Plague Years (Book 3): This Thing of Darkness I Acknowledge Mine

by Rounds, Mark

  “I’m ready,” said Amber.

  “I’m coming too,” said Chris.

  “Please don’t punch this one, ok?” said Antonopolous, his smile taking the sting out of his rebuke.

  “I think I can hold myself back,’ said Chris, answering the General’s smile.

  Antonopolous led them to another room, much like the one Nergüi had been kept in. There was a young Hispanic man restrained in a hospital bed. At the nurse’s station, there were two armed guards in riot gear.

  “They’ll handle the punching,” said Antonopolous pointing at the guards.

  “I’ll hold myself in reserve then,” said Chris.

  As they entered the room, Hector’s gaze locked onto Amber.

  “You think you can control me bitch …” said Hector and then his face seized up and twitched.

  “I don’t have to,” said Amber quietly. “Your own fear is doing the job for me. You know in your heart that I can make you think your testicles will explode with all the pain you can imagine. Or perhaps feeling your eyes being slowly gouged out of your head with a teaspoon will motivate you. You can feel that too, can’t you?”

  Slowly, Hector nodded.

  “So you get to choose,” said Amber, “We can do this gently, which is my preference, or we can made this as hard as you want. In the end, you will tell me everything I want to know and I will know when you are lying. Let’s start with your real name.”

  “I have always been Hector Ramirez,” said Hector, who was still prideful, but no longer belligerent. “I rode with Emiliano Zapata during the Revolution of 1910. We were boys together in Anenecuilco. As we grew older, we worked in the cane fields. Emiliano was always the smart one, but I was his friend. We tried to push for land reforms and schools and such things, but Diaz and the Hidalgos would have none of it. So in 1910 we rose against them. We fought hard for two years, but the Yellow Fever came through our camp and I was stricken, along with many others. The disease you call the Plague infected the weakest of the fever patients and most died and I thought I was near death.

  “In an effort to stop the fever, they burned the camp and stacked the dead and dying in a mass grave. I was among them. But I crawled from the pile of my dead comrades and hid in the cane fields. The canes were ripe, and they helped me regain my health. When I came back to the new camp, I was shunned. They feared another outbreak of the fever so I left, but I have not stopped fighting the Hidalgos. The names have changed, but I still know them.”

  “So why did you take Maria and get her to pressure LT. Hanson?” asked Amber quietly.

  “As the years passed,” said Hector who was now not quite so prideful, “some of my comrades noted I wasn’t aging. I had to change groups to hide. I did this many times for close to a hundred years. Then they found me.”

  “Who are they?” asked Chris gently falling into the standard interrogation that he and Amber were trained in.

  “They are not good with names,” said Hector shaking his head. “They told me many, but they were all false.”

  “Did one use the name ‘Nergüi’ or something like it?” asked Amber.

  “One did use that name,” said Hector, “but there were others. And they were strong, stronger than you. They convinced me that that they too were fighting the Hidalgos. I came to know my folly only too late. By then they had me.”

  “I also heard of you,” said Hector, pointing at Amber. “At first they wanted to capture you and use you for the ‘Call.’ Then they wanted to dominate you … as they have me… and bend you to their will. Now, they are afraid of you and what you’ll become.”

  “How do you contact them?” asked Chris.

  “They use a cell phone these days,” said Hector. “Before that, it was typewritten letters on flash paper, and a very few person-to-person meetings. Enough to convince me they could bend my mind, like she can.

  “I built another cell of revolutionaries, good people who were tired of the Hidalgos. They went to work on the military base and became part of the furniture. The Hidalgos stop noticing you after a while, and we heard much.”

  “How did you come to find Hansen?” asked Amber.

  “They found us,” said Hector laughing. “Maria was cousin to one of my soldiers. She was in love with the Hidalgo they call Hansen. The tragic, silly kind of love that makes you stare at the moon and write sad songs.

  “And this Hansen, he had it as bad, only his parents shunned her as the Hidalgos often do. Her cousin saw an opportunity and brought Maria to me and we ensnared Hansen in a web of his own devising.”

  “Do you want out?” asked Amber.

  “What I want matters little anymore,” said Hector harshly. “Now that you have me, they will find me and kill me. I have seen them do it before and as strong as you are, you cannot save me from them.”

  “So, I should just kill you then?” asked Amber carelessly. “It can be painless, rather than what we have threatened, but I don’t think so. You still have fire in your belly and very little trust in your heart. You still want to change the world, but don’t know how. Yes?”

  “Yes,” said Hector quietly, “that is all I have ever wanted. But how do I know you won’t use me like they used me. You can only play that card once, Hidalgo.”

  “I am not playing any cards,” said Amber. “We will keep you alive to the best of our ability. Not because you know things we wish to know. I can get that any time I want. It’s because it’s the right thing to do. Soon, you will stand trial for what you have done. I suspect a great deal of American case law will have to be rewritten as we understand more and more of what Nergüi’s people can do. Maybe there will be prison time for you, but no torture and no death unless you murdered someone in cold blood. Even then, extenuating circumstances can be factored in. So tell me, since you say they already have you under a death sentence, do you want to work for us and fight to change the world they have made or wait for the sure thing you are afraid of?”

  “I will work with you,” said Hector slowly. “Not because I trust you, but because I hate them so deeply.”

  “It’s a start,” said Amber nodding. “Now I have more questions to ask. Let’s begin.”

  July 15th, Wednesday, 11:12 pm PDT

  Providence Medical Research Center, Garage Level, Spokane WA

  Macklin slipped around the corner and found the main storeroom described by his informant. In front of the door stood two fierce looking Guards carrying shotguns and being very vigilant. Clearly Macklin was not going to get around these two without a fight. Quickly he hustled down to the basement vehicle garage.

  “I thought you said you would be here in ten minutes,” said a jumpy Ngengi.

  “I was detained while the helicopters came and the armed convoy left,” said Macklin. “You did notice those, didn’t you?”

  “What of it?” said Ngengi grudgingly.

  “We have an opportunity here,” said Macklin. “Most of their strength left. They are guarding a small number of wounded and some important assets on the top floor. They clearly mean to evacuate them as soon as they can. We can still take Strickland’s new drug away from them and hold that advantage for a little while.”

  “What do you propose?” asked Ngengi.

  “We attack,” said Macklin, “as soon as we are resupplied. These troops have little in the way of heavy weapons or ammunition. We can strike a telling blow if we hurry.”

  “I don’t understand you, Macklin,” said Ngengi. “First you say we need to run, then attack, which is it?”

  “When the Government troops were here in force, we had no chance,” said Macklin, who was frustrated because he still had to mollycoddle Ngengi rather than just giving him orders. “Now that their numbers have been reduced by more than half and most of their heavy weapons have left, we do have a chance.”

  “We can get Strickland then?” asked Ngengi.

  “No, he is gone,” said Macklin, “in the armed convoy we can’t follow, but we can get most of his equipment
and his work in progress. This will make our task of getting reestablished much easier, but only if we move now.”

  “I will give the order,” said Ngengi, “you are flexible in ways that I am not used to, but the results seem to be worth it. We attack!”

  July 15th, Wednesday, 11:15 pm PDT

  Providence Medical Research Center, Top Floor, Spokane WA

  “Finkbiner!” shouted Jen, “Do we have all the lab equipment moved upstairs yet?”

  “Ma’am,” said a distracted Sergeant Finkbiner, “we are understaffed and still trying to patrol the area around the stairwells and set up a defensible perimeter on the top of the building. Something has to give!”

  “Sorry I shouted,” said Jen. “If the building was clear and we didn’t need Strickland’s work to restart so soon, I would blow the stuff up, but the hostiles are still in the building and they probably want this stuff worse than we do. We need to keep it out of their hands and we’ll need the equipment soon.”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Finkbiner. “We’ll keep moving. But the men are about dead on their feet. They have fought all afternoon down the highway and into a heavily occupied building. You can only expect so much from them.”

  “We need to hang on until dawn when the relief column gets here,” said Jen. “Colonel Phillips said they are organizing it now. They will roll out at first light. We need to keep things together until then. Start cycling the men by squads, to get a couple hours of sleep. I’m going on raw nerves as it is, I expect they are too.”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Finkbiner, but whatever response he had was cut off by the sound of a grenade detonating followed by gunfire from the floor below. Then Finkbiner’s radio squawked.

  “Flight Sergeant,” said Senior Airman Morton, who, despite his wounds, had remained behind with some of the other walking wounded who were covering the back stairwell as the last of the lab equipment was moved up the stairs. “We are under fire from a group of hostiles headed up our stairwell. That native you attached to our group heard something and we got the hell out of that stairwell or we would have been toast. Suggest you advise the other teams to be alert.”

  “Roger that,” said Finkbiner, “Can you hold?”

  “Yes,” said Morton, “until the ammo runs out. We can buy you at most five minutes, then we are hightailing up to the top. Don’t waste them.”

  “Copy,” said Finkbiner who switched frequencies and then spoke again. “Stand to everyone. The back stairwell is under attack. Expect similar responses elsewhere. Get those last loads on the roof and then prepare for hasty defense!”

  The crackle of small arms fire welled up from several locations in the building as hostile forces began a well-coordinated attack.

  “Have the troops dump the last loads,” said Jen pointing to the front stairwell, “and get them up here. Strickland will have to live with what we have saved.”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Finkbiner, who took off for the front stairwell.

  Jen was about to head toward the rear stairs when a rifle shot rang out from the top of the roof. She hustled in the direction of the shot in time to see Johnny Comes at Night, one of Little Bear’s warriors, open the action of his Ruger Number One, extract an empty shell, pocket it, and insert a live round.

  “Do you have something out there?” asked Jen peering dubiously into the dark.

  “See for yourself,” said Johnny who hadn’t looked up from his rifle.

  As Jen’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see a body half in and half out of one of the windows on the south side of the building with a dark stain spreading on his chest.

  “There are a couple more behind him,” said Johnny, “but I don’t have a clear shot.”

  “Just keep their heads down,” said Jen.

  “Don’t have enough ammo for that,” said Johnny still sighting down his rifle. “Every shot has to count.”

  “What kind of ammo does that rifle take,” asked Jen who realized the value of a sniper on the roof.

  “30-06,” said Johnny who then fired again. “I checked. You don’t have any.”

  “I’ll put some on the list for a resupply,” said Jen.

  “I’ve heard that before,” said Johnny who did look up this time, long enough to give Jen a wink.

  There was a pop and all of the sudden, the spot lights on top of the building went out.

  “What the …” began Jen as she started looking around.

  Johnny’s rifle barked again before he spoke.

  “I’ve been expecting that,” said Johnny. “They are moving out in force now.”

  That was indeed the case, for Jen heard the crackle of small arms fire from several places around the perimeter.

  “Choose your shots boys and girls” shouted Sergeant Finkbiner who had magically appeared from the forward stairwell. “We need to make them all count!”

  “Bright boy, your sergeant,” said Johnny who punctuated his last comment with another rifle shot.

  Jen realized she was doing no good here, so she scrambled over to where Finkbiner had taken cover.

  “All the troops are on the roof except Morton’s team,” said Finkbiner. “We left a pretty good pile of stuff in the front stairwell, they will be a while getting past that.”

  “Can we get word to Morton to fall back?” asked Jen anxiously.

  “He will make his own call,” said Finkbiner.

  “He’s only twenty-three,” said Jen, “and headed for a general discharge before the Plague.”

  “Some folks don’t do parade ground very well,” said Finkbiner, remembering some of his reading about World War II. “They need a war to become what God intended. Morton’s a warrior. If we go joggle his elbow, it might cost him someone in his team. Let him do his job.”

  Whatever Jen was going to say was interrupted by a blast from the rear stair well. The door then flew open and out tumbled the four security policemen from Morton’s section along with one of Little Bear’s warriors. As soon as Morton had done a head count, he pulled a frag from his vest with his good arm, nodded to the man on the door, who opened it. Morton yanked the pin on the grenade with his sling arm and pitched it down the steps. His teammate slammed the door and bolted it and just got away in time for the crack of another grenade.

  “Boy, that was fun!” said Morton enthusiastically.

  “Casualties?” asked Sergeant Finkbiner who appeared out of the blue as first sergeants are wont to do.

  “None sergeant!” said Morton. “We got some bumps and scrapes but we are all combat effective.”

  “Ammo?” asked Finkbiner.

  “Expended Sergeant,” said Morton. “All of it.”

  “I take it that was our last grenade?” asked Jen.

  “I have one more,” said Finkbiner who handed Morton his spare magazine. “I’ll see what I can round up for a resupply. You did good Morton. Move to the north wall.”

  “Yes, Flight Sergeant,” said Morton who gathered up his team and moved off.

  “So you have only one grenade?” asked Jen with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Yes ma’am,” said Finkbiner who all of the sudden knew what was coming. “Please don’t …”

  But it was too late.

  “The Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch,” intoned Jen with a passible imitation of a Gregorian chant.

  Chapter 18

  July 15th, Wednesday, 11:27 pm PDT

  Providence Medical Research Center, First Floor, Spokane WA

  Macklin rounded the corner and found the door to the store room unguarded. He was about to kick it in until he remembered that he was dealing with a Strickland. He backed off a few feet and pitched the ubiquitous trash receptacle at the door. It wasn’t moving fast enough to open the door, but it did rattle it soundly which was enough. The back of the door burst into flame. The plastic window in the door frame melted and molten burning plastic ran down the door onto the rug which started to burn.

  Macklin grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and though i
t was a couple of months past due for an inspection, it had enough pressure to put out the worst of the flames. He then kicked in the door and looked at the storeroom.

  “Damn it!” shouted Macklin as he kicked the door jamb. The storeroom had been completely ruined. Anything that hadn’t been carted off, lay in a bubbling pile on the floor. They had expected him to search this room. He gingerly stepped around the mess on the floor and looked at the safe. The door was propped open and there was a note in the safe which Macklin took and read.

  “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”

  “All the Stricklands have an obscure sense of humor,” thought Macklin and he threw the note down in disgust. It immediately caught fire when it hit the bubbling mess in the middle of the floor. Macklin exited the room and headed down the corridor. Soon, he came upon Ngengi who was directing the battle.

  “They have retreated to the top of the building,” said Ngengi. “We have rushed both stairwells, but they have tossed grenades down each of them as soon as they heard us coming. I have probed the doors exiting building, but we have received accurate rifle fire each time.”

  “You mean we’re trapped in here?” asked Macklin incredulously. “We’re supposed to be the attackers!”

  “We can probably bust out of the vehicle garage,” said Ngengi, “if we rush out in the busses. They’ll hit us a few times, but most of us should make it.”

  “Their supply of explosives is likely limited,” said Macklin after a moment’s thought. “Have some cannon fodder make a bunch of noise in the bottom of the stair well. When the government troops upstairs pitch something down, have them take cover outside the entry and slam the door. We do that a couple of times and we’ll get a feel for what they have in the way of explosives.”

  “To what result?” asked Ngengi.

  “Because, you cretin,” said Macklin finally losing his temper with Ngengi’s questioning. “If they are low on explosives, we can likely take them, losing less troops. If they are well supplied, we need to leave while it’s still dark or they’ll blow us up. Do you have any other inane questions?”