“Come to my office, Juan.”
Nervous, Diaz stood at rigid attention and saluted. Angriff returned it.
“Relax, corporal, I’ve shot all the people I intend to shoot for a while. I asked you to come into my office so we aren’t overheard. That’s a good lesson for the future.”
“Yes, sir.”
Angriff tried to come across as the kindly father. “The report?”
“Oh, sorry, General. Colonel Walling’s ankle was shattered and he lost a lot of blood, but he’ll be all right. He should be out of the hospital tomorrow with a cast and crutches. The bullet that struck General Fleming grazed his cheek. He’s on his way back here now. As for Sergeant Schiller, the round in his shoulder was a through-and-through and did no major damage. The one in his thigh was a little worse but nothing life-threatening. He should be back within a week.”
“Thank you, Diaz. I guess you know you’ve got big shoes to fill.”
Diaz turned to the door just as Nipple burst through it with a frantic look on her face. Joe and Morgan Randall were close behind. Morgan started to speak but Nipple beat her to it. “You’re okay?” She panted from her run.
“Thank you, Corporal. Please close the door behind you.” Once Diaz had left, Angriff smiled. “I’m fine… sweetheart. So’s your brother over there.” He pointed to the couch.
But she ignored Green Ghost. Morgan tried to ask another question, and again she was too slow. “What about Mom?” Nipple said.
Angriff’s eyes cut to Green Ghost, who sat wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open. “She’s fine, too. A little shook up. Cynthia got clocked in the head but she should be all right. I know they’d like to see you.”
The two Randalls left, rattling back down the ramp toward the living quarters, but Nipple stayed and buried her face in one hand.
“Talk to me… Nikki. Are you okay?”
“I don’t think so.” She collapsed next to her brother on the couch. “I’ve spent my whole life hating you, and then I heard about the attack and… and something happened inside me. I’ve never felt anything like it before. When that Bettison guy tried to kill you and Morgan, I wished him luck. Then I hoped the Sevens would do it. And when you and Steeple almost died in the hangar the other day, I got mad at the dead guy who screwed it up. But now… now…” She looked up with tears streaming down her face.
Angriff’s heart lurched. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I can’t do this any more.” After pausing and searching for a word, she threw up her hands in exasperation. “Dad! I can’t do this any more, Dad. I’m not a soldier, or I’m not now. I had the fire, but now I don’t. It just vanished. And without it, I’m not any good for that kind of thing.”
“Are you saying you’re quitting Zombie?” Green Ghost asked.
“Yeah, B.B., I think I am.”
“What the fuck?”
Angriff held up a hand to stop him. “What changed?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s weird.”
“Is it this Toy?”
“Maybe. Has… damn it, it’s hard to figure out what to call everybody… has Nick told you what happened when we were young? The voodoo thing?”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Green Ghost exploded.
Angriff waved him down. “Let her talk.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Let… her… talk.”
Green Ghost leaned back, fuming, crossing his arms and tucking his head into his chest. Angriff realized it was the same mannerism that he had used to pout when he was younger.
“I know Nick thinks it’s stupid and maybe it is, but this old voodoo priest said I was possessed by a demon and wouldn’t get better until I found a toy—”
Green Ghost couldn’t help himself. “He said child’s plaything.”
“Do I have to throw you out of here?” Angriff said.
“Anyway,” she continued, as if Ghost hadn’t spoken, “I never knew any different because I’d always felt the same way, angry, wanting to hurt people. I liked it. But now, I’m thirty-three years old. Nick and I lived nine years after you went cold. I don’t even know how old you are, or my sisters, not really. Nick’s tried to explain it to me but math’s not my strong suit. And that’s not the big thing here. I’m slowing down. I can feel it. I’m not what I used to be.”
Angriff’s voice was gentle. “I’ve seen you in action. I wish my whole brigade was as slow as you. Your reflexes and hand-eye coordination are better than ninety-nine percent of all the people who’ve ever lived.”
“Morgan’s faster. She’s the one who showed me how much I’ve slowed down and pointed out I’m not as young as I thought I was.”
“So Morgan started this?” Nick said.
She turned in her seat. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’ve only slowed down a little, I know that, but the fire isn’t there any more. I never thought about having kids or raising a family before… but now it’s all I think about.”
No one spoke for more than ten seconds.
“How about we do this,” Angriff said at last. “Zombie needs logistical support. Weapons checks, making sure ammunition supplies are adequate, arranging lurps and recons, that sort of thing. Does that sound like something you could do?”
“Sure,” she said. “I still want to help.”
“Then let’s leave it there. You’re off active operations but are taking over supply duties. Nick, that leaves you down a man. Any thoughts?”
“Please call me Green Ghost. One day you’re gonna slip and do it in front of others.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I do. At least for now.”
“Fine. Green Ghost.”
“I know one candidate. I need to speak with him first, however.”
“Not Captain Dickhead,” Nikki said.
Green Ghost smiled and pointed at her. “There’s my sister!”
#
Nikki had left and Green Ghost was about to follow when Angriff stopped him. “Don’t forget what I said. I need you to go to Creech, not Sierra, to assess the situation there and let me know what we need to do. It is essential that we get that base up and running ASAP.”
“Vapor can do that as well as I can; Wingnut might do it better. I need to be on the Blackhawk up to Sierra.”
“You’re going to Creech. Find somebody else for the Blackhawk.”
“Is this because I’m your son and there’s angry Chinese heading for Sierra?”
“It’s because I need you at Creech! Is it because you’re my son that you think you can argue with the orders of your commanding officer?”
Ghost folded his arms and stared at his father. In all their years together, Angriff had never before pulled rank, regardless of how much Green Ghost argued about an operation. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Yes. You’ll be accompanied by a young lady named Nado who grew up on the base and can fill you in on the details. I want information by tomorrow night. Use whatever resources you need. Now you’re dismissed.”
#
Chapter 61
“Bite ’em, fight ’em, kick ’em in the ass,
Stomp ’em, romp ’em, make ’em chew glass.
Take ’em, break ’em, shake ’em all around,
Grill ’em, kill ’em, put ’em in the ground.”
Song of Task Force Zombie (a/k/a The Nameless)
Operation Overtime
1548 hours, April 20
Task Force Zombie operated out of a large storeroom near the hangar deck that Green Ghost had appropriated and cleared out. Everybody had a bunk, desk, chair, and a small nightstand with three drawers. Rifles and handguns were kept in lockers at the far end, while they stored larger weapons in nearby Motor Bay A. That was all they needed in post-apocalyptic America.
As not only leader of the team but also the S-5 of the 7th Cavalry, in charge of security for the entire base, Green Ghost kept an office near the storeroom. A single supply serg
eant named Ulov ran things when he wasn’t around and assisted him when he was.
Ulov was showing him a stack of fitness reports when a loud knock interrupted them.
“It looks like Prince Charming is here. Show him in, Yuri.”
Shackles bound Claw’s hands and ankles. But instead of turning him sullen, his time in prison appeared to have had the desired effect. His lips were pressed tight and his eyes were pleading. Four MPs surrounded him.
“Unshackle him,” Ghost ordered.
Claw stood taller than the burly MP corporal who commanded the detail. His shoulders and thighs would have been envied by professional linebackers.
The corporal cut him a glance. “Are you sure, sir?”
Although taller than average himself, Green Ghost was lean. The corporal clearly worried about him being alone with their prisoner.
“I’m sure. I’ll be fine, Corporal.”
Once freed from his restraints, Claw rubbed his wrists and ankles, restoring the circulation. “They were a little tight.”
“I told them not to take any chances.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. To what do I owe the honor of my visit?”
“How do you feel about General Steeple?”
“Steeple? I don’t know. He’s a general; I do what he says.”
“That’s it?”
“We’re not butt-buddies, if that’s what you mean.”
“So you don’t owe him any allegiance?”
“Allegiance? What are you talking about, man? He’s my commander. I follow his orders. When Nick was my commander, I followed his orders. I’m a soldier like you are. Can I ask what’s up?”
“Earlier today…” He paused and checked his watch. “…about two hours ago, an attack was carried out on this base’s headquarters by a die-hard group loyal to General Steeple. The general was placed under arrest two days ago for high treason. This group wanted to kill Saint Nick and replace him with Steeple. They also might be affiliated with an unknown group of raiders in the countryside who wear red bandanas or scarves.”
Claw nodded, the tattoo on his neck stretching like an accordion. “Now I get it. You wanna know if I’m loyal to Steeple personally.”
“Exactly.”
“He can EABOD for all I care.”
“Don’t just say it because you think I want to hear it.”
“Listen, Zombie’s my life — the mission, the people in it. You guys are the only family I’ve ever been able to count on, you dig? Even that whacked-out sister of yours. She might have the personality of a water moccasin, but I never doubted that if my ass was on the line, she’d be there covering my six. Unity of purpose, unity of mind, unity of soul… I take that shit seriously, man. Steeple came along when the world had gone crazy and offered me a safe haven in return for my special talents. I didn’t have any better offers at the time, so I said yes. That’s the extent of my loyalty. If the prick tried to kill Saint Nick, I’ll personally put a bullet in his brain. Nick’s my man.”
“If I let you back in, you’ll be low man behind everybody else, including a couple you’ve never met. Got it? Vapor’s number two, Wingnut three, One-Eye four, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Even Nipple?”
“My sister is not operational at the moment. She’s taken over our logistical support.”
“She’s not knocked up, is she?”
Green Ghost slammed his swivel chair forward, pointing. “One more remark like that and you can bunk with Steeple until you two do fall in love!”
Claw bowed his head. “I’m sorry, man. The truth is… well, I always kind of liked her.”
Green Ghost squinted, evaluating the truth of that last statement. Nobody had ever said they liked Nipple. But he saw no sign of deception in Claw’s face. “Ninety days’ probation. You do nothing and say nothing to piss off anybody. Hear me? If I get one complaint, no matter how unfair you may think it is, you’re out.”
“Back to a cell?”
“That depends, but out of Zombie for sure. If Personnel puts you somewhere else, that’s up to them. You might be digging latrines at an FOB, but I won’t drive up there to give a shit.”
“I appreciate you, man, I won’t let you down.”
“Tell Corporal Ulov you need a bunk, then gear up. You’ve got an op as soon as the hangar crew finishes installing long-range fuel tanks on a Blackhawk.”
“For real?”
“You might not be so excited when you hear what it is.”
“I don’t care. I want back in the field. Any mission briefing?”
“Yeah. There’s an old army base full of tanks and ammo and shit called Sierra Army Depot. Maybe bio and chemical weapons, too. It’s up north of Tahoe. The Chinese want it and have sent a force of unknown strength to get it, and best we can tell, there’re only a handful of our people to stop ’em. That’s where you come in.”
“Sounds like fun.” Claw barked a laugh. “Are our people any good?”
“Unknown. We’re guessing on numbers and composition.”
“What kind of force is going with us?”
“It’ll be you, Vapor, a long-range radio, and as much ammo as you can carry. Your mission will be to assess the situation and to recommend, relay, and coordinate actions needing to be taken by the brigade in defense of that base. It might also be you two against an army.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“And the radio might not work at that distance.”
“I love a good desert vacation.”
“One more thing you should know. I’ve issued a standing shoot-on-sight order if, by some nightmare, Adder shows up. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Fuck, no. I’ll kill the prick in a heartbeat for what he did to my squad. Did he survive?”
“Unknown, but I’ve come to expect every scumbag from the old world to suddenly pop up somewhere. I won’t be surprised if he does, too.”
“I kind of hope he does. We have unfinished business.”
“Even though he’s your friend?”
“He ain’t no friend of mine. But he’s not part of Comeback, I can guarantee that.”
“I know. I just have this feeling he’s out there, somewhere, somehow.”
#
Chapter 62
The bad man desires arbitrary power. What moves the evil man is the love of injustice.
John Rawls
Near Beulah, ND
1549 hours, April 20
After the mountains of the west, Amunet Mwangi found the flatness of North Dakota disorienting. The convoy of one supply truck, two APCs, and two Humvees had driven straight through from where she’d met them in east-central Utah, with breaks only for refueling. It had been a grueling 74-hour trip on the ramshackle interstate highway system of the defunct United States. Several times she’d held her breath as they drove over suspect bridges. The only food available consisted of tasteless protein bars washed down with cold instant coffee or plain water.
Mwangi had waited four days after getting through on the satellite phone, a nervous period with only the damned protein bars for food. Only fear of rattlesnakes and cougars broke the boredom. Every few hours, she’d taken off her pants and underwear to shake them out, in case a scorpion had crawled into a fold. She had never served a tour in the field and that lack of experience translated into paranoia and terror.
Since crossing into North Dakota, she’d noticed how much better the road’s condition seemed to be. Signs were everywhere of recent repairs. Holes had been filled, shoulders shored up, and bridges strengthened. Unlike so many they’d crossed during the long drive that had wobbled and swayed, the last two had felt much more solid.
At a large heap of road rubble, cleared to one side, the convoy turned left. Within half a mile, they passed sandbagged machine gun emplacements and an APC. A road barrier made from scrap steel lay swung to one side, guarded by four men in fresh uniforms with rifles. Mwangi squinted at their odd salute, a right arm thrust straight forward Nazi
-style but ending in a fist. All were clean-shaven with closely cropped hair.
They turned off an asphalt road onto one made of concrete, which appeared to have been recently poured. Ahead, a rectangular section of ground rose up to a forty-five degree angle. Mwangi thought it was like the opening jaws of some massive alligator. The road ended at the edge of a black pit. Continuing the alligator metaphor, it seemed to her like the giant creature’s gaping maw.
Had she been driving, she would have slowed down, but she wasn’t. Instead they maintained speed. Expecting a headlong plunge ending in a fiery crash, Mwangi closed her eyes as they crossed the dark threshold.
They didn’t die. The road sloped downward at a gentle angle until they reached a massive underground garage, lit on all sides by bright white LEDs. She couldn’t see the far end. The roof seemed twenty feet high or more and she guessed its width at no less than one hundred yards. A concrete floor and walls reflected sounds.
A wide double set of steel blast doors lined each wall at seventy-five foot intervals. The convoy drove to the fourth set of those and stopped. Guards flanking the doors stuck out their arms in salute. Mwangi’s leg muscles burned as she stepped out of the Humvee, after sitting in the cramped vehicle for days. The past twenty-four hours had been the worst. Her companions had treated her with aloof correctness but had responded to her questions with monosyllabic answers. They’d showed no inclination to engage in conversation.
“This way, please, Colonel.” The man identified only as Bence smiled and extended his hand to indicate the now-open blast doors.
Mwangi’s first few steps were clumsy, until the increased circulation to her legs reached the muscles. Then she regained the stiff bearing of an officer and passed through the doors as if she were back at the Pentagon and the guards saluting her were in the U.S. Army.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a tattoo on one of the guards’ arms, a stylized G-R. Something in her mind clicked. At that moment, she knew the name of her savior.
The industrial construction of the hallway reminded her of the nuclear bunkers under Washington, D.C. Steel walls and roof echoed with their footsteps on the poured concrete floor. One hundred feet from the garage, the tunnel ended in two more blast doors, each ten feet high and eight wide. When they swung open, she noted the titanium measured a foot thick.
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