by D C Alden
Ray saw hundreds, if not thousands of them, moving through the darkness in seemingly intelligent packs, reacting in unison to sights and sounds, selecting their targets, running them down, swarming over them. Ray saw people die, torn apart. He’d seen others pick themselves up in the wake of a passing herd and run to join its ranks. It was the most frightening spectacle Ray Wilson had ever seen.
The guys around him were equally terrified; Felipe, Leon, and two young men who wore kitchen scrubs. Their names were Kyle and Brian; Kyle hung on Felipe’s every word, and Brian was a little more circumspect, but all of them huddled close as a cold wind whipped across the rooftop. None of them were dressed appropriately, and as the adrenaline wore off and the night wore on, body temperatures were dropping rapidly, Ray’s included.
‘We’ll freeze to death if we stay here all night,’ he said, shivering in the dark. ‘I think we should get inside, find somewhere safe on the top floor.’
Leon hissed at him in the darkness. ‘Are you crazy? Those things could be all over the place down there.’
‘Take a look around,’ Ray countered. ‘There are half a dozen doors that lead to this roof, but no one else has been up here since it started.’
Felipe peered through a gap in the pipes. ‘Man’s got a point.’
‘Fuck that,’ Leon grumbled. ‘I’m staying up here. When the sun comes up they’ll send a rescue party or something.’
‘Or maybe the infected will try to get up here. Their behaviour appears cognitive, as if they possess some form of rudimentary reasoning capability.’
Leon turned around and glared at Ray. ‘Say what?’
‘He’s right,’ Felipe said. ‘They seem smart. Like they’re working shit out.’
Leon sucked his teeth dismissively. Ray was still thinking about their next move when he saw Felipe frown.
‘What the hell is that?’
Ray twisted his body around to the south. There was nothing to see, nothing except the dark, jagged outline of the Lubbock suburbs. Then he heard it.
‘Aircraft,’ Ray answered.
The rumble was building in intensity, like a storm approaching at five-hundred miles an hour. The thunder grew into a deafening roar and then a flight of dark shadows roared across the city a short distance away.
Downtown lit up in several blinding flashes and a sheet of fire engulfed the surrounding buildings and rolled up into the night sky. The shockwave gusted across the rooftop, whipping up a cloud of dust and dirt that made Ray blink and cough.
He got to his feet and Kyle tugged on his trouser leg, urging him to stay behind the pipes, but Ray was already stumbling towards the edge of the roof. He had to get a better look, to process what he was seeing, what his eyes told him was real but his mind refused to believe…
The United States Air Force had just bombed an American city.
And not just bombed. Whatever munitions they had used, it had caused the downtown area to burn like a Roman candle, the flames dancing across the glass of nearby buildings. The strike reminded Ray of old Vietnam footage, of napalm canisters tumbling through the air, of concussion waves and fireballs that consumed villages in their wake.
They were trying to stop the infection. Anyway they could.
A decision had been made. America had seen the horror and demanded action. It’s the only thing that made sense to Ray. He hurried back to the pipes.
‘We’ve got to get out of here, right now.’
Leon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you deaf? I ain’t going nowhere.’
‘They’re going to level the city,’ Ray told them. ‘We won’t be safe up here.’
‘Why?’ Brian asked. He looked scared, but there was strength in his voice. ‘They can’t do that. We’re American citizens.’
‘They can’t allow the infection to spread,’ Ray told him. ‘If that means destroying the city, so be it.’
Felipe shook his head. ‘No way, man. There are people out there, families and shit.’
‘Wake up!’ Ray snapped. ‘They just dropped a ton of napalm on Main Street. The military are watching and they’re taking no chances. I say we get the hell out of here, out of Lubbock.’
Ray could see Felipe struggling with the reality, just as Ray had. But Ray had an advantage; he was a cynical DC reporter who’d worked the swamp for decades. The guys around him were blue-collar types who lived sixteen-hundred miles away from their nation’s capital. They were naïve in the ways of politics. Ray hoped they were fast learners.
‘Does anyone have a car?’
Brian raised his hand. ‘Yes, sir. I got a pickup. It’s in the lot over yonder.’
‘Show me,’ Ray said.
He followed the kid to the other side of the roof. The parking lot was a land of shadows. There were cars and bodies scattered everywhere, but no infected. Brian pointed to a Ford pickup truck sitting beneath a dead light pole. It was ten bays away from the rear entrance to the mall. Ray looked for the nearest stairwell and his hopes soared. A short distance away, along the edge of the roof, he spotted two curved steel rails. He jogged over and saw a caged, exterior ladder running down the side of the building, stopping maybe ten feet short of the ground. Good enough.
‘Come on,’ Ray whispered.
They scrambled back to the group, and Ray flinched as two large explosions rocked the city. The sound of aircraft rumbled across the horizon. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
‘I’ve got a plan,’ Ray told them. He explained it briefly and waited for a response. Felipe was the first to speak.
‘Count me in, man. How about you Leon?’
‘You’re fucking crazy,’ Leon grumbled.
‘Don’t be stupid. You can’t stay here.’
‘Wanna bet?’
Felipe leaned in close. ‘Then stay. When they find you you’ll be charred to a goddamn cinder. Like one of your steaks,’ he added.
Kyle and Brian grinned. Leon looked at each one of them, then caved.
‘Fuck it. This better work,’ he warned Ray, jabbing a finger at him.
Another flight of planes approached from the east. They all ducked as an incredible ripping sound filled the air before it was drowned out by the roar of the aircraft passing overhead.
‘A-Tens,’ Brian yelled over the noise, his wide eyes searching the sky. ‘That’s a thirty-millimetre cannon cutting loose. Oh, Jesus, they’re using mini-guns now?’
Mini-guns. ‘How do you know that?’ Ray asked.
‘I’m joining the Air Force. Got to pay my way through college first, hence the shitty job.’
‘You two bitches on a date?’ Leon hissed. ‘If we’re gonna move, move.’
They thrashed out the plan one more time and then they were moving across the rooftop towards the ladder.
Seven thousand miles away in Shanghai, Marion was enjoying a delicious Sea Bass lunch in the Ritz Carlton’s Jin Xuan restaurant on the fifty-third floor. She occupied a table by the window, eating slowly as she enjoyed the spectacular views across the city. The weather was cooperating too, the sky clear and almost cloudless. Were it not for the mission in hand, Marion would’ve enjoyed spending more time getting to know the city.
She turned her wrist over to check the time. It was a subconscious move, because she’d deliberately left her watch in her room. Her smart phone was also tucked away in her handbag. Constant reminders of the time were proving unhelpful.
Thirty-one hours had passed since she’d received the text from Philip. She should’ve left Shanghai by now. She should be in Beijing, where the virus would also be deployed.
Something had gone wrong.
There had been no confirmation of that fact, but Marion was a professional of considerable experience. Her instincts had become finely tuned over many years, and those same instincts were telling her that the operation had run into problems.
There was nothing on the TV about Mumbai; it was Texas that dominated the global news cycle. Marion had been unaware of any operation on US soil. She was c
onfused, and a little concerned. She’d been left out of the loop, and wondered if Philip had also been sidelined.
It wouldn’t be the first time, of course. After all, both she and Philip were field operatives, and not always privy to operational decisions. But this was different. They no longer wore a uniform, were no longer links in a chain of command that stretched from the lowliest private to the highest levels of government. Their only master now was the person who wrote the largest cheque.
However, in this case, both Marion and Philip were committed to the cause itself. They longed for a single world government, for global order and discipline. Matt Sorensen was the key to that vision, and Marion, like her male counterpart, was a sworn disciple.
And she was worried about Philip. She thought about contacting Sorensen then decided against it. Maybe both of them had been compromised. If that were true, she might already be under surveillance, even at that very moment. She turned away from the window, her eyes conducting a slow sweep of the room. She could see nothing untoward, no quiet exodus of diners, the waiters replaced by square-jawed men wearing ill-fitting uniforms. The people around her were eating, conversing, enjoying themselves. There were children too, scattered around the room. It meant nothing, of course. If she was compromised, they would take her down anywhere.
So, the possibility existed that she was now on her own. She would have to —
The inside of her handbag glowed blue.
She put down her glass and plucked her smartphone from the Louis Vuitton. A message lingered on the screen and she swiped it away, slipping the phone back inside her handbag.
She finished her wine, her heart beating fast.
The message was the one she’d been expecting. She forced herself to relax, and rose slowly from her table, smiling at a passing waitress. She left the restaurant and took the elevator back down to her room. She locked the door and went to the wardrobe. She knelt down and prised off the panel where it met the carpet. The sealed plastic bag of H-1 infected wipes was still there.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Marion decided she would take a nap. Later she would shower and dress, and begin preparations for deployment. She kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed. As she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to wrap her in its silent embrace, she was comforted by the images of chaos, death and destruction that filled her mind.
The plan lasted all the way to the other side of the rooftop.
When they reached the ladder, Leon peered over the edge and said, ‘Fuck that, man. I’m going second.’
‘No, Ray goes second,’ Felipe whispered. ‘Come on, Leon. We got a plan, we stick to it.’
‘Brian goes first, that’s a given,’ Ray told Leon. ‘I’m fifteen years older than you and out of shape. It makes sense that I take the front seat. I don’t want to slow things up trying to climb in the back of the truck.’
‘Bullshit,’ Leon snapped. ‘I gotta risk my life because you’re a fat, lazy fuck? No way. I’m riding shotgun, that’s final.’ He glared at all of them in turn, daring someone to challenge him. No one did. No one was stupid enough to start a fight in the middle of all this chaos.’
‘Don’t worry, Ray. I’ll look out for you.’ Felipe gave Ray a reassuring pat on his shoulder. ‘Okay, let’s do this. And be quiet. No talking, okay?’
Brian moved towards the curved rails and spun around, reaching behind him with his feet for the top rung of the ladder. He disappeared quickly from view and Leon followed behind him. Felipe went next, closely followed by Ray.
The steel was cold beneath his hands, and he moved gingerly, one rung at a time, ensuring both feet were on the same rung before dangling his foot into space and reaching for the rung below. He’d never been good with heights, and his hands clutched each rung with a death grip. He imagined dropping those last few feet, twisting his ankle, the pickup truck roaring into the darkness as he hopped after it. Then the silence, the footfalls in the darkness, the growls and breathing of the infected as they closed in all around him —
‘Ray! Hold up!’
Below him, Felipe was whispering urgently. Ray froze. They were almost there. He saw Brian on the last rung, his head swivelling in all directions. That was the plan, to wait at the bottom, to watch and listen, to be sure. But as Mike Tyson once said, everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.
‘Hurry up, motherfucker!’
Leon again. The man was going to get them all killed. Or worse.
Ray watched Brian as he dangled his legs a few feet above the asphalt. Then he dropped to the ground.
Brian froze, watching and listening. The he stood up and walked towards his pickup. Ray admired the young man’s courage. Given the circumstances, most people would’ve run, but Brian kept his cool, walking slowly, quietly, his head moving this way and that, the keys to his pickup in his hand. With poise like that, Ray was pretty sure the kid would make an exceptional pilot.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness. It was the moment of truth.
Beep! beep!
Orange blinkers flashed in the darkness.
Ray heard a door open, then close. The pickup’s engine roared into life. Brian hit the lights, and then the vehicle was moving, weaving carefully around abandoned cars, bumping gently over bodies until he’d cleared the line. Then he gunned the engine and swung the vehicle round until the truck bed was close to the escape ladder.
‘Let’s go!’ Kyle hissed above him.
Ray looked down, saw Leon drop to the ground. He flung open the passenger door and jumped in, slamming it for all the world to hear. Ray cursed him again as he clambered down, making sure his hands and feet made contact good contact, the vision of that broken ankle still front and centre.
Below him, Felipe was waving to Ray. ‘Come on, man! Let’s go!’
That’s when Ray heard the sound, a stampede of running feet.
‘Move, for Chrissakes!’
Ray couldn’t see them, but he could definitely hear them. His shoes dangled in mid air and he let go of the ladder, hitting the asphalt and stumbling sideways. Felipe caught him, and next thing he knew Kyle was falling on top of him. Desperate hands bundled Ray into the back of the pickup. Felipe banged on the rear window.
‘Go! Go!’
The truck lurched forward and Ray pulled himself up against the cab. That’s when he saw them, dozens of figures, running behind the truck. Terrifyingly, they were gaining on them as the pickup negotiated the chaos of the parking lot, swerving this way and that, the tyres squealing. One of the pursuers, a young kid wearing a Texas Tech hoodie, was closing the gap, his arms pumping. Ray could see the whites of his eyes, and when Brian hit the brakes, he saw the others behind him, washed in a devilish red glow. Ray’s skin crawled. They were in hell, and being pursued by demons.
He heard Leon in the cab behind him, shouting and swearing at Brian, threatening to commandeer the vehicle. The wheels bounced over bodies, over kerbs, weaving violently towards the main road. Ray held on tight as the pickup turned onto the street, fishtailing briefly before control was regained and Brian stamped on the gas.
The demons were still behind them. Men, women and, God forbid, children, screaming, clawing the air. Ray was thankful when the darkness swallowed them.
They’d made it, but only just. Still, the plan had worked, and Ray felt pretty pleased with himself. So far, so good. All they had to do now was get out of the city. The roads were empty, they had a decent vehicle, and a young but competent and level-headed driver.
How hard could it be?
Feet Wet
Coffman moved quickly between the dressing room, the bathroom and the main bedroom, snatching up several personal items and cramming them in her shoulder bag. She tugged on a black padded Moncler winter coat as her bag lady Sofia, and two White House domestic staff, busied themselves checking Coffman’s luggage was ready for transport.
‘Is there anything else, ma’am?’
’No, thank you, Sofia.’
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Coffman watched her snap up the handle of the largest roller case and wheel it out into the hallway, her staff hurrying behind her like uniformed ducklings. As they left the room, Secret Service detail leader Tim McCarthy appeared in the doorway.
‘Marine One is standing by, Madam President.’
‘Thank you, Tim.’
She took a final look around then followed the detail leader out into the hallway, where another five agents formed a protective perimeter around her. They left the private residence via the West Colonnade and stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness. Coffman hurried across the South Lawn towards the waiting presidential helicopter, a VH-60 White Hawk, its red lights blinking and rotors whipping up a cold storm. Two more helicopters circled overhead, a military escort that Coffman had publicly objected to, but privately welcomed. After witnessing the speed of infection across Lubbock, Coffman would take any level of security she could get right now. The plan had exceeded her expectations, so much so that she was beginning to doubt the decision to implement it. Right now though, Lubbock was the least of her problems. No, her problem was the man called Philip, now in US custody, a man who knew enough to get Coffman the needle.
She stepped aboard the helicopter and took her seat. There were six other people crammed inside the modified Black Hawk’s plush and soundproofed interior; Erik, by her side of course, and Charlie Schultz who sat opposite. Also on board were Karen Baranski, Homeland Security Chief Diane Grady and her SecDef, Drew Clark. That meant she couldn’t talk frankly, and she needed to talk, desperately. As the aircraft lifted off the South Lawn, Clark was the first to speak from the bench seat across the cabin.
‘Ma’am, you need to make a decision,’ she said, raising her voice above the rhythmic beat of the rotors. ‘We simply can’t afford to wait any longer.’
Coffman folded one leg over the other and leaned back in her chair. ‘Given the circumstances I have no qualms with torture. God knows we’ll all have to carry the burden of Lubbock with us for the rest of our lives.’ She took pleasure in using the collective we, enjoyed watching the subtle squirming of her colleagues as the consequences of their decision to expend thermobaric and heavy calibre munitions onto the good people of Texas continued to play out on television. The sun would rise soon, and the cold light of day would trigger renewed horror as the world absorbed the scale of the destruction and the rising body count.