Dr. Liander cheerily greeted most of the drivers when he didn’t have his eyes glued to various measurements on his tablet. He ambled along like he was in a park on a sunny day.
This guy’s acting more like Norm from Cheers than a scientist at the end of the world.
Bowcut remained locked in conversation with Roux about his time in the Korps Commandotroepen, the Dutch army’s special forces. He’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan, then was recruited by the Foundation in Mali. Munoz knew she was getting a feel for the man. So far, she appeared increasingly relaxed in the big man’s presence.
In fact, everyone in the whole place had that vibe, save for the lone supersoldier that singlehandedly dismantled the creature earlier.
Who wouldn’t be comfortable here? It’s probably the safest place on the planet.
But aren’t we all about to leave this haven?
He was pretty sure he didn’t want to leave. No, if anything, Munoz had realized the logistics to this base must be huge after seeing the warehouse and supersoldiers. He reminded himself that this was humanity’s best shot, regardless of the Foundation’s past murderous history. The more he saw, the more it impressed him for two reasons. First, the scale, of course. But mainly for something else. Despite years of studying conspiracy theories and discussing them online with fellow enthusiasts who knew their shit—and sifting through the evidence recovered from Paris—not a scrap of information pointed in this direction. And the secret base had been running for decades. There was something so much more real about secrets you never knew about than the ones everyone thought they did.
“Hey, Doc,” he called over to Liander. “How big is this place?”
Liander stepped across to him, brushing his shoulder in the process. The man evidently had no idea about personal space. “Oh, it’s about two-point-seven square miles, or roughly two Central Parks. We’re expanding as production ramps up.”
“Production?”
“No need for armies anymore once we bring more supersoldiers online.”
Munoz squinted his eyes at the doctor.
Did he just reveal something he shouldn’t have?
“Got it. How do we command these soldiers? Do they understand English?” Munoz continued, trying not to draw attention to the comment.
“To a basic extent. They follow simple commands, but language really isn’t necessary.”
“And why’s that?”
“Well, I hardwired their DNA to do one thing: hunt down and kill creatures. As I always say, the DNA leads the way.” The doctor cackled at his own joke, slightly too loudly. He peered forward. “But of course, Foundation staff can control their actions. Okay, we’re here.”
They walked around a sweeping bend and came out in the cavernous area they’d seen from the viewing deck. Thousands of grim-faced soldiers faced Munoz, steady in their positions. He stopped abruptly at the sight. Close up, and knowing their capabilities, he sensed their aura, and his right leg began to tremble. But none of the supersoldiers paid him the slightest bit of attention. An odd aroma invaded his nostrils, like the smell inside of a carpet store mixed with detergent.
The doctor grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. “Don’t sweat it, Mr. Munoz. They won’t hurt a fellow human. Well, at least something with a higher percentage of human DNA.”
“They can tell that?”
Dr. Liander cackled. “They know a creature when they see one.”
And I know a monster when I see one, he thought, staring at Liander.
Chapter Eighteen
The Coast Guard chopper thumped over the water at low altitude; its downdraft blasting a foamy trail in the shimmering blue Pacific. A cool wind rushed into its open side door. Karen wrapped a blanket around Joey and pulled him closer. He sat holding his knees, still shivering, his hair dripping after their near-death experience.
Their savior, the diver, gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, guys. You’re going to a safe place.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
Karen couldn’t muster anything more than those stuttered words. The events of the last twenty-four hours had started to properly sink in. She finally found the time to process the horror. Their lives hanging by a thread. The gruesome scenes on the streets. Their hair-raising escape. It made her shudder, but it beat constantly worrying about immediate survival against seemingly impossible odds.
She viewed the San Francisco city center as they flew away. It looked dead, apart from several thin wisps of smoke that coiled into the air. Every skyscraper had shattered windows. Ferries listed in the wharf. At least the sound of the chopper’s blades blocked out any remote screeches.
The chopper banked left, giving her a view of the Dwight D. Eisenhower Highway, whose overwater sections connected San Francisco to Oakland.
But no longer.
A huge section of the Bay Bridge had been destroyed. The lengths of road on either side sagged into the water like two mighty drawbridges that’d collapsed. Support cables hung loosely from the tall concrete pillars. At the foot of the collapse, close to a hundred creatures floated facedown in the gentle ocean swell.
The sight took her breath away.
She peered beyond Yerba Buena Island toward the Oakland side. A section of the bridge had been destroyed there, too, marooning the former from the mainland. The conjoined Treasure Island was cut off as a consequence, and that’s where the helicopter descended. The island, now completely separated from the mainland, was apparently the safe haven the diver was referring to.
They powered over a neighborhood of small houses on the island. She’d been here once as a child to watch a game of Gaelic football, and they headed directly for those sports fields. Hundreds of tents covered the area, the old green Base-X type used by the military. People milled between them. Other survivors. Each likely with his or her own harrowing story to tell. She wasn’t ready to share her experiences just yet. She sighed with relief at the sight of a functioning part of civilization.
Somewhere Joey could recover.
Somewhere I can recover.
Karen’s experience told her that the worst sufferers after traumatic events were not the dead; they were beyond pain. It was the injured and the family of the victims. Hearts ruptured by the agony and loss. Knowing that the worst things in life could actually happen. Some never recovered and spent the rest of their lives as hollow shells. She hoped her son didn’t fit into that particular bracket.
The chopper bumped down on a road next to the busy fields.
The diver pointed at the far end of the grass, toward a larger open tent with a table inside. “Head over there, ma’am. They’ll familiarize you.”
She nodded in acknowledgment. “We’re alive because of you. I won’t forget it.”
“Just doing my job. Let’s hope we all live long enough to remember.”
“You can say that again.”
He clearly had an important job, retrieving anyone left alive in the city. He’d already proven that in a selfless and assured manner. Karen decided it was better to avoid engaging him with questions about what the hell was happening. Others in the camp would know more than her. She picked up Joey, disembarked, and turned to give a smile of appreciation.
Joey waved his little right hand. “Thank you, Mr. Helicopter Man.”
“You were the brave one, kiddo.”
With that, the diver closed the door, and the helicopter ascended again.
Karen turned and walked along the road. As she did, she peered across the field.
Tent doors gently rippled in the breeze. A young couple gazed toward her and Joey with pity and sorrow etched across their faces. She avoided eye contact.
Just how many people are left alive in San Francisco? This surely can’t be it.
Steam drifted out of an open set of garages at the far side. Possibly a makeshift cafeteria. A teenage boy, dressed in a Warriors jersey, walked out. He had a steel mess kit plate in one hand and a sourdough roll in the other. This con
firmed her suspicions, and her stomach growled at the thought of hot food. It also made her realize that Joey hadn’t complained about not eating since scarfing down cold cuts in the smashed-up apartment. That was unusual for him.
The diver was right.
My brave boy.
A forklift truck carried a stack of blankets out of a warehouse. Farther along, outside a rusting warehouse, a group of people ripped open boxes of toiletries and sorted them into individual piles.
It had all the hallmarks of a refugee camp, something she’d witnessed only on the news or in documentaries.
Never thought I’d be in a place like this in my own country.
But I’m glad I am.
As Karen neared the larger tent and peered in, a grim-faced soldier looked up from behind a desk. Maps lined the wall behind him, showing both islands with plans scrawled across them in permanent marker.
“Hey, little guy,” the soldier said to Joey. “I’ve got something here for you.”
He reached into a box and pulled out a Kit Kat. Joey ran the final couple of paces to the desk and grabbed it from the soldier’s hand.
“What do you say?” Karen ordered sternly.
“Thank you, sir,” Joey replied. He peeled off the wrapper and took a hungry bite.
With her son distracted by his tasty treat, she turned her attention back to the desk. “I’d ask what’s been going on, but . . .”
“Call me Jim,” the soldier said to her. “I know you’ve been through a lot—”
“We all have.”
He nodded. “That’s true.”
“How many more safe places are there like this?” Karen asked.
“Locally? This is it, I’m afraid.”
“For the entire city?”
He nodded again. “Just over a couple of thousand people. Survivors were placed in the houses until we ran out of space. A tent is the best we can do for now . . .”
“How far has this thing spread?” she asked.
“You really wanna know?”
“Yes.”
She had family all over California. Danny’s lived in Ontario, Canada. All were close to her heart. The tone of his voice and his forlorn expression already told her that it wasn’t just San Francisco.
“It’s global,” Jim replied. “Most major cities. Some smaller ones. We don’t know exactly because they’ve been slowly taking out all forms of communication.”
“San Bernardino?”
“Gone.”
“Sacramento?”
He let out a deep sigh.
“Ontario?”
“Canada?” He glanced down at a map for a moment. “Ottawa and a stretch of land reaching from Toronto to Hamilton.”
“My God.”
She wanted to ask how many dead, but what was the point? That number must be growing by the minute. Millions? Billions? It was also evident that pretty much everyone on the island had lost someone close, including the soldier in front of her, who was doing his best to appear calm and helpful.
She took a deep breath to stiffen herself. “What now?”
“For now, we assign you a place in the camp. It’ll give you a chance to rest and eat. Be patient, we’re still organizing everything, which I’m sure you appreciate.” He gazed beyond her at another descending chopper. “More people are coming in by the hour. I’ll put you in a tent next to another mother and child, Stacy and Taylor. It’ll give the little man a playmate, and she’ll familiarize you with the camp. What are your names?”
“Karen Green, and that’s my—”
“Joey,” her son called out, wafer spraying from his mouth.
Jim scribbled their details into a ledger and peered up. “The Green family. Got it. Stay strong for us and be patient, little man. I promise we’re gonna do our best.”
Joey saluted the soldier in response.
“One last question,” Karen said. “Is any help coming?”
The soldier looked down and wiped sweat from his exhausted face.
Karen knew the answer. She gently touched his hand. “Thank you for the help,” she said.
The soldier looked back up at her appreciatively. He pointed to the left edge of the field. “Your tent is the second row along. End tent. If you need anything, just ask and we’ll try our best.”
Karen turned to look outside. Already, four more disheveled people had disembarked from the chopper and were trudging toward her location. She still had a million questions. Who wouldn’t? But despite the confusion and sorrow that plagued her mind, she was self-aware enough to understand that now wasn’t the best time.
“Hang in there,” the soldier added. “I know this might seem like the end of the world, but those monsters will soon realize that they’ve screwed with the wrong guys.”
As she took Joey by the hand and they wandered toward their allocated spot in the dazzling sunshine, Karen wondered whether those final words were just bravado. Something to keep her spirits up until they were inevitably attacked. To keep her from thinking that this place, seemingly one of the last enclaves of people, wasn’t a bastion of resistance but merely a dying ember of humanity.
Chapter Nineteen
Cafferty peered across a huge underground hangar. Ten C-130s were parked in two lines. Light gray in color. Numbered on their tails from FFHA01 to FFHA10. All with their four mighty propellers stationary.
The stench of aviation fuel clogged the frigid air.
Each plane had its rear gates down. Foundation members spread around them, dressed in dark blue coveralls, thick coats, and chunky earphones. Engineers. Cargo handlers. Loadmasters. Maybe pilots. It was impossible to say as none wore insignia on their uniforms.
A tracked container handler drove to the back of the closest aircraft. It carried what looked like a transparent dumpster with a sealed lid. Thick green liquid sloshed around inside.
“What’s that?” Cafferty asked, more out of curiosity than surprise. After spending a few hours here, he’d grown numb to anything that might have previously shocked him. The only question on his mind was What’s next?
Van Ness turned toward him. “All of the essential nutrients our soldiers require, until they’re on the ground. An army marches on its stomach, as they say.”
Four long lines of supersoldiers stomped in, led by a man and woman in the same black-and-gray camouflage clothing. They headed to the farthest plane, boots pounding the stone floor in synchrony. The sound reverberated around the hangar as the soldiers swiftly ascended the ramp. Shortly after they filed in, the tailgate closed.
Cafferty stood watching in awe as five hundred supersoldiers efficiently boarded each plane in a matter of minutes. The execution was perfectly choreographed, like they knew this day was coming and had practiced the maneuver until attaining complete perfection.
This rehearsed parade was all in stark contrast to the chaos they were about to face. Cafferty couldn’t imagine exactly how things would go down. Those moves had been taken out of his hands, and he had little doubt about who was calling the shots now.
Roux looked on with pride as the hangar cleared of vehicles and the soldiers finished loading onto the planes.
Bowcut stared at the slickness of the operation with an expression of amazement.
“You see, Thomas,” Van Ness explained, “although I never wanted the world to come to this, I’m sure even you appreciate by now that I don’t prepare for failure.”
Cafferty stood motionless. He was still to be convinced that such a small force could take on and eliminate so many creatures. Sure, the creatures had met their match in a one-on-one fight, but they numbered in the millions. How could one hundred thousand supersoldiers possibly stand a chance?
A bearded man in the same blue coveralls as the other workers approached Van Ness’ chair. “We’re ready and loaded, sir. Comms are established with Lima. They’ll be ready to refuel upon our arrival.”
“Very good,” Van Ness replied. “Have we opened up channels to the U.S. Navy?”
The worker checked his watch. “We sent our crypto . . . half an hour ago. Should be going through radio checks as we speak.”
“Thank you, Craig.”
“Hey,” Munoz said. “My research stuff is still on our plane.”
“Mr. Munoz,” Van Ness replied, “you’ll find that all your equipment has been relocated onto FFHA01, the very plane I will be on, along with the rest of your team.”
“Wait, so we’re not going back in our bird?” Munoz asked.
“I leave the choice to you,” Van Ness replied coldly. “We’ve made a few enhancements to our fleet that improve the likelihood of success. Whereas your plane . . . well. So, shall I put your equipment back?”
Diego looked at Van Ness’ pristine C-130s and the dilapidated U.S. Air Force plane he flew to Antarctica in.
“Um . . . no, I’ll take your plane,” Munoz replied.
“I thought so,” Van Ness replied smugly. “I must say, I am interested in hearing about your research at some point, Mr. Munoz.”
Diego shifted uncomfortably at the sudden attention. “Err . . . okay,” he replied awkwardly. “I think I might have an . . . um . . . PowerPoint or something.”
Cafferty watched Diego lower his head at the idiocy of what he had just said. Munoz had been working on theories related to how the creatures communicate. He had been studying the various frequencies of their shrieks for some time, trying to discern some kind of pattern in them. So far, he hadn’t produced any worthwhile results. And time was something that nobody had to spare. But he’d definitely done more than put together a slide show.
A few more weeks and a few more raids, and Diego would have almost certainly cracked their language.
On the far side of the hangar, a giant steel door slowly opened, cranking from left to right. Cold wind rushed down along with a slither of natural light from above. Moments later, a white drone, armed with a missile, powered down the sloping runway. It turned to the left and parked alongside three others.
The bearded worker pressed his hand against the device in his ear, attempting to listen over the noise in the hangar. He eventually looked back to Van Ness. “Conditions are good and the ground is clear, sir. We’re ready to go.”
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