. But to willingly be a prisoner is the saddest thing of all. Join us and fight back.”
“I’m in,” a man said, introducing himself as Brian. He was thin and young-looking despite the heavy bags under his eyes and his stooped shoulders.
“Me too,” a woman with curly red hair said. “I’m Carla.”
“You got my help,” a tall, slouching man said. “Name’s Ernie.”
Others called out in support too, and before long, Greg and Veronica had won them over to their cause. Having the support of a group of eleven was one thing; the task before them was a different animal altogether. They moved to the door leading up the stairs and out of the bunker. Greg took Veronica’s pistol and said that he would clear the room first. She nodded and waited with their new group as Greg pushed the door open and went up the stairs. Pistol in the air, he came to the top of the stairs and glanced around the corner.
In a small room off to the side, one of Hodder’s men was sleeping in a chair, with monitor screens in front of him. He was a tall man with short, thinning gray hair and a goatee. Greg could see a ledger full of scribblings on the table next to the man that said “Wade’s Journal.” The room was compact and tight with an operations table, phones, VHF radios, and five small black-and-white monitors. The man, who he assumed to be Wade, had slept through the entire escape from their cells. Maybe Hodder had been pushing them too long or maybe the man was just lazy; either way, he was about to wake up.
Greg approached from behind and pushed the pistol against his neck. “Hey,” he said. “Rise and shine.”
Wade’s head drooped down and then he jerked up, suddenly awake and disoriented. Greg took a quick inventory of the room and saw the man’s rifle leaning against the table resting on its barrel. Wade tried to turn around, but Greg gripped his shoulder and told him to look straight ahead.
“If you don’t wanna get shot, do exactly what I say.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Wade tried to twist away. Greg swung the handle of the pistol down hard on his head. Wade fell over and slammed into the operations table, holding his head in pain. He heaved, cursed, and moaned as Greg stood over him, ready to strike again.
“No questions. Just listen.”
Wade remained slumped on the table covering his head. Greg looked over to the door leading out of the room. Next to it on the wall was a keypad. His head turned back to the man, who hadn’t made a move.
“You’re going to help me get out of here. What’s the code?”
Wade’s voice shook. “I can’t do that. They’ll put me through the wringer if I let you out of here.”
Greg pushed the barrel against the Wade’s skull. “I’ll blow your brains out if you don’t. Which way do you wanna go?”
Wade hesitated, sobbing.
“Tell me the code!” Greg shouted. His voice shook the room.
“Five nine seven nine!” Wade cried out.
Greg patted him on the back. “You see, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now get up.”
Wade slowly rose up from his chair. Greg looked around the room for something to tie him up with but couldn’t find anything. However, Wade’s long-sleeved black shirt would do the trick. “Take your shirt off.”
“W-what?” Wade asked.
“Just do it.” Greg walked to the other door as the man slowly and reluctantly pulled his shirt off, exposing a chest and torso covered with scars and badly faded tattoos.
“It’s all clear!” Greg yelled down the stairs. He then heard Veronica and the rest of the group began to walk up. Greg walked past a shirtless Wade to the exit. He punched in the numbers and the door unlocked.
“Smart to not bullshit me,” Greg said. He cracked the door open and looked out. There was a long, dark cement tunnel angled upward where he could see daylight at the end. They were close.
He walked over to Wade and told him to turn around just as Veronica and the others showed up. With his pistol pointed at the man, Greg signaled to the group.
“One of you use his shirt and tie his arms together. Who knows how to tie a good knot?”
A thirty-something man with shaggy hair and patches of scruff on his face stepped forward. “Hey, screw that, man. Shoot this son of a bitch!”
The group nodded along in support as others joined the call for blood. Veronica looked at their group with concern. She didn’t know how she felt about it.
“No,” Greg said. “Take him downstairs and lock him in one of the cells.”
“Why?” an angry woman shouted out. “Would he do the same thing in our position? Look at him, he’s a common thug!”
“It’s not worth the bullet. What are you going to do, beat him to death? Whatever humanity we still have, we have to hold onto it. When this is all over, that’s what’s going to matter.”
Veronica was surprised to hear such words come from Greg’s mouth. She was almost sure he would have killed the man by now. Maybe their experiences had changed him.
After Wade was tied by his arms, Greg pushed him into the group. “Two of you lock him in the first cell, and then head back up here.”
Two men nodded and grabbed Wade, pulling him along down the stairs. Greg told the group the plan for their next step.
“We’re splitting into two teams: team A and Team B. For Team B, I need people light on their feet plus a good shooter. Team A, two good shooters and everyone else. Team A will go to the hangar as Team B takes a stationary position behind them to provide cover if needed. Team A will take one rifle for immediate defense while Team B will have two for cover. Once Team A is out of range, Team B will go to the other bunker, secure the entrance, and wait. Team A, you will meet us at the second bunker with whatever tools you can get from the hangar.”
“Everyone does know where the other bunker is, right?” Greg asked.
The group nodded as the two men came back up the stairs after locking up the guard.
“Veronica and I will lead Team B.”
Greg looked around the group.
“Brian?” he asked.
Brian looked up. “Yeah?”
“You good with a weapon?”
Brian nodded as Greg tossed him the rifle. He then looked to Ernie. “You and Brian take one other person and get me those tools.”
“Sure thing,” Ernie said. “Let’s go, Alvara,” he continued, pulling a tanned and flummoxed-looking man out of the group.
Greg looked to the group. “Team B—myself, Veronica, and the rest of you will move to the other bunker and wait outside the door. We have to be extra careful in our movements. Stick to the shadows—structures, buildings, dumpsters, whatever you can hide behind.”
He wanted someone good with a rifle to lead Team A and someone who knew the best way to the other bunker to lead Team B.
“Once we have the tools, I’m pretty sure I can get us into the building. I know how to bypass these things in my sleep.”
Th
e group felt confident. Greg seemed to know what he was talking about. “Just watch your back and stay alert. It’s the best thing I can tell you. Now let’s move.”
***
Fortunately for Greg and the group, all attention was still on the commotion in the public square. Bill Hodder was growing more impatient by the hour. He prowled the stage from one side to the other, wearing his beret, fatigues, and aviator sunglasses. Their celebration following Greg’s capture was short-lived. Now he had other problems.
He couldn’t trust his men, he couldn’t trust the people, and—with his reluctance to start randomly shooting anyone who he suspected of treason—he couldn’t trust himself. The exhausted people were now mostly lying on the hot pavement trying to fan themselves. Two had already been carried away, probably suffering from heat stroke. During a rambling speech on the new age of survivalism, Marcus—his most trusted enforcer—climbed onto the stage and urged him to soften his rhetoric.
“If anyone had any information on where the missing families went, I’m sure they would have told us by now.”
Hodder looked away, distracted as Marcus waited for some kind of response. Hodder moved the microphone away from him and covered it with his hand.
“You believe in breaking points, right? Everyone has them. We’re about to find out.”
“Yeah, but—”
“It’s like this, Marcus. It may just be a family and it may just be an old couple no one cares about. That’s not the point. If one person shows us up, that’s all it takes. Then we lose everything. You, Alex, Santos, and the rest. You’re the muscle. You’ve been referred to as my enforcers. That’s fine. We all play an intricate part in this whole thing. But don’t forget whose vision is responsible for this.”
Marcus shook his head. “I won’t. I won’t forget for a second, trust me. But this shit has to stop. The men are losing their—”
Hodder snapped. “Their what? The men are losing what?” he shouted. All eyes went to the stage where it looked like a heated discussion was taking place. “Are they losing their faith in me as a leader? Losing their trust? Tell me.”
End Days Super Boxset Page 111