Apocalypse Austin

by David VanDyke

  “Got anything to eat?” Hulk asked.

  Python pointed to a door down the hall. “Fridge and freezer are in the kitchen and you’re all welcome to cook something. Pantry in there’s full of food. My personal philosophy is, never go on a suicide mission with an empty stomach.”

  “And the hits just keep coming,” said Livewire, following Hulk into the kitchen.

  Flyboy and Bunny disappeared into a different room. Probably exactly what it looks like, Reaper thought. And I haven’t got laid in forever. Wonder why?

  She caught Python watching her. “What?”

  He shrugged and turned away.

  Well, at least he isn’t pushy about it. Should I give him a roll in the hay? Every mission might be my last. Why deny myself, or him? He’s not a bad guy, after all. No Mister Right, but at least he’s Mister Right Now.

  The rest of the team started sorting the equipment Python’s men were hauling downstairs. Soon, Hawkeye had all their weapons laid out, stripping and cleaning them again while drinking his third beer. His hands worked automatically as he watched the Mexican news.

  “Tight crew you got here,” Python told Reaper.

  “Thanks. Picked and trained them myself. We’re technically regulars, not spec ops, though.”

  “Which means?”

  “It means we don’t work for Spooky.”

  “Except now.”

  “Special arrangement. Markis approved it.”

  “Markis? The big cheese? You met him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s he like?”

  Reaper considered. “He’s a man I can follow. Straight arrow. Honest. The right kind of man to keep people like Spooky on a short leash.”

  “Maybe I should join your team. Next time, I mean.”

  “You’re not military.”

  Python smiled. “So train me. Whip me into shape. Or just whip me.”

  That drew a laugh. “Talk to me about it when we get back.”

  Python sobered. “Have you been to the U.S., since we escaped?”

  “A couple times. Raided border camps, freeing Edens, until they moved everyone deeper into the interior.”

  “You better watch yourself. It’s worse than when we left. The Unionists are turning the whole country into a police state. Informants are everywhere and there are rewards for snitching on your neighbors. Eden detention camps are popping up all over. You can even rent yourself a gaggle of them as chain-gang slave labor.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Very serious,” Python answered. “I was one of those chain-gangers myself for a while. Worked shoveling blacktop. That’s brutal, backbreaking labor even when they aren’t starving you.”

  Reaper shook her head. “I just don’t see how people can turn against each other so fast.”

  “I heard you say people are sheep. Not in my book. I think people are rats. They always want to have someone else to blame their problems on. It’s always the Jews, the blacks, the whites, the wetbacks, the northerners, the southerners...never themselves. Add that to the fear of disease and the ignorance of what the Eden Plague even does, and yeah. They turn on each other like rats.”

  “Not Edens.”

  “Even Edens, if they’re afraid. I’ve seen enough to know the virus ain’t a perfect cure.”

  “Better than the alternative.”

  Python nodded his head toward the ceiling. “Sure. I better go check on things. I have a tight crew too, but it never hurts to keep an eye on business.”

  Helping herself to a cold beer, Reaper watched Python go, and then sat down with her team to finish cleaning the weapons and checking the gear.

  At nightfall, they trudged through the low tunnel, using headlamps to light their way. Reaper’s back hurt from leaning over, and she wasn’t that tall. She could only imagine how painful it was for Hulk, but to the big man’s credit he hadn’t uttered one word of complaint.

  The air felt thick and stale, and Reaper imagined she could feel the weight of the earth pressing down on them. She fingered the stock of the submachine gun slung across her chest and sped up, forcing herself to ignore the discomfort.

  Finally, she saw a wooden staircase in front of her. She stopped and listened as Python had advised her, waving everyone to silence. The house at the other end should be secure, but it never hurt to be cautious. Not hearing anything, she climbed the stairs quietly and listened again.

  Nothing.

  She pushed open a large wooden hatch in the floor. A thin carpet slid off, and then she entered, finding no one there and all dark. The rest followed her into the shabby mobile home, spreading out, using night vision goggles to see. Although it didn’t look abandoned, it also didn’t look loved.

  “House is secure,” said Hawkeye, coming into the living room after making a sweep.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Reaper. “We’re sitting ducks.”

  They filed out of the house and into the van. The keys were just where Python had said they would be. Hawkeye got behind the wheel and Reaper took the passenger seat. The rest of the team piled into the back with their rucksacks and weapons.

  “That wasn’t so hard,” Tarzan told Hawkeye. “You talk like it’s hard to get across the border.”

  “We’re not home free yet, gringo,” Hawkeye answered.

  Reaper pointed north. “Let’s go.”

  They drove with no headlights for five miles along a gravel road, until Hawkeye slowed down and stopped in front of a log drawn across the way. No one spoke as two men with shotguns appeared as if out of nowhere. One held back, weapon ready, as the other approached. He said something in his native language.

  “Sorry, chief, no hablo,” said Hawkeye.

  Reaper leaned over and turned on the cab light. “Death to the Apache,” she said, extending an envelope full of money.

  The man smiled, showing perfect white teeth, and took the packet, putting it briefly to his forehead in salute. “Funny. Snake-man said you would come tonight. Travel in peace.”

  “Not where we’re going, brother. You take care.” She clapped Hawkeye on the shoulder.

  Four other men stepped out of the darkness, put down their weapons, and dragged the log out of the way.

  They drove another twenty miles before approaching a paved road. Turning eastward as instructed, Reaper thought they were home free when their headlights speared two police cars pulled over, the officers talking to each other. The cops seemed startled to see the van come down the road, and one held up his hand for them to stop.

  Hawkeye rolled down the window. “Evening, officer.”

  “It’s pretty late. Where you folks coming from...” His voice trailed off as he saw the heavily armed people crammed in the back.

  Reaper shot him at his collarbone with the suppressed pistol she’d slipped from under her leg. The SAM round took him just above the vest he wore and the impact dropped him to the ground.

  The other officer clawed for his handgun and backed up rapidly, but Reaper had already leaped out of the van. She fired four rounds into his lower torso, aiming for his navel, below the protection of his vest.

  He collapsed, still trying to pull his weapon from its holster.

  Reaper advanced rapidly, disarming both men and stripping them of their handheld radios and cell phones, saying nothing despite the pleas of the one conscious officer. Hawkeye followed to disable the vehicle radios and pull the memory modules from the dash cams.

  Noticing a cooler of food and drink in one squad car, Reaper brought it over to set it beside the second man, and then dragged the first one she’d shot, still unconscious, to lie near his comrade. That would provide them with calories when they awoke.

  The virus-packed ceramic bullets would have already fragmented inside each of them. In half an hour their wounds would be closed and in an hour they would be able to drag themselves into their cruisers and drive in to Tucson. By that time, the team would be long gone.

  “So much for things being e
asy,” Tarzan said as the two climbed back in.

  Reaper swapped magazines on her handgun and began to reload. “Drive.”

  Chapter 15

  Cassandra Johnstone smiled as she read the latest report from Geoffrey Rayburne, her MI-6 mole. He was working diligently to try to keep the United Kingdom, and by extension the European Union, neutral and out of the influence of Russia, China, or the United States. This neutrality was important for keeping the Free Communities from becoming totally isolated, politically and economically.

  Geoffrey had been the perfect source since she’d managed to smuggle his Chinese wife and child from Virginia to Australia, right from under the CIA’s nose. He’d even been able to visit them for the first time in years. Cassandra knew the man was smart enough to accept the situation, and she didn’t have to threaten to throw his family to the wolves to get him to do as she wanted.

  She flipped through other reports and saw that her Eden’s Eves source network in North America was doing wonders. Not only did they spread the virus by working their trade as volunteer prostitutes – which they had all been before their infection – but they also collected valuable information. As always, pillow talk tended to be terribly indiscreet.

  The American news network on the television mounted in the corner of her office was muted, but a horrific scene caught her eye and she turned up the volume. The caption underneath read “Texas Rebels’ Cowardly Attack on U.S. Atlantic Fleet - President Compares it to Pearl Harbor.”

  She listened carefully for several minutes to the sketchy details, and then changed the channel several times to compare other news networks, paying special attention to the Mexican and British channels. Then she ran several internet searches.

  Something made her remember the request Skull had made of her, and she pulled up everything she’d sent him on Theodore Herschel. Intuition told her there was a connection if she could make it.

  She was deep in thought when she heard Gina protest loudly as Spooky walked into her office unannounced.

  “Well, come on in, Tran. You know you’re always welcome.”

  He closed the door in the face of the annoyed secretary behind him and pointed at the screen. “All the source networks we’ve got and this happens with no prior indication whatsoever. How did we not know? Or should I say, how did you not know?”

  “That the Texans would try to break the blockade? You don’t need a source network to tell you that. Obviously they had good OPSEC about the details.”

  “You had to know,” said Spooky. “Why would you keep this from us? From me? I thought we had an agreement to share information.”

  “Tran, you’re not making any sense. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your cool.”

  He stared at her, and over a few seconds slowed his breathing. “Forgive me. May I sit?”

  “Of course.”

  He sat down slowly, staring at her hard, as if by doing so he could manifest an answer.

  “What?” Cassandra asked.

  “I believe that I’m a very good interrogator. Perhaps one of the best,” Spooky said. “I know more about telling truth from falsehood than anyone I know. But you’re not just anyone, Cassandra. You’re a professional liar.”

  “Thanks...I guess.”

  “Which means, I’m not completely sure I would know if you were lying to me or not.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “What does your gut tell you? I’m a great proponent of trusting your instincts.”

  His eyes bored holes into her before softening. “I don’t think you’re lying this time.”

  “Good. Now would you mind explaining to me what I’m not lying to you about?”

  He pointed at the television screen again. “How do you suppose the Texans managed to cripple the most powerful fleet in the history of the world? They don’t have a navy, and their air forces are nothing but national guard and reserves.”

  Cassandra shrugged. “I’m not sure. Military strategy isn’t really my specialty.”

  “False modesty is not a good trait for you. Not now.” His voice held a note of warning she’d never heard before.

  Cassandra realized that she couldn’t see Spooky’s hands. He might be holding a weapon. Surely he wasn’t crazy enough to harm her. She didn’t even know what this was all about yet. She decided maybe it was time to stop playing the usual games. Things could get out of hand.

  “Tran,” she said, “I’m telling you the truth when I say I know nothing about that,” she pointed at the screen. “I didn’t know it was coming and I don’t know how they did it. The attacks on the Periman Basin and the strategic reserves were not totally unexpected, given the movement of American assets, but even there I didn’t know the intended target or time of attack.”

  Spooky nodded at her, and then turned back to the television. “I’ve been scouring reports to get every detail I can about this attack. Something disabled those ships and their air cover all at once, allowing a relatively weak strike by a dozen F-16s to fly in and kill those ships like sitting ducks.”

  “What could have done it?”

  “I’ve spoken with several experts. Only two things make sense to me: a computer virus, or an EMP attack. I’m pretty sure it was the latter, using some kind of generator. A virus would have taken down their defenses, but not their engines. These ships were dead in the water. I also checked with the radio telescope in Puerto Rico. They picked up a generalized broad-spectrum burst at the same time. So it was EMP.”

  “I didn’t think operationalized EMP generators existed outside of nukes and science fiction stories.”

  “Apparently they do,” said Spooky, “which makes the Texans’ possession of one all the more disturbing.”

  “Why is that? We want the Texans to hurt the U.S.”

  “Because neither of us knew about it. What else don’t we know? Good human intelligence is one of the Free Communities’ only advantages. We can’t prepare for what we don’t anticipate.”

  Cassandra chewed her lip, and then spun her laptop so Spooky could see it. “Skull contacted me a few days ago. Said he was taking a job with the Texans, but wouldn’t say what it was. He asked me to find out as much as I could about this man.”

  Spooky read quickly before looking up. “Herschel…an electronics expert and inventor, working on capacitors and electromagnetics. He could be the source of this.”

  “And Skull is with him,” Cassandra said.

  “Doing what exactly?”

  “That is a very good question. I’m going to see what I can find out.”

  “Think he would help us?”

  “You, no. Me…probably also no, at least not directly, if he’s on a job. But knowing he’s involved gives us someone to watch for and follow.”

  Spooky though for a moment in silence. “They wouldn’t need Skull inside Texas. It’s more likely they need him to infiltrate the U.S. for some reason. When he contacted you, where was he calling from?”

  “He had an encryption and masking device, but my best guess was somewhere in Panama, given the signal bounce pattern.”

  “Panama? Maybe the canal?” Spooky said, and then shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Attacking the canal does the Texans no good. As a matter of fact, they need worldwide support for their cause and attacking anyone other than the U.S. hurts them.”

  “Maybe that’s just where he called me from. Skull moves around a lot, never staying in any one place, and he really likes beaches. Especially tropical beaches.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Spooky.

  “Could you at least say it without sounding so ominous? I know you two aren’t exactly on good terms, but you were both Zeke’s friends, and you were there for me when I needed you. Alan is important to me, and I would take it poorly if you were behind anything unfortunate happening to him.”

  “Noted,” said Spooky, rising off the couch. “I have no intention of harming him unless I absolutely must. I’d appreciate it if you let me kn
ow of anymore communications from Skull or developments on this new device.”

  Cassandra nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

  “One thing is for certain no matter how all of this turns out. Whether the Texans are crushed as expected, or find a way to prevail, we must get our hands on this new technology, even if only to learn how to defend against it.” Spooky left.

  You make me nervous, Tran, Cassandra thought. You want this EMP thing too much. I’m not sure I would trust you with that sort of power.

  Chapter 16

  Getting across the border into the United States had been easier than Skull expected. They’d arranged for a fishing boat captain to drop them off in a motorboat at a place near Key West. Landing at a public wharf, they tied up the boat and left it there, as if they were coming ashore for lunch.

  Both he and Herschel had obtained new identity documents and were able to pose as members of an international electronics company attempting to build a client base in Cuba. The cover was very shallow, with nothing but hastily printed business cards for a company called Inter-Tech, but Herschel was definitely able to talk the talk. Skull often had to gently remind him they were not in fact trying to drum up business in Cuba.

  Using a throwaway credit card, they rented a small car and drove north to Miami. Their contact there was Janus. He turned out to be a scrawny man of questionable hygiene habits and limited social skills.

  When they knocked on the warehouse door, he initially didn’t want to open it. “Go away,” he said through the door. “I’m busy and don’t want anything.”

  Herschel knocked again. “Just open up so we can talk.”

  “Nothing to talk about. Send me a text or IM if you need anything.”

  Skull pounded on the door. “Open up! This is the police!”

  There was shuffling inside before the door cracked open a hair and one wild eye looked out at them. “You’re not the police.”

  Skull threw his shoulder into the door and pushed his way into the warehouse, sending Janus sprawling.