No Shelter: Book 3 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (Zero Hour - Book 3)

by Justin Bell

  “Pull back and join the group!” he shouted to Holbrook and the corporal immediately charged from the hallway and ran down the passage, hugging the wall close. Gunfire chased him, chunking walls and floor as Davis dropped to a knee and extended the barrel past the corner of his hall, opening up in return fire until his magazine ran dry. Ejecting the spent mag, he punched another one home and glanced behind himself, seeing Holbrook lurching into the third passage, following the rest of the group. Davis nodded and scattered off another quick barrage, then turned and ran himself, keeping his head low and his feet moving, tile smashing apart and spraying up into the air around his shuffling feet. Each spray of gunfire illuminated the dark hallway for sporadic strobe-light seconds, enough that he could find the third hallway, then pushed his way down, narrowly avoiding another burst of AK fire at his back.

  “They are not waiting!” Davis shouted, “We gotta do this quick and dirty, Marines!”

  “You heard the man!” Gunnery Sergeant Haskell barked. “Triple time!” They rounded another corner ahead at a dead run, moving down the hall as the commandos pursuing them hit the threshold of the hallway and threw bullets at them. Holbrook shouted and lunged left as a round caught his backpack, hugging tight to his rounded shoulders, but Campbell acted fast, charging forward and hooking his arm, then dragging him down the hall, keeping him moving.

  “I’m all right!” he shouted, “just got the pack!”

  “Then hurry your ass up, Corporal!” Haskell barked.

  Up ahead, the hallway ended in a metal door with a narrow, grid-covered window, and Agent Craig was already at the card reader, pressing the security guard’s ID to it. There was a green light and click and he swung the door open, the Marines shoving their way in, Sellers turning slightly so he could get Lassiter through the narrow opening, even while on his shoulders. King grimaced as he moved behind him, his left arm hanging limp, the camouflage pattern soaked through with a deep, dried crimson, like spilled coffee. He held Holbrook’s M16A2 in his right hand and seemed fully willing and able to use it if it came right down to it.

  Davis brought up the rear, barely squeezing through the door, head low as bullets punched into the metal, winging off white sparks and ricochets as they plunged into the darkened cages beyond.

  The room they entered was a maze. They walked up onto elevated platforms and everywhere they looked were chain link fences, enclosing a vast jungle of server racks filled with narrow technical equipment, the entire room alight with various flashing lights.

  “Each cage has their own internal generator as well as the master,” Craig said between drawn breaths. “I don’t know how much power they all still have, but even if they go dark, it’s all right. I just need access to the drive bays!”

  “The cages are all locked!” shouted Haskell, “How we getting in?”

  “Card readers at every station,” Craig replied, moving forward, his feet thudding on the flooring, a material that Davis was unsure of. Rubberized mats coated every inch of the floor, muffling their steps. Passages ran in a grid pattern, straight ahead, then left and right, criss-crossing at every section of cages, the chain link fence surrounding each block of server racks in a measured square or rectangle. Craig moved quickly, but was searching for some kind of numbering system so he could tell where they needed to be.

  “We’re looking for cages 1456 and 1879!” he said breathlessly.

  Muffled gunshots echoed from the other side of the metal door.

  “They’re trying to shoot their way in!” barked Quail.

  “We gotta move fast,” Davis hissed, “it won’t take ‘em long.”

  “Spread out!” Haskell shouted. “Move through all the hallways, search the name tags; you heard the man, we need 1456 and 1879! Go go go!”

  On command, the Marines exploded outward, charging through the passages, running between cages, scanning the walls for identifying numbers. Fingers ran along rough chain link, tracing small metal placards barely illuminated by the flashing activity lights in the equipment.

  “This is taking too long,” growled Davis as he came up next to Haskell. The two of them and Holbrook hovered near the main passage so they could keep an eye on the door while the rest of the team scattered. Sellers had set Lassiter down so he could assist in the search as well.

  “When I joined this outfit it wasn’t to dig through data centers looking for server racks,” Haskell replied. “I’ve had about enough of this backwards world already.”

  A dull whump slammed the metal door, nearly rattling it off its hinges, the glass window bursting inward like a shower of broken ice.

  “Marines!” Haskell screamed, jerking his M16 up into firing position. “They are through!”

  Almost instantly, Sellers appeared, scooping up Lassiter again and stepping backwards into one of the passages, and a mere moment afterwards, the metal door shuddered and leaped inwards, chased by trails of gray smoke, hitting the padded floor with a thwang.

  Even as the door hit the ground, black-clad commandos charged in, feet slamming on the metal door, charging into the passages, spreading out, lifting assault rifles and firing wildly. Haskell punched a swift burst from his M16, then fell back, rotating right to grab cover, sparks ratcheting across chain link and smashing equipment behind the fencing.

  Davis immediately unloaded with the M27, his arms jerking as he fired, keeping it in control, walking his throttling muzzle flash toward the scattering commandos.

  “I’ve got 1456!” a voice shouted from deep within the vast room.

  “Converge!” Haskell shouted. “Move back toward the cage!”

  Davis and Holbrook ducked and ran, charging backwards through one of the narrow passages, gunfire deafening within the tight, sound-proofed room. Previously air-conditioned until the generator had quit moments ago, the air was still cool and stale in contrast to the white hot sparks of gunfire that tore through the space. It seemed to be all around them as they ran, a rattling din that neither began nor ended, just a constant existence of shattering noise. Sparks splashed from in front of Davis and behind him, and all around him, the crisscross patterns of the passage ways providing too many entries and exits to cover.

  “This is a disaster!” he shouted, ducking low and running forward, clinging tight to Holbrook’s heels.

  “We’ve taken out a bunch of them, how many do you think they’ve got?”

  “More ‘n us!”

  They could see the collection of personnel up ahead, standing by one of the cages, Agent Craig by a card reader, furiously pressing his ID badge to the slender piece of mounted plastic. Even from this distance, Davis could see the red, unblinking eye of restricted access.

  “This badge is no good!” Craig screamed. “Where’s the other one?”

  Gunfire roared.

  “Disperse and cover!” Davis shouted as he approached. “Don’t clump together! If they’ve got grenades, this thing will be over quick!” Camouflaged soldiers burst apart, separating as Tanner handed the other ID badge to Craig, who scanned it, but only got another unblinking red eye.

  “Dammit!” he cursed. “This one’s not working either. No access!”

  The gunfire seemed to intensify, and three Marines broke forward, bringing up their M16’s, rattling return fire, only further drowning out all conscious thought from within the enclosed data center chamber. Campbell, Quail, and Underwood moved toward the corner of the cage and held their fire steady and consistent, trying to drive back the onslaught.

  “Get us in that cage now!” screamed Haskell. “They’re on us, Agent!”

  “If the card doesn’t work, I’m out of options!” Craig shouted. A metallic ping and clatter sounded amid the raucous gunfire and Davis whirled his head around.

  “Was that—?”

  The explosion was intense and overwhelming, an all-consuming white flash that seemed to blanket the entire world, the rushing wave of heat and concussive force throwing Davis from his feet as the tiny object detonated within the tig
htly grouped trio of Marines. Smoke stung and shards of metal and broken padded floor flung themselves throughout the passage, cutting gouges in Davis’s cheeks and punching hot shards of metal into his vest, arms, and legs.

  “Grenade,” groaned Haskell as he picked himself up, “they’ve got grenades!”

  Davis crawled to all fours, gunfire still a searing, painful racket in his ears. His arms stung and his chest clutched as if embraced by an over emotional relative, smoke crawled up into his nose and dug at the insides of his eyes, the whole world swimming in gray mixed with black.

  Clamoring to his feet, he stumbled forward as bullets clanged and slammed the walls around him, Holbrook pushing past him toward where the three Marines had fallen, bringing around his M27 and unloading a sudden barrage of return fire. Craig looked at Davis, eyes wide as the Marine approached, and he pressed a palm to Craig’s chest, shoving him backwards, while he reached into his holster and swept out his SIG semi-automatic pistol.

  “What are you—?”

  Davis whirled around and pointed the pistol at the locking mechanism on the cage and fired repeatedly, swift trigger pulls, bright muzzle flashes and an explosion of noise that he could barely hear above the constant buzzing in his ears. The panel lock on the cage dented, tore, then broke apart, releasing the cage door, while Davis kept hauling on the trigger as it clicked empty on a spent magazine.

  “There’s your damn key. Get the hard drives, we need to get out of here now!”

  Smoke filled the passage, Marines shouted and ran, gunfire slammed around them and Davis broke away, running toward his M27 which had been thrown from his hand with the grenade’s explosion. He stumbled, his head still stinging and spinning from the detonation and he lurched forward, propping himself up with one shaky arm while he snatched the M27 from the floor. As he bent over, he glanced toward the mouth of the passage and saw what was left of the three Marines there, splayed out amidst the smoke and broken flooring. One of the cages had shorn free of its post support, wrenched and hanging open like a wound.

  He closed his eyes and looked away, his mouth twisting into an angry snarl. This surveillance footage had better be worth it.

  “Got the drives!” shouted Craig from the cage and he moved away from it, slipping some metal boxes into the backpack he’d been carrying on his back, zipping it up. He looked up as he crouched over the bag. “Just need 1879!”

  “Negative!” Haskell shouted through a smoke induced choking cough. “This will have to be enough! We need to evac and now!”

  “Agreed!” Davis shouted back, then turned and rattled off the M27. “As it is I don’t know how we’re getting back through here!”

  “There’s a gap in the server racks!” Craig barked back. “In the cage. If we can go through and shoot our way out the other side, we can cut around them.”

  “They’re between us and the exit,” hissed Haskell.

  “Back door,” huffed Craig. “There’s a back door. Saw it on the blueprints.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Haskell asked. “Time to move out!” Sellers pulled back, turning toward where he’d dropped Lassiter and bent low to pick him up. He paused for a moment, then pressed fingers to his throat.

  “Lassiter’s gone, Gunny,” he said in a low, respectful voice.

  Haskell nodded. “We gotta leave him. I don’t like it, but if any of us are getting out of here alive, we got no choice. We’ll come back.”

  “Campbell, Quail, and Underwood got hit by the grenade,” Davis said. “They’re all gone, too.”

  Haskell chewed his lip, but nodded again. “Form up, Marines!” he said. “Remember our fallen! We will come back for them, but for now, we cut through this cage and get the hell out, do you understand me?”

  There was a chorus of Hoo-Rah shouts from the surrounding soldiers, chased by another shattering of gun fire, sparks blasting from the walls next to them.

  “They’re all over the place, Gunny,” Holbrook shouted as he ran to catch up to them. “Even cutting through the back, I don’t know if we—”

  “Can it, Corporal!” Gunny replied. “Let’s move!”

  Craig pulled another magazine from his tactical vest and snapped it into his SIG, replacing the one that Davis had emptied. He plunged into the cage, turning sideways to thread his way through the glut of server racks, stepping over cables, followed close behind by Haskell, King, Sellers, Rickard, Tanner, with Holbrook and Davis bringing up the rear.

  “How many more mags you got for your 27?” Davis asked in a low voice so as not to cause alarm.

  “Two,” Holbrook whispered in reply.

  “I’ve got one,” Davis said.

  “Let’s hope this doesn’t get hairy.”

  “Too late.”

  Gunfire silenced behind them for a moment as the commandos realized they were on the move, and they could hear approaching footsteps. Craig shot out the locking mechanism on the other side of the chain link cage and burst through, the Marines slamming on out right behind them. Davis cast one last look upon the four men they were leaving behind and tensed his arms as they clutched his weapon, hoping the guys they were running from didn’t have nefarious plans for the victims’ bodies. A black clad commando appeared in the open doorway of the cage entrance, pointing at them and shouting in the hoarse language, and this time with no other background noise, Davis heard it clearly, a spark of recognition forming deep in the bowels of his brain. As his muscles moved, he mentally filed it away for later, not wanting to get mixed up in analysis when his instincts were fight or flight.

  The commando brought up an AK and opened fire, Davis narrowly avoiding it by shifting left, letting the chain link blow apart under the impact, sending rounds spinning off in opposite directions. He focused the M27 on center mass and rattled off a quick burst, so not to expend too much ammunition, and the commando shouted as he stumbled backwards.

  More men swarmed around him, but Davis was already in another hallway, chasing down the rest of the Marines, leaving a faint scattering of gunfire behind him. The hallways led to darkness up ahead, and he hoped there was nothing sinister waiting there as they worked their way toward the rear exit of this fortress that had become a house of death and destruction.

  ***

  The lone guard walked the length of Main Street, his M4 Carbine held loosely in two hands across his chest as he strode, step by step, more out of habit than anything else. Empty streets and sidewalks ran left to right, a far different sight than it had been a few hours previously when it seemed like the entire military detachment for Aldrich was patrolling simultaneously. They’d gone street by street and alley by alley, meticulously combing through, searching for the escaped girl.

  They hadn’t found her. By some stroke of luck, they hadn’t found Jackson either; he’d been able to stay one step ahead of them, moving just ahead of their roaming patrols. He knew the downtown area of Aldrich as if it were his living room. He knew all the back streets, all the narrow pass throughs, even which businesses typically left their doors unlocked. He knew it all and had used it all within the past few hours, taking Melinda through passages and spaces that these National Guard infiltrators were not aware of. At one point Harris had stormed out onto the street, barking orders and shouting obscenities, ordering the soldiers to keep looking, to spread out the search pattern, and to find the girl no matter what.

  One guard remained in the area, covering Main Street while the others had scattered throughout the town in search. The man walked up and down Main Street, eyes narrowed beneath his tactical helmet, looking for movement or motion. As he passed the Town Hall, he hesitated for a moment, looking down at the row of windows that peered out from the basement level.

  Jackson held his breath as the guard stopped, then leaned down to look, as if he’d seen something he hadn’t seen before. From the shadows of the alley across the street, the narrow gap between buildings he’d returned to, Jackson tensed, moving forward quietly, but assuredly. Along his side of the road
a few scattered vehicles were parked. An old sedan was a block right, parked nose to tail against a small black four-door. A short distance to his right, out next to the sidewalk sat a blue Ford pickup truck, nose facing right, empty and still, abandoned. He thought the truck looked familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember who the previous owner had been. Whoever it was, they were likely dead now, never to come recover their treasured vehicle. It wasn’t long ago that Jackson would have been able to immediately identify eighty percent of the town’s citizens simply by the car they were driving, but his months in Boston had taken at least some of those skills away.

  Moving out from the alley, he shifted left, moving behind the truck, but keeping his eyes on the guard who was in a full crouch now, bending low, fingers reaching out toward the window. That was no good. That was no good at all.

  Turning his head side-to-side, Jackson looked for something, anything, and found a loose chunk of broken concrete underneath the truck, resting against the lip of the sidewalk. Clutching it in his fingers, he picked it up off the ground and tossed it behind him, smacking it against a large front-facing window. The window didn’t break, but the sound carried out across the street and the soldier sprang up from his crouch, whirling around, his weapon raised and ready.

  Jackson settled down behind the truck as the man in camouflage approached, bent knees, walking step-by-step, weapon trained on the building. Neither man spoke, the soldier just pressed onward, coming up next to the blunt nose of the truck, eyes focused on the building, then drifting downward to see the rock resting on the sidewalk. He narrowed his eyes and Jackson lunged.

  Thrusting his legs out straight, he charged at the man, leaving the ground, hitting him full on in the chest, aiming for his right shoulder. As he barreled into the soldier, Jackson jabbed with his fist, striking at the nerve cluster at the man’s right arm, and he hit it just where the bicep meets the round contour of the shoulder. The man’s fingers sprang apart and his weapon broke free, clattering to the ground as Jackson’s momentum carried him forward, landing atop the man, his full weight slamming down on his chest.