Directive 17: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

by Nicholson, Scott

  “Go on,” Kokona said, and Rachel stepped through.

  The sensation was like that of an immersion in warm oil, but it was brief. When she was inside, she was able to see the doorway she had just entered. It was based on human design and of similar size to the door of a commercial building, but it had no hinges. Instead, the alloy seemed to fold in and out and then snap back into place. A seam ran around the door, letting in a thin outline of blue light.

  Other light penetrated the interior, too, besides that emanating from her and Kokona’s eyes. There were windows that she hadn’t been able to see from the outside, illuminating a vast open foyer. Stairs on each side led up to open levels that rose a hundred feet above her. The floor was covered with a beige carpet with a mottled pattern that hid Goldberg’s tracks. He stood halfway across the foyer, checking the levels above, his rifle at the ready.

  Rachel walked to the nearest window and looked out. The street she’d been standing on seconds before was now totally transformed—it resembled the Twenty-First Century urban environment she’d seen from beyond the dome. Thin sidewalks ran the length of the walls, and the buildings opposite her sported rows of evenly spaced windows.

  “What is this place?” Goldberg asked.

  “It looks like one of those cities the Chinese build to boost their economy—housing for millions of people who never arrived. Like it’s waiting to be occupied.”

  Oddly, there was no smell of paint or chemicals, as she might’ve expected from the carpet and new construction. But the carpet didn’t feel like nylon fibers. The texture was springy but didn’t flatten under the pressure of weight—which was why she couldn’t see Goldberg’s footsteps, or those of anyone who might’ve passed this way. The space was devoid of furniture, curtains, or any mark of intended habitation.

  “It looks right, but it doesn’t feel right,” Goldberg said. He eased his way to the stairs on his right, glancing out the window as he moved. The panes were clear, but on closer inspection, they held ripples of silver. Rachel suspected they were made of fine layers of alloy angled to allow light to pass.

  Rachel touched the wooden railing. The material was smooth and had no grain. The lacquer that coated it was so thick Rachel couldn’t dig a fingernail into the wood to see if it was real.

  “It’s all made of the same composite material,” she said. “It’s just been painted to make us feel comfortable and welcome.”

  “I don’t like this,” Goldberg said. “Feels like a trap.”

  “Didn’t you wonder why they allowed you to enter so easily?” Kokona asked.

  “Don’t be a little smartass. If you know something, you better tell me, or I’ll…” Goldberg let the threat trail away. He was going to kill the baby sooner or later. But Kokona had yet to provide any intelligence on the city’s origin and purpose.

  “I’m the only reason you’re still alive,” Kokona said to him.

  Rachel tried to read Kokona’s mind. Only minutes earlier the baby had wanted Rachel to kill Goldberg. He had been a threat to her. Now, it seemed she needed him. But Kokona’s thoughts stayed hidden behind that cinnamon-brown forehead.

  Goldberg stepped to the center of the foyer where he could see all the way to the top level. Then he shouted the names of his two companions.

  The low pulse beneath their feet accelerated and rose slightly in pitch. The blue light from outside the city grew brighter, accented with quick, small flashes. Kokona’s eyes sparked a more intense shade of yellow and grew brighter in synch. Rachel was sure hers did as well, as energy seemed to rise up from the floor through her feet.

  The rush reached her head and her ears rang. The muted colors of the interior took on more brilliant hues. Goldberg looked at the two of them with alarm, unconsciously pointing his rifle at them. He didn’t seem to be affected in any way.

  Then the voice came.

  Or rather, voices.

  Like a multitude.

  They said: “You are here.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Where the hell are we?” Franklin asked.

  DeVontay consulted the map K.C. found under the driver’s seat. “Like Colleen said, we’re a little west of Winston-Salem. Interstate Forty runs below us and State Fifty-Two runs right through downtown where we got blocked off.”

  “We can’t count on any of the roads,” K.C. said. “We’re better off walking in.”

  “That means leaving some folks behind,” Franklin said. “We can’t take Squeak out in that swarm of Zaps.”

  The three of them stood on the edge of the crumbled parapet, studying the blue-filtered smoke rising over the horizon. Marina was posted in the turret of the Humvee a hundred yards away, turning in slow circles so she could detect any attacks from behind them.

  Private Kelly rested in the back seat, weak and pale but apparently avoiding the worst effects of shock. She was covered with a blanket and accompanied by Millwood and Squeak. Despite the pain, she was alert enough to be aware of her blood pressure. Even without a cuff or monitor to confirm a diagnosis, her condition was stable. She exhibited few symptoms of hypotension, which was the most immediate danger.

  Plenty of time left for the other dangers, such as infection, gangrene, or mutant assimilation.

  DeVontay thought of Rachel, as he often did when he wasn’t focused on the immediate task of survival. If she was somewhere in that valley from which the cerulean blue light arose, DeVontay was heading that way. He didn’t give a damn if there were hundreds of raging Zaps between here and there.

  “They’re better off waiting in the Humvee,” K.C. said. “At least for a little while. Seems safer than trying to find a secure hideout in all these ruins.”

  “Plus they can roll out of here if trouble comes,” Franklin said.

  “That means leaving some of us behind.”

  “Yep, that’s the downside. It’s either that or hole up for a couple of days to see how the private’s doing.”

  “I’m not waiting,” DeVontay said, folding the map into a crude square and shoving it toward Franklin. “I’m going after Rachel.”

  “A dead hero doesn’t do her any good,” Franklin said. “Better to go in with a plan.”

  K.C. scanned the forest beyond the rubble where shadowy figures flitted between the trees. “Still swarming. Talk about not having a plan—they’re wandering around like chickens with their heads chopped off.”

  “So what happened to them? Where are the silver suits and hand blasters and all that sci-fi shit?”

  “In Wilkesboro, Kokona seemed to control them,” DeVontay said. “Maybe these are rogues. They act like the first Zaps, nothing but directionless rage.”

  “For all we know, these ragers split off from the Zaps that evolved and advanced,” K.C. said. “Sort of the way Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons were separate human species and the Neanderthals got left behind because they were dumb and violent. Cro-Magnons ended up dominating even though Neanderthals were stronger.”

  “But Kokona wiped out the smart Zaps,” DeVontay said. “So maybe being smart isn’t the most important survival skill.”

  “Because Kokona’s smarter than they were,” Franklin said. “That little freak can recite a set of encyclopedias backwards.”

  “Nobody uses encyclopedias anymore,” K.C. said. “Google kind of put them out of print.”

  “Oh yeah?” Franklin gave a crooked grin. “The Internet’s gone the way of the Neanderthals, too. So who’s the smartest monkey?”

  “Certainly not us,” DeVontay said. “We’re next in line for extinction.”

  “One thing’s for sure, we’re not getting any younger. If we’re going to do this, let’s get moving.”

  “What about the plan?” K.C. said.

  “Let’s see what the others think,” DeVontay said. Franklin shot him a look of mock horror, but DeVontay assured him he wasn’t turning into a commie.

  They returned to the Humvee, where Marina gave them a thumbs-up sign, favoring her bandaged upper arm. Her
expression was so serious that DeVontay’s heart broke a little more. She’d lost her family and endured so much hardship. Their life in the bunker had been a reprieve, a delusional fantasy. There was no escaping the harsh reality of their situation.

  Private Kelly was awake and calm, forcing herself to relax. She looked a little better. She was naturally pale anyway, due to her Irish complexion, but it was good to see some pink on her freckled cheeks. The blood on her bandaged hand had dried, which meant the wounds had finally clotted thanks to Marina’s stitching skills.

  “See anything besides impending doom?” Millwood asked them.

  DeVontay glanced at Squeak, who was snuggled beside Kelly for mutual comfort. The young child seemed unfazed by the remark, but it enraged DeVontay just the same. Millwood showed little regard for the effect of his words. But before DeVontay could say something, Franklin cut in.

  “I see somebody who needs a bath. You smell riper than a pig’s muddy armpit.”

  Squeak giggled with glee at the imagery. Even Kelly smiled. Millwood’s eyes narrowed in anger and he opened his mouth to protest, but K.C. spoke first.

  “Private Kelly, we can’t take the Humvee any closer, and we think it’s safest if we keep it parked here,” she said. “It’s easy to find if we need to make a fast getaway, and the metal cabin should protect you if anything attacks.”

  “A dog cracked this window with its head,” Millwood said. “That’s supposed to be bulletproof glass. What if something huge comes along that’s got a rhino horn or something? It’d peel this thing open like a sardine can.”

  “It’s safe,” Kelly said, with just a touch of anger. “A couple of guns and we should be fine.”

  “Who’s this ‘we’?” Millwood said. “I signed up for adventure and revenge, but I’m not game for any suicide mission.”

  “I’ll stay,” K.C. said. “I know how to drive it in case we need to move.”

  Franklin shook his head. “I don’t want you out of my sight. I feel responsible for you after I dragged you into this mess.”

  “I came because I wanted to, Cowboy. Don’t act like some kind of alpha male psycho, because you’ve already proven you’re not.”

  “I can’t tell if that’s an insult,” Franklin said.

  “Real men don’t have to go around proving it,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. He went quiet and looked off toward the spreading skeins of smoke.

  “Cute,” Millwood said. “Geezer love in the apocalypse.”

  “You’re wasting daylight,” Kelly said, reestablishing command despite her condition. “You three go on, if you can make it without killing each other. Take Marina with you. If you’re not back by sundown, we’ll try to move in closer.”

  She pointed with her good hand to a water tower half a mile away that canted crazily, two legs folded as if it were a crippled granddaddy longlegs that some kid had tortured. “That tower should be visible from anywhere within ten miles. The aurora will be bright enough to make it visible.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right here?” DeVontay asked, even though he knew they had no choice. He didn’t like splitting up, but Rachel was worth any risk to him.

  Kelly put her arm around Squeak and gave her a hug. “We’re happy campers, right, Squeak?”

  “Happy campers!” the little girl said, eyes shining with delight.

  The group gathered enough supplies and ammo to last the night if they were unable to return. When they set out, DeVontay figured sundown was three hours away. They should be able to reach the valley before then, if no surprises popped up along the way.

  That’s not a bet I’m willing to take.

  DeVontay didn’t want Millwood and Franklin to get into a pissing match, so he assumed command. The others yielded because of his eagerness to find Rachel. He forced himself to slow down, although the others were in relatively good shape. He turned and looked back after they’d picked their way through rubble for fifteen minutes, and the Humvee was still visible. K.C., standing on the roof, waved to them and then vanished inside the vehicle.

  They navigated through channels of broken concrete and crumpled vehicles, although the debris was so interspersed that it was difficult to tell where the streets had once lay. Some of the metal was melted into lumps of dark slag, as if it had been heated to extreme temperatures.

  “Look at this,” Millwood said. “That’s some Hiroshima-level meltdown action right there.”

  “Plasma weapons,” DeVontay said. “The plasma sink in Wilkesboro detonated before it really got going. Can you imagine what they can do in a few more years? Probably knock the moon out of orbit.”

  “Then they risk their own existence,” Marina said. “That would alter the Earth’s orbit and poles and cause extreme climate change.”

  “The army said the poles have already shifted,” Franklin said. “That’s why you can’t trust a compass.”

  He checked the wind-up gold wristwatch he’d scavenged from a jewelry store. “And you can’t set your watch by the sunrise, especially if you don’t know what day it is. I have four-thirty-five, but I could be off by an hour or so either way.”

  “Time is relative, man,” Millwood said. “Get into the Nowness and it all flows like a river.”

  “I think you’re on a leaky boat,” Franklin said, nearly tripping over a chunk of concrete. “Or maybe it’s just your skull that’s full of holes.”

  “The wind’s shifted,” Marina said. “Smell the smoke?”

  DeVontay realized with a start that Marina was the only one actually paying attention to their whereabouts. He was obsessing over Rachel while Franklin and Millwood traded insults like grade schoolers. Now he was glad she’d come along.

  Franklin sniffed the air. “I smell pine rosin. The fire must’ve reached the trees.”

  They could see only the top of the forest, now less than a quarter mile in the distance. The smoke would scare away any monsters or beastadons, who likely retained some genetic instinctive fear of fire. But they could encounter Zaps at any moment.

  Despite the danger, DeVontay grew more excited with every step. Even passing a skeleton leaned against a sheared-off brick wall did nothing to deter him. He could almost sense her, as if he, too, had become party to Rachel and Kokona’s telepathic bond.

  Something clattered to their left, like a small avalanche of construction wreckage raining down on the hood of a car. They all turned in unison, leveling their rifles.

  A dirty-faced man came staggering out from between a windowless van and a flipped-over pick-up with melted tires that hung in black rags. He wore a kerchief knotted around his neck and pulled up to his nose, the hood of his jacket pulled low over his face.

  “Don’t shoot,” Franklin yelled. “It’s human.”

  Hearing the shout, the man put his arms out to his sides. “Too many of them…turn back…”

  “Did you see the fire?” DeVontay asked.

  The man pulled the kerchief down, revealing a scraggly patch of dark beard. “See it? Hell, I started it. I hope it burns the whole damn city down.”

  “What city?”

  The man pointed behind him. “The Blue City. The Zap woman and baby led us there.”

  Zap woman? RACHEL!

  But before DeVontay could ask about her, a blur of movement erupted behind him, and a muted clicking arose. The nearly-naked figure slammed into the man, knocking him to the ground, and then it squatted on his back and glared at them with yellow-orange, sparking eyes.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The man in the kerchief tried to rise, but the Zap dug its fingers into either side of his hooded skull and drove the man’s face into the rubble. The man screamed, but the cry was interrupted by the second blow. DeVontay raised his weapon, cursing his lack of depth perception, but before he could aim, two shots rang out beside him and the Zap pitched forward.

  DeVontay turned to find Marina sighting down her rifle barrel, a small thread of smoke rising from the muzzle. She wore a distant, business-like
expression, showing no recognition of whatever human being had once inhabited the atrophied, sinewy form she’d just shot.

  Millwood and Franklin hadn’t even raised their rifles. Franklin was the first to break from his spell, jogging unevenly toward the fallen man. The hooded man rose to his hands and knees, blood streaming from his nose.

  “Here they come!” Millwood said.

  The hissing rose around them like a vast symphony of crickets on a summer night. Then the ragged Zaps came scrabbling over the heaps of broken concrete and twisted steel. Their eyes glinted volcanoes of rage, lips curled into vicious sneers. They likely had no memory of being human, but if so, they would surely have been repulsed at their own reflections.

  “Kill ‘em,” DeVontay shouted, more to gird his courage than out of necessity. Preservation gave all the orders required. Millwood and Marina sprayed semi-automatic fire toward the mounds of ruin as dead and amputated Zaps tumbled down the stony slopes. One leapt into the air toward him, and DeVontay squeezed off a three-round burst that nearly tore its head off.

  Franklin helped the hooded man to his feet and shoved a pistol in his hand. “Can you shoot?”

  The man responded by wiping blood from his face and aiming at a hissing Zap coiling to leap at Franklin. DeVontay realized they’d made a tactical mistake by following the small canyons through the wreckage—although the transit was easier, it made them vulnerable to attacks from above. Kelly would’ve never made such a potentially fatal error.

  It’s not an error unless you die.

  And an error can also be turned around.

  “Up here!” DeVontay scrambled up an incline of jagged bricks. He nearly twisted his ankle when his boot slipped into a crevice, but soon he was fifteen feet up and possessed a commanding view of the assault wave.

  He almost wished he’d stayed where he was. Dozens of Zaps poured from the smoke-filled forest, where the bare trees were like sticks in the mist. Not all of them headed his direction—some aimlessly launched themselves into the ruins of the outskirts as if scavenging for corpses, so intent on destroying what was already a wasteland that they failed to notice the humans in their midst.