by Dirk Patton
Packard was quiet for a long time, absorbing everything he’d just been told. Hunched over, elbows on his knees, he continued playing with the cigarette as he considered options. Finally, he sat up straight and lit it, inhaling deeply.
“Just so I understand, Captain. We have two choices. One, we fight our way through the Russians in California so we can land and transport one million people across hundreds of miles of desert to our new home. And once we get there, the fighting won’t stop. We’ll have to defend our territory, and even if we’re successful and win the war, we’ll lose so many young people that it won’t matter. About all that will be left will be senior citizens, like me, who can sit in our rocking chairs and watch our population die off until there’s not anyone left.
“Or, we go into Australia and kill Barinov, then rescue Admiral Shevchenko from the gulag in Siberia in the hope that he’ll be able to convince all of the Russian commanders to follow him and come live arm in arm with us. You’re going to put two groups of people together who hate each other. Who destroyed each other’s country and killed millions in the process. And, somehow, we’ve got to find a way to get along without killing each other. Is that pretty much it?”
“In a nutshell, sir,” West said.
“And, why do you think this will work?”
“Because there’s no other choice, sir. Yes, we hate the Russians, and they hate us. Good reason on our part, and I’m sure they think they have a legitimate beef as well. But, if we don’t do this, there won’t be enough of America left to justify continuing the fight. Sir.”
“And, who exactly is going to sell this to the American people? Tell them to put aside their hatred for what’s been done to us, to the entire planet, and buddy up with the people they hold responsible.”
“You are, sir,” West said with a grin.
“Captain, when we’re through here I want you to report for drug testing,” Packard said with a snort.
“Happily, sir,” West said, smiling. “But, I’m serious. You’ve led us through everything that has happened to our country, and the people know that. Without you, I don’t believe we’d still be here. They know that, too, and they’ll listen to you. That’s why I took the liberty of leaving a form on your desk. It’s already filled out, and all it needs is your signature.”
“What form? What are you talking about?”
“Seems the Governor wasn’t just posturing when he said we were going to have elections as quickly as could be arranged. I went down to the Hawaii Secretary of State’s office early this morning and picked up the paperwork to declare candidacy for President.”
Packard paused with a cigarette halfway to his mouth, staring in surprise.
“I’m not a politician, Captain,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, sir. You’re not. And that’s exactly why we need you right now.”
35
A single, distant figure was in the corridor, slowly moving in our direction. It was too far away to make out details, but I was willing to trust Dog’s nose. If he thought it was an infected, who the hell was I to argue with him?
Moving cautiously, I raised my rifle for a look through the scope. Finding my target, I saw a woman dressed in an Air Force enlisted uniform. I couldn’t see her eyes, but within a few seconds, she hitched her shoulder while ticking her head to the side. This confirmed I was looking at an infected.
As she paused to test the air at an open door, I pulled the trigger. The rifle emitted a muted report as it spat out a bullet and an instant later the female’s head snapped back and she tumbled to the shiny floor. I kept my eye to the scope for several more seconds to see if she had any companions that would emerge into the hall, but it seemed as if she was alone.
“Female infected,” I said to the team, lowering my weapon.
“How the fuck did she get in?” Nitro hissed.
“Found a few,” Johnson said. “So far, always in the lower levels.”
“Probably been here all along,” I said. “She was in uniform. We’d better be sure we’re watching our asses. Don’t need a surprise to come screaming out of one of these rooms. Now, let’s get moving and get this thing upstairs.”
Dog and I stepped out into the hallway, Igor joining us. We took up guarding positions on either side of the door as Nitro pushed and Johnson pulled and steered the large contraption. It must have been even heavier than it looked because Nitro was puffing and sweating within a few yards. Igor glanced down at the machine. Leaning sideways for a better look, he raised a hand to stop them and picked up a control module connected to the unit by a heavy, black bundle of wires.
He clicked a button, then pressed on a small, rubber encased joystick. With a faint whine of electric motors, the platform began rolling down the corridor under its own power. When he released the control, it quickly came to a stop. Grinning, he handed the module to Johnson and went back to scanning the corridor.
“You guys are making America look bad,” I grumbled.
“Piss off, boss,” Nitro said with an embarrassed grin on his face.
Johnson made a few false starts but quickly figured out the little nuances in driving the machine. Soon he had it humming down the middle of the corridor, walking behind it with the controller in his hand. Nitro joined Igor on point, moving ahead and paying close attention to each open door. Dog and I trailed behind, keeping a close eye on the long stretch of hall to our rear.
We spread out in the central hub, covering all the corridors as Johnson maneuvered the platform into an elevator. Igor stayed with him as Nitro, Dog and I raced up the stairs to level A. Our job was to make sure there hadn’t been any bad guys, or infected, come into the area. Putting all of us into the elevator could result in a nasty surprise when the door opened at our destination.
It was a matter of less than a minute for us to clear the immediate area, then Nitro ran back down to give them the go ahead as Dog and I kept watch. Walking a slow circle around the central bank of elevators, my mind immediately drifted to Katie and my burning need for vengeance. I experienced a momentary flash of guilt when I thought about Rachel, but dismissed it as quickly as it came over me. I had something to do before I could let myself even consider what the future might hold for us.
The elevator dinged softly, pulling me out of my thoughts. Nitro and Igor stepped out, moving in opposite directions as Johnson piloted the machine into the open. He steered it to the entrance of the breached corridor, letting it roll to a stop.
“How are we going to do this?” He asked, looking at me. “This thing isn’t exactly fast, and I don’t expect the militia is just gonna let me drive it close enough to hose them down.”
“I’ll do it,” Nitro said. “They know me. Don’t like me, but they know me. I can get close before they realize there’s a problem.”
“Do it,” I said without hesitation.
Johnson handed the controller to Nitro and stepped to the side. We fell in a few yards behind him as he piloted it into the corridor. It took several minutes to cover the distance to the bend where Bunny and Monk were hunkered down. Both looked at Nitro in surprise when they saw the machine.
“What the fuck’s that?” Monk asked.
He was a little guy, no more than five foot three or four and built like a gymnast. The top of his head didn’t even reach Nitro’s shoulder. I didn’t know him but was willing to bet he was hell on wheels in hand to hand combat. Never underestimate the little guys.
He reminded me of a time I’d been in Thailand on leave. Young, dumb and full of… well, you know what I mean. Anyway, here I was, this great big, strapping Green Beret who thought he was the toughest guy to ever walk into a bar. Like the wet behind the ears idiot I was, I wound up challenging this skinny little local guy who couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. He was nothing more than sinew stretched over bone, and I’d taken exception to how he looked at me.
What I didn’t know at the time was just how popular the martial arts in
General, and stick fighting specifically, were in Thailand. And, in my defense, I had no way of knowing the guy I’d just shoved off a bar stool was a nationally ranked stick fighter. As I found out, they are blindingly fast and know exactly where to place their strikes to cause the most damage.
Well, I think he hit me about thirty times before I managed to land a glancing blow on his shoulder. With my size, if the punch had connected solidly, I’d probably have broken his neck. But, that’s the thing about the guys that practice this type of combat art. They train and train and train on being able to avoid blows from big, dumb guys like me. So, he hit me about twenty more times, and I was in real trouble before the other Americans in the bar finally intervened. Other than the one near miss, I’d never laid a finger on the guy.
I was nearly out on my feet when half a dozen guys hustled me out of there before I wound up in the morgue. Fortunately, I learned a few valuable lessons that day. First, don’t start shit with someone over something stupid. More importantly, never underestimate an opponent. Oh, and one other thing. If you’re facing a ridiculously fast little guy like that stick fighter, just shoot the fucker rather than get your ass kicked. Saves a lot of wear and tear on the body and face.
“Heard you needed an enema,” Nitro answered Monk. “Bend over!”
“Can we focus on the bad guys?” I asked.
“Sorry, boss,” Nitro said, sounding anything but. “Bunny, you’re with me.”
“Doing what?” The other man asked.
“You drive this thing. I’m going to walk beside it.”
“Yeah. What does it do?” Bunny asked, slowly taking the controller.
“Easier to show you than tell you,” Nitro said. “Johnson, what do I do?”
Johnson stepped forward and leaned over the pump. He pressed a couple of buttons that were protected by clear plastic covers. A low-frequency hum started up as he opened valves on the top of each drum.
“Point it and pull the trigger,” he said. “Be ready. It comes out damn fast. Kind of like a fire hose.”
Nitro nodded and picked up the wand. It looked like the sprayer from a pressure washer, but the pipe was about an inch in diameter with a complicated valve on the end. The inert half of the foam was probably pumped through the pipe, the valve at the end mixing it with the contents of the other barrel as it shot out.
“Let’s go,” he said to Bunny.
Together, they set off down the corridor at a slow pace that matched the trundling platform. The rest of us stayed back, hidden from the guards by the bend. Quickly, the whine of the drive motor and pump faded away. I wanted to watch, to see what the thing looked like in action, but couldn’t expose my head and risk alerting the militia that something wasn’t quite right.
A couple of minutes later there were several shouts of alarm from down the corridor. They were cut off by a scream of pain and fear that didn’t stop.
“Let’s go,” I said, standing and leading the way around the bend.
Dog at my side, I charged down the hall. Ahead, I could see the large machine, Bunny unmoving behind it. Nitro was to the side and slightly ahead of the platform. Drawing closer, I got my first look at the results of his attack.
A large blob of foam nearly filled the corridor from floor to ceiling. In several places, I could see feet and hands sticking out of the surface. As I skidded to a stop beside Nitro, one of those hands opened and closed a couple of times before going still.
The screaming continued, coming from a man who was completely encased in the substance up to his neck. His eyes were wild with fear as he bellowed in pain. Nitro simply stood staring, the sprayer hanging limply from his big hand. Raising my rifle, I shot the man between the eyes, silencing his screams and ending his pain. After that, we all stood there, staring at what the device had done.
“Two seconds,” Nitro said in a quiet voice.
“What?” I asked.
“Two seconds,” he repeated. “That’s all it took. The shit hit them and just swallowed them up as it expanded. Never seen nothin’ like it. Fuck of a way to go.”
There was still an opening through the debris field caused by the bomb and before I could say anything I began hearing sounds of movement. The guards outside were coming to see what had happened.
“Seal that up,” I said, pointing.
Nitro nodded and stepped closer, aiming the end of the sprayer into the void. Depressing the trigger, he held it down for a couple of seconds, sending a thick, grayish stream of foam into the opening. Wherever it came into contact with any surface, it immediately stuck and expanded incredibly fast, completely filling all of the empty space, the debris becoming embedded. By the time Nitro shut off the stream, the breach was completely sealed and impassible.
36
“How’s he doing?” I asked Rachel.
We had returned to the hangar. Well, Dog and I were there already. The rest of the team was busy adding more foam to the corridor to ensure the breach remained sealed. Once that was complete, they were going to perform a sweep of the A level and make sure we had a clear path to the medical suite.
“Still unconscious,” Rachel said.
“I meant, is he going to be able to fly? We’ve got about four hundred assholes out there, and I don’t see how we’re going to fight our way clear.”
“I can’t tell you that,” Rachel said.
“I can fly if you’ve got a helicopter.”
We turned in surprise when the General spoke from behind us.
“You can fly a helo?” I blurted.
“My dad was an Army pilot. Taught me to fly before I could drive,” she said, crossing her arms in defiance. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in the cockpit, but I can get us out of here. Where would we go?”
I looked back at her without saying anything, feeling the tension rolling off Rachel. There was something about the General she didn’t like, and I was only assuming it was jealousy of another attractive woman. Maybe there was more to it than that. We needed to have a conversation, but first I needed to know what the hell was going on.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to board an aircraft that you’re in charge of,” I said bluntly.
Her eyes opened wide at the blatant statement of mistrust.
“You really think Pablo would trust me if I had an agenda?” She asked, surprising me that she knew Nitro’s real name.
“He wouldn’t be the first man to be seduced by a pretty face and big tits!”
It was my turn to open my eyes, well, eye, wide in surprise when Rachel spoke. Dog was sitting between Rachel and me and, picking up on her mood, flattened his ears and showed his teeth. Anger flashed across the General’s face, and I quickly raised my hand to stop both of them before things got out of hand.
“Enough!” I barked, also placing a hand on Dog’s head. “General, you and I need to have a chat. We’ve got nothing else to do until the team returns, so we might as well get some things out in the open.”
Her eyes were locked on Rachel’s, and I was afraid I was going to wind up having to pry them apart if I didn’t get some space between them. Irina, standing to the side, caught my eye and tilted her head. I nodded, and she stepped forward, wrapping her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. After several long seconds, and another withering glance, she allowed herself to be lead away.
“That woman is crazy!” The General said when they were out of earshot.
“I’d advise you to watch your mouth,” I said. “You don’t know her story.”
“And she doesn’t know mine!”
“Fair enough,” I said after a moment. “So, why don’t you tell me? And what’s with the pearl handled .45s?”
I pointed at the twin pistols she wore on her belt.
“They were my dad’s,” she said, a brief flicker of sadness passing across her face.
She seemed about to continue talking, but hesitated and shook her head.
“I want to talk to Pablo, first. I’m feeling a little like I’ve gone from
the frying pan into the fire.”
“Suit yourself,” I said. “Just remember what I said about watching what you say. My people have been through hell and aren’t going to take too kindly to any disrespect.”
“Oh, give it a break,” she said. “You don’t see what’s going on with her?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“My God. You’re just as thick as Sean! That woman is in love with you. Can’t you see that? What I don’t get is why I’m a threat and that little blonde that took her aside isn’t.”
The name rang a bell, and it took a few seconds for the low wattage light bulb in my head to come on.
“Sean? Who was that?” I asked.
She stared at me, trying to figure out why I was asking.
“My husband,” she eventually said, her pain clear.
“Where is he now?”
She shook her head and looked away before answering, “He’s gone. Died in the D.C. area on the night of the attacks.”
“I’m sorry,” I said after a pause. “I think I talked to him. Once.”
She blinked, all traces of anger gone from her eyes. Reaching out to touch my arm, she stopped herself and let her hand drop to her side.
“You talked to him? When?”
“The night before the attacks,” I said, not seeing any reason to keep the information to myself. “Nitro called me at home, asking if I’d talk to Sean. He had questions about somebody I’d worked with in the past. I agreed, only because it was Nitro, and talked to your husband for about half an hour.”
“Delker!” She exclaimed. “He called you about a man named Delker!”
“Yes,” I said, a chill passing through me. “What do you know about him?”
“He was involved,” she said in a low voice.
“Involved? With what?”
“The attacks. Somehow. It was a conspiracy within the government. Something like that. That’s all I know.”
I stood mute, remembering the abrasive CIA officer I’d worked with on an operation in Central Africa in what seemed another life. The fucker had been a thorn in my side, and we hadn’t parted friends.