“Wait a minute,” Finn said. “Herb might have a point. If we sneak around the Wiper’s flank, we may be able to pick them off from behind.”
Zhou sighed and nodded. He was a man used to making split-second decisions, and Finn could see that now. “Old man, you better know what you’re doing.” Zhou held the walkie to his lips and spoke: “Lock down the inner keep, we’re gonna try and flank these sonsabitches.”
“Roger that,” came the reply through a burst of static. “Locking the inner keep.”
Herb led them down a side hallway that opened onto a door with a yellow sign that read Braille Printing.
“The escape tunnel’s in here,” Herb told them.
Finn tried the door and found it locked. Four sailors in the rear were firing at the oncoming Wipers. “You better hurry, Sir. We won’t be able to hold them off for long.”
Foster dug his shoulder into the door without much effect.
“Back away,” Kulik, the sub’s XO, called out as he came forward with a Benelli M3 shotgun. Everyone turned away as he fired once into the latch and another where the lock was located. He sunk the heel of his boot into it, sending the door swinging open.
“Always using your head, XO,” Zhou told him.
Kulik smiled as they entered the room, slamming the door shut once everyone was inside.
Foster turned on the tactical flashlight at the end of his rifle. The expression on his face made it clear he didn’t like this idea one bit. “The hell you bring us? Place is a damned death trap.”
The room itself was no bigger than your average living room, but that was where the similarities ended. Long steel shelves stacked with paper lined the walls on either side.
Herb pointed at the giant machine nestled against the far wall. “This is the printing press where we made books for blind kids.”
“That sure is touching,” Foster said. “What we gonna do when the Wipers find us, hand em some pamphlets?”
“The escape tunnel,” Herb said. “It’s under the printing press.”
Any minute now, the Wipers would clue into where they’d gone and start shooting through that door. Five sailors, plus Finn, grabbed hold of the printing press and began pulling it. Adrenaline born from the fear of being tortured and killed surged through their veins. The printing press glided away from the wall, and Finn realized the thing was on wheels. Foster shined his light on the floor where it used to sit and spotted a rectangular marking on the ground. A section of the stone had even been carved into a handle.
Herb was grinning like a gap toothed schoolboy. “What did I tell you?”
“For all we know,” Foster said. “The old man’s leadin’ us into his torture chamber.”
Finn pulled open the trapped door while the other men maneuvered the printing press against the door. If anything, the hope was it might buy them a little more time.
“Give me your light,” Finn told Foster, which the sailor did with no small amount of reluctance. Joanne was by Finn’s side. “You ready?” he asked her.
“Choosing between a dark hole and a bunch of Wipers isn’t much of a choice,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Five minutes later, they’d descended into a dirt tunnel beneath the prison. Finn was out front, followed by Joanne, Foster, Kulik, and Zhou. The last man was Herb, who dragged the stone slab over the entrance in the hopes that if the Wipers got into the room, they might not clue in to where everyone had gone.
Only a thin beam of light illuminated the dirt path before them. It was a tunnel dug by hand, likely using the very tools one might find in the Braille printing room. How long it had taken them, Finn didn’t know. Nor how many prisoners had used it to escape.
A hundred yards of duck walking through the tunnel was starting to take its toll, Joanne holding onto his waist.
“We’re almost there,” he told her. But the cramped space wasn’t the worst part. The lack of air was. Finn had begun to notice the problem shortly after leading the way inside, but with over a dozen people behind him – not to mention the Wipers in the hallways outside – it wasn’t as easy as turning and heading out for a breath of fresh air. The only way out was to keep moving forward, and Finn struggled toward what he hoped was an exit. He was really starting to feel short of breath by the time he saw the ladder recessed into the dirt at the end of the tunnel.
The distance to the top wasn’t more than 10 feet. Overhead was a large metal plate, one likely salvaged from the previous Braille printer. It didn’t need to be all that large, just strong enough to keep the exit a secret. Finn used the palm of his hand to push it off the ground and out of the way. Warm sunlight hit his eyes, forcing him to blink away the jabbing pain. He set the metal plate off to the side and climbed out, immediately reaching down to help the others. As the sailors climbed free, they began setting up a perimeter. Their position was a good hundred yards past the road the Wipers had used on their approach to the prison.
Powdery sand and sagebrush lay at their feet. The hot Nevada sun beat down from above.
Near the prison entrance, a group of Wipers was still firing at a handful of sailors who hadn’t retreated to the inner keep. The Humvee they’d hit with the Javelin earlier was upside down. A large plume of black smoke rising from the wreck. But there was no sign of the man with the megaphone, Finn noted.
Now that they were out, this was Commander Zhou’s show. He divided everyone assembled into three groups of five. Once they made it through the gate, one group would cut right and the other left while Zhou, Kulik, Foster, Joanne, and Finn would engage the Wipers near the front door. Herb elected to stay behind. This wasn’t his fight, but Finn was glad to have had his help all the same.
Zhou used hand signals to communicate with his men in the second-story windows. The last thing they needed was to be fired on by their own guys. Then they all dashed forward, taking cover behind the first vehicles they came to in the courtyard. As planned, one group fanned left and the other right. Finn peered over the hood. Directly ahead was a handful of Wipers exchanging fire with the sailors in the windows. Zhou’s men were keeping them busy.
On the count of three, Finn and the others rose and began firing.
The Wipers were caught completely by surprise and were torn to pieces in seconds. Then, Zhou’s men on the flanks engaged with a similar result. With fire raining down from behind and above, those poor bastards hardly stood a chance. Zhou rose, about to give the order to move in, when shots rang out from inside a nearby car. A Wiper hiding in a blue sedan was unloading on Zhou. Sparks ricocheted off the vehicle Zhou was using for cover. A shot spun the commander around and his hand sprung to the side of his head. Finn and the others zeroed in on the blue sedan and riddled it with bullets, killing the attacker.
Joanne rushed to Zhou’s side. He was sitting on the pavement, his back against the tire rim, a hand pressed up against his head. Blood ran between his fingers.
“It’s nothing,” Zhou said.
Kulik was there in a flash, examining the wound.
“Grazed your skull, boss. You can thank your lucky stars these animal pricks don’t maintain their weapons very well. He probably had you dead to rights, only he prolly never adjusted the sights on that AK of his.”
“Hurry up,” Zhou barked in his Texas drawl. “There isn’t time to waste.”
Kulik finished the bandage, and Zhou got on the walkie to the men in the inner keep.
“Bravo team, are you there?”
A few seconds later the reply came back. “We’re here, over.”
“Smith, get your men ready. In 30 seconds, I want you bursting outta there, hot. I have teams coming in the front and side entrances. We’re gonna catch these bastards in a classic Heinz Guderian pincer movement.”
“Roger that.”
Cheers erupted over the walkie from the men inside.
A moment later, Finn, Zhou, and the others were rushing toward the front entrance, weapons at the ready. They arrived to find about a dozen Wipers in the oute
r reception area. Kulik rolled in a grenade and then ducked for cover. A cloud of smoke and fire shot past them, along with the sound of screams from the Wipers inside. That’s when the door to the inner keep opened and Zhou’s men came charging out along the second-story walkway. The sound of explosive gunfire was deafening. Within moments, this second group of Wipers was dead. More exchanges could be heard down the hallway as Zhou’s men surprised more of the enemy.
Then came the sound of men outside, running for their lives. Car engines roaring to life and peeling tires. Finn and the others rushed outside to see streams of Wipers trying to flee. Some of them drove headlong through the perimeter fence since the inner courtyard was far too congested. In their desperation to escape, some had even leapt onto the hoods of moving cars and were holding on for dear life. Among them was the man in black who’d been wielding the megaphone. Finn took aim with his rifle and peeled off a handful of shots, knowing full well he was out of range.
They had the numbers, but what they’d lacked was the discipline. Some of the sailors continued to fire on the Wipers as they fled from the East side of the building. A couple of those fleeing drove Humvees, which could only mean that some of the Wipers had breached the area where Zhou kept their vehicles.
Finn went back inside and found Joanne standing in the middle of the reception center, surrounded by dead Wipers. She dropped her pistol and threw her arms around him, sobbing as though the barbarity of the experience was only now beginning to seep through.
“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt,” Finn said soothingly.
She squeezed him tighter.
“I guess this is where I’m supposed to say something insightful about good and evil and all that jazz.”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t say anything at all.”
Finn thought that was just fine.
Dana
Dana pulled up to the trailer that contained Romeo’s body and nudged the brakes of her pickup. The cars here in New Jamestown were all considered communal property, their keys left above the driver-side visor. It was a policy Larry had begun after taking over from All Father and one that made a lot of sense. One’s definition of ownership tended to undergo a rather radical transformation once you were surrounded by a glut of stuff you’d never need.
She got out and scanned her watch, noticing it was approaching 10 in the morning. Larry and the others had been gone now since dawn without so much as a peep. Had they been overwhelmed by the Wipers and cut to pieces? Or were they in the process of loading the trucks with the food they so desperately needed? She hoped it was the latter and not simply because her stomach kept grumbling like a grumpy old man. Everyone who went on Larry’s little expedition as well as those who’d stayed behind knew perfectly well the colony’s survival depended on their succeeding.
But checking her watch hadn’t only been a consequence of worrying about her friends. Dana knew that with nearly everyone gone, this might be the only opportunity she had to move Romeo’s body. She reached the trailer where she and Lou had carefully wrapped and hidden his remains and opened the door. The very thought of what she was about to do had the undeniable effect of tying her stomach into knots. Inside the trailer, nothing seemed to be disturbed, but already, the air had become heavy with the smell of rotting food.
That isn’t food, and you know it!
But the rank odor wasn’t what was causing those knots, and Dana knew that as well. She’d been entrusted as sheriff of New Jamestown, and she couldn’t help somehow feeling like an accessory to murder. Sure, she hadn’t been the one to poison the stew and feed it to Romeo. If anything, she’d probably even managed to extend his life by a few days, for whatever that was worth, since the urgency with which Larry wanted him banished was tantamount to an execution anyway. But moving the body would ensure that whoever killed the kid would never be caught, and in that sense it made her an unwilling accomplice. Perhaps her desire to keep Romeo hidden, albeit fuelled by her attempt to save his life and more importantly, to find the identity of the person behind Patty Mae’s murder, had in the end only managed to blind her. Moving the body had become more about covering her own mistakes, regardless of how well intentioned. Wasn’t there a saying about that somewhere? About the road to hell being paved with good intentions? She was starting to believe it now more than ever.
Dana’s plan was simple enough. She’d pull the pickup next to the trailer, fill it with Romeo’s body as well as some of the junk cluttering the place, and find a secluded spot to bury him with a shred of dignity. She only hoped the guard manning the gate wouldn’t get too nosy. No doubt nighttime would have been ideal for all of this, but how could one explain a late night excursion in a world where the darkness contained real boogeymen?
Romeo’s body was still wrapped in canvas and set behind a stack of plastic chairs. Another set of hands would’ve been ideal – Lou’s in particular – but she knew she didn’t have that luxury. Already, they’d waited too long. The smell was only getting worse. Before long, it wouldn’t be the odor of rotting food assaulting her nose, but decomposing flesh.
Nearby was a stack of four bicycles with rusted frames and flat tires. She took one at a time and loaded them into the back of the pickup, along with some of the other junk she was sure no one in the colony would have an objection to throwing away. Finally, with a spot on the bed at the back cleared of stuff, it was time for Romeo. In life, he hadn’t been a large kid by any means. Late teens, early 20s. And the very thought nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Dana grabbed handfuls of canvas and dragged him into the open, wondering how in death he’d become so heavy. From here, she eased him into a sitting position, at least as much as the fabric he was draped in would allow, and then jerked him onto her shoulder, just like she’d learned in Coast Guard basic training. The trick was getting him into the truck fast so it didn’t look like she was moving anything other than a pile of weathered canvas.
Shifting the weight to one side, she nudged open the door and barely got down the three steps that led from the trailer when she saw Timothy. He was at the back of her pickup inspecting the items she’d placed there. As soon as he saw her struggling under the heavy load, he came to give her a hand.
“Here let me help you with that,” he said, reaching to take hold of the end.
“I got it,” Dana snapped.
Timothy recoiled and moved out of her way. She hadn’t meant to get snippy, especially under the circumstances, but she couldn’t risk him knowing what was inside. After lowering the pile into the back of the truck and sliding it forward, Dana pushed the bikes over until they rested on top of Romeo’s body.
But far from beating a hasty retreat, Timothy seemed to take sudden interest in what she was doing, scrutinizing the canvas.
“Might I ask what you’re doing with all this?”
Dana swallowed hard and slammed the cargo door shut. “Dumping it. Keeping myself busy’s prolly the only way to keep my mind off things.” She was referring to the attack, and he seemed to understand.
“That looks like a perfectly good tent to me,” he said, touching the flap with his index finger.
“Hard to see when it’s in a bundle like that,” she told him, heading for the cab. “But the inside’s all torn up.”
“I see.” He was following her to the driver-side window as she climbed inside. He laid his forearms on the edge of the door. “It’s a real shame about your father.”
Dana started the truck and it growled to life. “You have no idea.”
He glanced back at the stuff she’d piled in the back. “I’m sure he’s swearing up and down he didn’t do it.” An empathetic look was on Timothy’s thinning face.
Dana nodded. “What would you be saying?”
He smiled. “Probably the same. It’s amazing though how little we sometimes know about the ones who are closest to us.”
Was he trying to get to her? Retribution for inferring it was his voice on that tape recorder? Or maybe he’d caught
wind of her interview with Simon. That All Father’s son revealed Timothy had once worked for Tevatron. A topic she would need to discuss with him as soon as she was back.
“You aren’t the only one who knows things, Dana. The dead have a way of demanding justice.”
That one caught her cold, and for a second she wasn’t sure if he knew what she was up to.
He wasn’t done. “The world outside these walls may be dangerous, but sometimes the real danger is the one you can’t see.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think you already know, Sheriff. The string of mysterious deaths in what was once Rainbowland and is now, thanks to Larry, New Jamestown. Some of them appeared benign enough, but I’m sure with your keen eye you see otherwise. I’ve suspected for a long time there’s a serial killer loose within these walls, and I need you to prepare for the very real possibility that your father might be behind these deaths.”
Dana peeled away just then, and Timothy had to take a quick step back before his toes were crushed. It wasn’t his rather empty insinuation that her father was a murder. She’d known him her entire life, and every part of her knew that was impossible. His real guilt was being a neglectful alcoholic.
She stopped before the gate, and a cult member came to her window.
“You know we’re on lockdown, Sheriff.”
“I won’t be long.” She smiled at him and nodded to the SIG on the seat next to her. His main concern was for her safety more than anything, and she hoped the gun would convince him she would be just fine.
“Keep it between us then,” he said and opened the gate.
Leaving the compound was something of a blur. Timothy’s words still running loops inside her head. And not an ounce of it was on account of his suggestion that her father was a murderer. It was the biting realization that she suddenly knew who had planted that listening device, who had killed Romeo and possibly Patty Mae and perhaps a host of others. A list of the dead that may even include All Father and his daughter, Abigail. Timothy had given himself away in his attempt to cast a shadow of doubt over her father’s innocence. Now, all she needed to do was prove it.
Primal Shift: Volume 2 (A Post Apocalyptic Thriller) Page 19