It was fitting that it would be his final resting place.
Peter pulled the gun out of his pocket and laid it on the desk, then opened the bottom left-hand drawer and took out the satphone and external battery he’d stashed there months ago. So long ago, he could barely remember what that day felt like, how scared he’d been—and rightly so.
It didn’t matter now, though. None of it mattered now.
He hooked the phone up to the external long-life battery and punched in a number he was surprised he still remembered. The phone rang on the other end just once and was picked up.
“Nest,” the voice said.
“Condor, go secure,” Peter said. He tried to hold in another bout of coughing.
There was a momentary pause, the phone in his hand beeped twice, and the voice continued. “Secure, report.”
“Operation is compromised. Repeat, op is blown. Barely made it out, and I’m not going to make it back.” He lost the battle against the coughs, and for a good thirty seconds, his muffled hacks were the only sound in the office.
“Report, Condor!” The voice from the other end of the line was insistent.
Peter brought himself under control, and took another deep breath. “It’s worse than we thought. He’s got the codes. Took out Yarborough, who knows how many others. He’s keeping some as pets now. There was a coup some time ago, but he got control back, and now he’s worse than ever, so they say.” The pain in his side was immense, and he could barely feel his right leg anymore. The bite on his right hip had gone numb yesterday, so at least there was that.
“I got made. He… He used me as an experiment. He had me bitten, then left me in a pen on the surface with some others. I went over the top before the others turned.” Peter looked at his hands, the shredded and burned flesh raw and red. “Electrified concertina wire is a bitch,” he said and coughed out a laugh.
“No doubt,” Nest said. “Are you terminal?”
Peter eyed the gun laying on the desk. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Very. But you’ve gotta tell them. Dagger’s got the codes. He’s insane. They’ve gotta do something or he’s going to launch.”
Another cough, another stab of pain from his side. He reached for the gun and saw the darkness in the veins on the back of his hand. It had spread from his side much quicker than he’d anticipated. The pistol felt good in his hand as he turned around and leaned back in the chair to look out the window at the sunset.
“You’ve gotta tell them, Nest. They can’t wait any longer.”
“Do you have your countermeasures?”
Peter laughed. “They took my pills when they threw me in the pen. Turns out they do a fairly thorough search of you when they think you’re a spy. If I wasn’t dead already, I wouldn’t be sitting right for several days.”
Nest said nothing.
“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “I have countermeasures. I’ll take care of it. You will warn them, won’t you, General?”
“Yeah, I’ll make sure they know, Condor. Any other messages?”
“Just for Adaline. Tell her I’m sorry and to be the best she can be.”
“We’ll take care of her, Condor.” Nest sighed. “Godspeed, Peter. May your rest be easy, and may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”
“Thanks, Frank. It’s been an honor.”
“For me as well. Nest out.”
Peter dropped the phone, and it rolled out of his lap to clatter to the floor. Like the rest of his life now, it no longer mattered. As he raised the gun to his temple and started to pull the trigger with his failing strength, he smiled.
“At least I got to see a beautiful Iowa suns—”
Base Commander’s Office
Bunker Seven
The young woman sitting in front of Bill Shaw’s desk fumed, but without knowing her, it would be impossible to tell. She was calm, collected, and far from the stereotypical image one would expect.
Still, he knew she was mad. She was using her “serious” voice instead of the more friendly, personal one he was used to.
“Have I become a liability to the team, sir?” Rachel Maxwell asked, quiet yet confident.
“No.”
“A distraction for the men in my unit?”
“Certainly not.”
“My skills are insufficient for the tasks I’m assigned, so I need more or remedial training, then.”
“Not even a little. You’re one of our best.”
“My gender, maybe?”
“Seriously? Come on.”
“Then I’m left with only one possible conclusion: you just don’t like me much.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Permission to speak frankly, sir?”
“Uh… granted, I guess.”
“What in the actual fuck is the problem, sir? Why are you holding me back? I shouldn’t be just going on this mission. I should be leading it, and you know it.”
Shaw sighed. “You did say ‘frankly,’ didn’t you? Look, Rachel, it’s not you per se…”
“Are you seriously going to give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech right now? Because I don’t give a damn.”
Shaw shook his head. “I know. You deserve better. I just…”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Yes… ?”
Shaw sighed and looked away. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
Rachel sat back and nodded. “I thought that might be it.”
“That’s because you’re too damned smart for your own good.”
“Look, Colonel, I get it. I know you and my dad were close. But I’m not him. I might die tomorrow in a freak accident. You can’t protect me forever, sir. And I deserve to go on this mission.”
Shaw leaned back in his chair and looked at the daughter of one of his best friends. He did his best to forget who she was and just focus on her as a soldier. And when he took the emotion out of it, he had to admit she was right. As much as he hated the idea, it was time to kick the bird out of the nest, so to speak.
“Apparently, you have quite a few supporters,” he said. “I’ve been getting grief for days.”
Rachel smiled like an innocent child. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Your mom, the governor, your CO… It appears I have no choice but to let you lead the mission.”
Rachel sat forward. “But if all of them say I should get to go, then why aren’t you—” She broke off as she caught up to Shaw’s last sentence. “Wait, what?”
It was Shaw’s turn to grin, if grimly. “One, maybe two people I could ignore, but this many? Congratulations, Lieutenant Maxwell. You have four days to prep your team. I suggest you get started.”
“Yes, sir,” Rachel said. She shot out of the chair and over to the office door, then turned back to him with a wide smile. “And thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed, Lieutenant. And close the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shaw sighed as the door shut behind her. “Well, George, hope you’re looking out for her,” he muttered. “I’ve done all I can. I just hope it’s enough.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bunker Council Meeting
Governor’s Conference Room
Bunker One
There were only a few people gathered around the big conference room table. The small group included the command staff of Bunker One and ExForce. They’d kept the number small to avoid word of their plans getting out. Right now, the speaker phone in the center of the table was their focus. Ops Chief Potter leaned into the room and signaled David.
“I think everyone’s here now. We’ve got some big stuff to discuss, folks. Dagger, the Driebachs, and the Church. Are we ready to move on Dagger?”
“I’m still not convinced that Mr. Dagger is in control of anything or that he did all these terrible things,” a voice from the speaker said.
“Governor Belkins, is it?” David asked.
“Yes, this is Belkins.”
“What exactly are you unclear on, Governor?”
“We don’t have any proof that he’s done the things you claim he’s done. It’s all somewhat larger than life, don’t you think? Some sort of paranoid fantasy? I’m not saying you’re making it up, but maybe you have bad information.”
The others in Bunker One’s conference room looked at each other with incredulous expressions. “Uh, what, Governor?”
“I haven’t seen any compelling evidence for these accusations.”
“So, let me get this straight, Governor. Dagger organizes a five-year assault on my bunker, then he weaponizes the prion and uses it to kill not one but two bunkers full of survivors, and you’re still not convinced?” David shook his head in amazement. “Sorry, he didn’t kill that second bunker full of people. He just turned them into the fiercest and most lethal monsters the world has ever seen, which, by the grace of whatever God there may be, we’ve managed to keep contained. All these things, and more besides, and you still think we’re blowing everything out of proportion. Does that about sum it up?”
“In a nutshell, yes.” Belkins paused for a moment, as though he was collecting his thoughts. “I just don’t see any real evidence of any of what you’re talking about. Do you have anything?”
“Then I’d like to refer you to your computer systems. Secure file Driebach-1, please.”
“Son of a bitch,” Belkins said. “We’ll talk later about how the file got here.”
“It’s no great mystery, Governor. All the bunkers should be sharing information, by design. For some reason, the option for file sharing between bunkers was disabled. Probably a lax contractor. A good conversation with our friend Roger Tate, who helped design the system, brought them back to full readiness.
“In case anyone else wants to see it, the same file is in your own systems now. Some of you have already seen it. Others declined to view it before.” David looked down for a moment, getting himself together. “The file is a video confession of the first zombie whose type we call ‘Driebach,’ after this monster’s name in life. These things are real. They’re the most dangerous enemy we face, and Dagger created them to maintain control of us and civilian populations he might come across. Most of you have heard about them already, whether you want to believe the stories or not.”
Gaines took over. “During a recent ExForce mission, we discovered the base of operations for Arthur Beoshane and his men. For those of you who don’t remember, he’s the guy who led the attacks on our bunker. In his confession, Driebach talks about Arthur Beoshane receiving satellite radio calls from someone named ‘McMillan.’ Driebach believed that was just a cover, a pseudonym. After a careful analysis, our technicians were able to pull some GPS data off a phone recovered at the site. They matched it to the location of Bunker Four.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” David said. “This and other evidence proves that McMillan was or is Dagger, and that he did, in fact, commit the atrocities which I mentioned. And who knows how many others. He needs to be dealt with, and we’re the only ones who can do it. And we have to before he takes out another bunker.”
David sighed. “Come on, people. We’ve been talking and preparing for this for over a decade. We need to get off our asses and do something about it or the prion treatment won’t make any difference. Dagger will control us all anyway.”
General Anderson spoke up. “I know you’ve all received my report, whether you bothered to read it or not. I personally spoke with someone who had been on the inside. His name was Staff Sergeant Peter Brooks, and he died a hero. He infiltrated Bunker Four and confirmed everything we’ve suspected and worse. Dagger has everything he needs to launch another attack. Yarborough is dead, and Dagger is in control.”
Someone cleared their throat and then spoke. “Stimmons here, Bunker Three. For what it’s worth, David, we’ll volunteer to help stage any action taken against Bunker Four. I know we’re about eight hundred miles away, give or take, but you’re not going to be able to just fly into his range.”
“Agreed,” said Major Terrance James, military commander of Bunker Three. “He’ll be waiting for us, no doubt. We might be able to get closer than here, though.”
“Has anyone heard from Bunker Five?” Ridgely asked. “We’ve been trying to get in touch to arrange delivery of the treatments, but they won’t respond to us.”
“We haven’t heard anything in months,” Simms from Bunker Ten said. “Other than the occasional propaganda transmission. You know, ‘America is rebuilding,’ that sort of thing. Nothing of substance.”
“Is it possible that Dagger has taken over that bunker too?” one of the others asked. David couldn’t tell who had spoken.
“It’s possible,” he said. “But without any communication from either bunker, there’s no way to know.”
“I think we’re all forgetting something. Dagger is not our biggest concern right now. Those Driebachs in Bunker Nine are, or should be. Dagger we can deal with, but these things… We’ve left them alone for too long already.”
“Good point, Admiral Graves,” David said. “Is Bunker Nine still secure?”
“I’ll take that one, David,” Anderson said. “We’ve been swapping duty with Bunker Ten, rotating our people in and out. So far, we haven’t seen any breaches. They’re locked in there for now. But they’re smart. They still might find a way out. Hell, they could’ve been working on it since we shut the door on them. We need to take care of them, pronto.”
“So we agree that should be the first priority. Admiral, you have a plan for that, right?”
“I do.”
“Good, we’ll hear that in a minute,” David said. “What about the Church of the Divine Judgment?” He’d prepared for the groans and general gnashing of teeth that followed. “I think it’s safe to say we all detest these people, but we still have to figure out a way to deal with them.”
“I think we should note that we don’t hate the people who follow our old friend Reverend Wright,” Colonel James said. “They’re mostly misguided, scared folks. It’s the stuff they do and their leaders we hate.”
“A pointless distinction,” Anderson said. “They’ve killed thousands if not tens of thousands of people. I believe in God, and these people aren’t preaching any gospel or sermon I’ve ever heard. They’re batshit crazy, and we can’t afford to treat them with kid gloves.”
“Agreed,” several of the folks on the call said, including Kimberly, who looked her husband’s way when he turned to her. She shrugged.
“I don’t care whether they believe or not,” David said. “They’ve already attempted to take down two planes. What do we know about their organization? How many followers do they still have? Where are they based? We need more information.”
“We’ve rounded up everyone with that damned brand down here,” Shaw said. “Stuck them in an empty storage bay with some food and water. As far as I’m concerned, they can rot in there, but we might be able to get something out of them.”
David could well imagine what some of the folks who had lost loved ones on the flight to Bunker Ten might do, given the chance. “Anyone else have any prisoners?” he asked, not sure what answer he was hoping for now.
Bunker Two’s Greer followed a round of negatives. “We tried to snag a few up here after you notified us, but they all infected themselves rather than let us take them.”
“Infected themselves?” Simms asked.
“Based on how fast they turned, we’re guessing the syringes they used had runner or Driebach blood in them. Our people are testing them now to be sure. We haven’t caught a single one alive yet.”
“We should all be on high alert until further notice. Are there any objections to Bunker Seven’s people interrogating the prisoners?” He paused, and when no one said anything, he continued. “Right, then. Colonel Shaw, you will proceed with the interrogation and keep us informed of any progress.”
“Roger that,” Shaw acknowledged.
“Admiral Graves, we’re ready for you now.”
New Atlantic Fleet HQ
Naval Station Norfolk
Two thousand miles away, Graves and his XO, O’Reilly, stood in the fleet HQ radio room.
“Well, Governor Blake, in broad strokes, our plan is to launch several Tomahawk missiles at Bunker Nine. Armed with thermobaric ‘bunker-buster’ warheads, they will completely destroy the facility.” He’d expected some discussion of the plan, a few people yelling about it being horrible. What he got, he hadn’t expected at all: silence.
“Sir?”
“We’re here, Admiral. Just… Just trying to process this idea.”
Blake sounded shaken, more so than Graves had ever heard. “Yes, sir, it took us some time to wrap our heads around it too,” he said.
“So, Jeremiah,” General Anderson said, “what you’re saying is you want to nuke the site from orbit?”
The admiral couldn’t help but chuckle, and he heard one or two others on the call with similar reactions. “Not exactly, sir. These are non-nuclear warheads. No fallout, no radiation. Just lots and lots of damage. Those Driebachs will be dead or buried under hundreds of tons of dirt, rock, and steel, sir.”
“How soon can you implement the plan, Admiral?” Blake asked.
“Well, that’s where things get sticky, sir. You see, we don’t have access to our launch codes anymore.”
“Don’t you carry backups?”
Anderson was a Navy man. Of course he would ask that.
“Normally, sir, yes,” Graves responded. “In this case, they’ve disappeared. We suspect that the former captain of the Texas destroyed them when he sent the nukes to the bottom. It was during that incident that a fire on board destroyed the main code housing and the cards inside, sir.”
“The codes aren’t in the computers, Admiral?” one of the governors asked. Jeremiah had never bothered to learn their names.
“They probably are, sir. But we can’t get to them without the proper access authorization, which no one on board has, for obvious reasons.”
“Well, where can you find the codes?” Blake asked.
“My first choice was the White House, sir. Then we tried the Pentagon, Fort Meade, the National Reconnaissance Office, even the CIA at Langley.”
The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning Page 14