Clickers II: The Next Wave
Page 27
“Come on,” Richard said. He headed out of the lounge to the bullpen. Reluctantly, Rick and Jennifer followed. The other employees waited for Brown to tell them what to do.
“Tell you what,” one of them joked. “I’m gonna bring this up with the union.”
Jeremiah and his security guys had followed Livingston out to the bullpen and they were in deep discussion with the technical team. “We need to retreat to a secure location,” Livingston told the group. “Now!”
“We’re going to have to go to the bunker,” Jeremiah said. “Near the reactors.”
Richard turned pale. “What about the radiation?”
“We’ll still be shielded. Wouldn’t want to live there, but our exposure should be at a minimum, provided the assault doesn’t last for days. I assure you, it won’t be lethal.”
“A dosage of radiation or getting eaten by a Clicker,” Jennifer said. “Tell me my life isn’t working out.”
“Let’s do it,” Livingston said.
As Jeremiah Brown gathered his security crew and technicians, Livingston herded Rick, Jennifer and Richard back into the lounge. He’d previously set a small cache of weapons on a table that rested against the far wall of the lounge—some pistols and high-caliber semi-auto assault rifles and boxes of ammunition and magazines. Livingston waved his hand in the weapons’ direction. “Take your pick.”
Rick picked up a handgun—a Sig Sauer 9mm—and found the correct mags for them. Richard picked up an AR15 assault rifle.
Livingston arched an eyebrow. “Do you know how to use that, doctor?”
Richard patted the weapon. “I once spent a week in a survivalist camp. It was for one of those corporate team-building exercises. Are you familiar with those?”
“Yes,” Livingston said. “We called it Vietnam.”
Richard blushed. “We just shot at bales of hay.”
“Well now you’ll get to shoot something more.” Livingston turned away.
Tony selected a Kimber 1911 and an extra magazine. Just holding the pistol made him feel more confident again. The pain in his wounded leg vanished. He aimed the weapon at the wall and checked the sight.
“First one I kill is for you, Vince,” he muttered under his breath.
Something thumped in the corridor.
“You’d better pick a weapon,” Rick told Jennifer.
She shook her head. “I’ve never handled a gun before in my life and I’m not about to start now. And the Colonel—he just shot that man without even thinking about it.”
“That’s what he does. That’s who he is.”
“Well, that’s not me.”
Rick silently accepted this reasoning as he stuffed the Sig down the front pocket of his coveralls and joined Colonel Livingston at the door to the lounge. “You heard that, right? Outside?”
“Yes,” Livingston answered. “Sounds like it’s on the other side of us. Probably a few doors down.”
“There’s a locked door between us and that section of the building, right?” Jennifer asked.
“I think so.”
“I wonder if the power affected it?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Livingston opened the door to the hallway slowly.
Jeremiah and his team were ready. “Let’s go.” He began leading them out of the command center via the back way when there was a heavy crash from behind them. They all spun around.
Two very large Dark Ones had just torn the locked doors out of the wall. They pulled the pulverized metal down and one of them roared. It swiped out with one clawed hand and ripped through the face of the nearest man, shearing his flesh down to the bone. Rick felt his legs turn to rubber.
He pulled the Sig Sauer from his coveralls pocket, but couldn’t get a clear shot. The power plant’s employees were in the way. And they were being slaughtered.
“Get in the bunker!” Jeremiah screamed. “Get in the bunker!”
As the security team ushered the technicians ahead of them, along with Jennifer and Jeremiah, Rick, Richard, Tony, and Colonel Livingston opened fire. The high caliber shells did considerable damage at such close range. Rick was briefly satisfied when one shell pulverized one of the creature’s faces.
As the Dark Ones went down they heard the squeals and roars from their own kind within the building along with another sound.
Click-Click! Click-Click!
“Goddamn,” Rick muttered as he ejected a spent magazine and slapped in a new one. “They brought their fucking pets along, too.”
“Come on! Come on!” Jeremiah Brown was already twenty yards down the hall, waiting for them at the doorway to what looked to be a secure area. “Move, move, move!”
They ran.
As they ran down the maze of corridors with the Dark Ones and Clickers in hot pursuit, Rick heard Livingston yell into the walkie-talkie he was still carrying, trying to get word on what was going on outside. “Team Two, report! Four Actual. Bravo Six! Anyone?”
Nothing except static, gunfire, and screams.
As they fled down the stairs to the lower section of the plant, Rick was babbling hysterically. “They’ve gotten in, Colonel. They’ve gotten in the fucking building! Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Goddamn it, I know they got in the building!” Livingston yelled.
“How can they get in?” Tony asked. “And what the fuck were those things back there in the lounge? They looked like snakes with legs.”
“They’re called Dark Ones,” Rick told him.
“Can they get down here?”
Rick brushed past him. “You better fucking hope not. And if they do, you’d best save a bullet for yourself.”
Jeremiah took charge, sauntering past Livingston once they reached the bottom floor. He swiped his key card through the card reader and there was a click as the lock was disengaged on a heavy steel door. Jeremiah opened it and they streamed through. When he slammed the heavy door behind them, Livingston felt a little relieved.
Jeremiah was panting, out of breath. “This way,” he said, as he led them down another hall. It was well-lit. They ran down what seemed like an endless maze of hallways with white walls and floors and soft fluorescent lights until they came to another heavy steel door. Jeremiah swiped his key card, waited a beat, and then pressed the pad of his index finger on a black device on the card reader. A moment later there was a beep and another clicking sound as the lock was disengaged. Jeremiah opened the door. “Come on! Nothing can get through this door.”
As they streamed through, Livingston noted the thickness and strength of the door. It was easily four feet of heavy steel, and was controlled not only by key card access but by fingerprint recognition as well. “How strong are those locks?” he asked as Jeremiah shut the heavy door behind them.
“They’re able to withstand ten tons of pressure,” Brown said. He was standing in the center of the hallway, looking down two corridors that flanked his left and right. “That way is where the reactors are. You need security access to get there, too. And over here,” he motioned to his left, “is a command center for emergencies. The backup generator is down here, too, and thanks to our quick thinking earlier when the first backup generator was destroyed, this one should be humming along perfectly.”
“Maybe I can re-establish contact,” Livingston said as they started down the hallway toward the command center.
“Do you think the outside world is reacting to your transmission,” Jennifer asked. “Will they listen?”
“God, I hope so,” Richard said.
“Me, too,” Livingston agreed.
They reached another door and once again, Brown swiped his card and placed the pad of his index finger on the reader to unlock it. He ushered them into a wide work area that was well-lit with plenty of desks, computers, and other electronic equipment that appeared to be fully functioning. Jeremiah dived for one of the workstations and got right down to business. “Bob, get on ten and give me a report. Clive, I want a report on the systems and Dave, give me a report on security.”
There was no answer.
“Tranning?” Livingston’s voice cracked. “You there, son? If you can’t respond, just key your mike.”
Static.
“Shit!” Feeling Tranning’s loss would come later. In the brief time they’d spent together, Livingston had built an instant rapport with the young soldier, one that could have solidified into a good working relationship had he been twenty years younger. He was sorry that Tranning was probably dead, but he couldn’t think about it now. He had to establish contact with the outside world.
He reached for the cellular phone on his belt clip and turned it on. He waited a moment while it powered up.
Jennifer Wasco was standing by him and saw the LED readout on the phone as the device went through its powering on stage. “Come on,” she urged. “Please give us a signal!”
The LED readout read SEARCHING FOR NETWORK.
“Come on!” Livingston urged.
The readout changed to NETWORK FOUND.
Along with four bars of power.
“Son of a bitch,” Tony said. “I really need to change service providers.”
Livingston thumbed the controls on his cell phone and navigated to where the phone numbers were stored. May had pre-programmed the numbers for him and taught him how to use it. Livingston flipped down to the letter R and hit the Connect button when Colonel Gary Richrath’s name came up.
He brought the phone to his ear and listened as it rang.
Livingston hadn’t seen or spoken to Colonel Richrath since shortly after Phillipsport. He’d made no attempt to contact him since his visit with the government spook that day in 1995, and he’d heard through the grapevine that Gary was living a quiet life in his own forced retirement somewhere in Illinois.
The line on the other end was picked up on the third ring. “Augustus Livingston.” Richrath sounded wideawake and ready, as if he were expecting his call.
“No need to explain why I’m calling,” Livingston said. “You obviously saw my statement on the news.”
“Affirmative; it’s generated a shit storm, Augustus.”
“How so?”
Richrath sighed. “You do realize that this isn’t a secure line, Colonel?”
“Does it really matter at this point?”
“No, I suppose not. I doubt there’s anybody left to listen in.”
“That bad?”
“Casualties in the millions. That’s the estimate I’m hearing.”
“And my transmission?”
“I’m leaving my son’s house in Champaign,” Richrath said. “I just dropped my wife off there. Kevin and his family are pretty well armed, and they’ve barricaded themselves in the house. I knew Kevin’s place would be safe until I could get out of town.”
“What are you talking about?”
Richrath’s tone of voice was grave. Livingston had a hard time telling if his fellow Army Colonel was angry at him or simply angry at the current situation. “Carol and I saw the first airing of your statement. It was very powerful and it evoked strong feelings and emotions in me. I acted on them and readied myself up. An intruder outside the property activated my silent alarm and I quickly armed myself. I caught the guy at the side of the house and took him down with a headshot. There was one other, and I brought him down with a shot to the back. He was still alive and I was forced to end his suffering. He was assigned to the CIA. It appears that the President seems to have an extreme prejudice towards us now.”
“Damn!” Livingston wondered how many of those spooks were out there, seeking to tie up all the loose ends. Couldn’t Tyler see how pointless it was now? There was no way to keep this quiet, not with so many Americans dead. Not with so many Clickers littering the nation’s landscape.
“I established contact with Fort Campbell,” Richrath continued, “found out they were heeding your message, and headed over there after getting Carol to Kevin’s house. I’m in a Black Hawk now about forty minutes away from Peachbottom.”
Livingston felt the breath whoosh out of him. “Do you know how many reinforcements you’ll have?”
“Over two thousand strong by the sounds of it,” Richrath said. “I’ve been in contact with various military bases on the West Coast and the Midwest. All of them are sending troops to the affected areas. North Carolina is sending every single Marine they’ve got.”
“Is there any word from Barker?”
“Barker has called in orders for your arrest and is sending troops from Fort Bragg. They’re loyal to the President. They should be reaching Peachbottom in thirty minutes.”
“Peachbottom is overrun with Dark Ones and Clickers,” Livingston said. “Do you copy me? I’ve lost over half my troops and a good portion of Peachbottom’s Security team. The rest of us are holed up in the subterranean portions of the building. Is anybody on Barker’s side?”
“From what I’m seeing, not many.” Richrath’s voice changed a little; it sounded like he was smiling. “There’s a lot of in-fighting amongst the troops right now, but our side seems to be coming out on top. Like I said, the Airborne out of Bragg, and a few others here and there are still taking orders from Tyler and Barker, maybe the Seals and some Marine and Army battalions, too. But all in all, I’d say we outnumber them five to one, Colonel.”
Livingston felt further relief. “That’s good to hear.”
“Colonel Eastman out of Kansas is leading the offensive for us,” Richrath continued. “And Colonel Nave out of Fort Bliss has assumed command of the Air Force. Nave has ordered fighter jets in the air and the first wave of them should be reaching the coast of North Carolina shortly.”
“What about Washington?”
“Nave has given orders to engage Barker’s forces over Washington if it comes to it,” Richrath said. “Eastman and Nave conferred with me due to your original report to the Joint Chiefs in ninety-four and I recommended Barker and Tyler be taken out. Several of your men out of Fort Detrick went AWOL under Allman’s command and are heading to Washington now to carry that order out.”
Jesus, Livingston thought. He felt a strange sense of pride that his briefing of the Clickers and Dark Ones had not been lost on his men out of Fort Detrick. He also felt an odd sense of detachment at the news that orders had been given for the President’s assassination. We’re fighting a civil war, Livingston thought to himself. We’re at war not only with these creatures, but with our own government. All because they were acting in their own self-interest and let their personal ideology override common sense and reality. What a damn shame.
“I should warn you,” Richrath continued, “that intelligence on the ground indicates that the main enemy force is converging on Washington. That may very well be the main battleground.”
“First,” Livingston said, “I’m going to need as many men as you can send to Peachbottom. Ground troops will be necessary to flush out the Dark Ones that have breached the perimeter and interior of this plant. We’ll need troops that can penetrate the interior and do a clean and sweep. Meanwhile, send our armor and heavy weaponry into D.C.”
“Affirmative. You’ll get your rescue team, Augustus. Just hang on.”
“One more question, Colonel Richrath.”
“What’s that, spider-soldier?”
Livingston grinned. He and Richrath had served together in Southeast Asia. One night, while bedded down in a banana grove, their platoon had been besieged by tarantulas. Livingston had gone crazy, running around and stomping on the arachnids. Since then, Richrath had occasionally called him “spider-soldier.” The nickname stuck in the dozen times they came across each other over the intervening years. It was nice to hear that Richrath hadn’t forgotten it.
“What is the civilian and media reaction to my statement?”
“Like I said before, it’s raised a shit-storm.
There’s still a few staunch conservatives defending Tyler’s Administration and some of the more reactionary conservative bloggers have been quick to label you everything from a traitor to a commie liberal—”
Livingston snorted in disgust. “It figures! As you know, I’m anything but that, Richrath.”
“I know, sir. Some have taken to calling for your execution. But an overwhelming majority of people— Democrat and Republican, Liberal and Conservative— are in our corner. We’ve even got civilian volunteers heading to the affected areas. The Vice President is somewhere in Nebraska trying to hold Tyler’s Administration together and failing miserably. Half of Congress is in disarray; they’re holding an emergency session now via speaker phone and internet from various secure locations in and around Washington.”
“They were evacuated, correct?” Livingston asked.
“Yes, but there were a lot of them out of town for the weekend, back home with their constituencies. They’re running around like decapitated chickens.”
Livingston chuckled at that. “Good! Carry on, soldier. Carry on!”
“See you soon, Augustus.”
“One more thing,” Livingston said slowly. “Have a bird circling Washington. Serious payload.”
“What?”
“Just in case.”
“It won’t come to that, Augustus.”
“Just in case,” Livingston repeated.
“We’ll be there in thirty minutes.” Richrath signed off. “Keep your ass down and your powder dry until the extraction team arrives.”
Livingston folded the cell phone back up and turned to the group, who had paused in making sure the systems were running smoothly to listen to Livingston’s side of the conversation.
Rick studied the Colonel. “Is the cavalry coming?”
“Help is on the way,” Livingston said. For the first time since this second wave had started, he felt a glimmer of hope.
* * *
Whitman Air Force Base, Missouri
3:00 AM, Eastern Standard Time
A B-2 Stealth Bomber soared into the night sky. The pilot, Cariaga, repeated several “Hail Marys” as he set course for the East Coast. His knuckles were white and he gritted his teeth hard enough to give himself a headache. Cariaga had flown missions and sorties over Iraq and Afghanistan, but he’d never been more terrified in his life than he was now.