“Dash,” Onsurez pleaded. “You can’t reveal the secret. Nothing can be done to save the planet, but if you let the secret out now, society will collapse. People will suffer and die in fear.”
Dash scoffed. “So, what? Just let them go on, ignorant of their impending doom? No chance to spend their final days together?”
“Absolutely,” Onsurez said. “Which would you prefer? Rioting? Looting? Madness? For weeks?”
Dash heard the even timbre in Onsurez’s voice. She believed every word she said.
“No one wants that. Better a fast death from the impact. It will be over for everyone in a matter of minutes.” Onsurez paused. “I’m coming up there, Dash. One more hostage for you, as a gesture of good faith.”
“Dash, give me the password!” Desperation gripped his editor. This was the story of the century, of the millennium.
He peered around the corner, spotted Onsurez’s dark hair coming up the well. “Hands first.”
“No problem.” Onsurez climbed into the tower, then started to stand up, but Dash waved his pistol back at the floor.
“I don’t think so,” Dash said, shaking his head. “You stand up, the snipers read your face, and suddenly a bullet goes through my head. No thanks.” He glanced at the men in the corner, sensed the calculations going through their minds. “Uh, uh, fellas. I can kill her, give the password, and probably shoot you, too. Don’t make any sudden moves.”
Both men slumped, deflating against his threat.
Onsurez lay down and crossed her arms in front of her. She almost looked like a girlfriend at a sleepover.
“Dash, you came upon an incredible story. The terrible truth is we have done awful things in the name of national security...” She shook her head. “No, in the name of survival. If our species is to survive, Operation LONGHAUL must go off without a hitch.”
“So why haven’t you just waved at your Marines or SEALs or whomever to shoot me?”
Onsurez shook her head. “I don’t want you to die, Dash. You’re intelligent, courageous, and strong. We’re going to need people like you. I don’t want to see you gunned down.” The short officer unclasped her arms and extended a hand.
“I want you to join us.”
Fear clutched at Dash’s heart as he considered Onsurez’s words. The primal instinct to survive screamed at him to take the offer. His sense of justice, however, cried out to break the story wide open, consequences be damned. Rasul’s murder was avenged but still buried in secrecy. Fasil’s death would be handled by some sort of fabricated account.
No one would know the truth if he didn’t break the story.
But did he have that right? Who would he help? If the Erebus story broke, people would almost certainly panic—Onsurez was right. Dash remembered the terrifying surge of refugees making their way to Houston in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, telling stories of no potable water, violence, and fear. He imagined the catastrophic effect on a global scale.
Still, Rasul had died wanting him to tell the story. He and many others…
It seemed like it should be an easy decision to make, so binary. Live, but keep the secret. Die, but break the news to the world.
The world which had three weeks to live with the knowledge of that doom…
He flashed back to the briefing they’d received upon arriving at Midway. The Olympus Initiative people didn’t know the whole tale, even now that they’d heard the dreadful news about Erebus.
Something clicked inside Dash’s mind and he made the decision.
“Captain?” He said, turning to the naval officer.
“Right here, Dash.” Onsurez replied. She sounded calmer than Dash imagined possible.
“I’m ready.”
Onsurez nodded. “Hang the satphone up, then. Please.”
Nancy’s voice became shrill. “No, no, no! Dash, don’t do it. Give me the password! Dash, you’re a—”
Dash’s thumb trembled as he killed the call. He still half-expected bullets to tear through the tower, if only to be thorough.
“May I stand up?” Onsurez asked.
“Uh, sure.” Dash nodded.
“Why don’t you hand me your sidearm, Dash?” Onsurez stretched out her arm.
Dash’s eyes flashed to the window where he’d seen the snipers.
“You made it this far, Dash,” Onsurez said. “Don’t give up hope now.”
If Onsurez had deceived him, she’d take the gun and shoot Dash in the face or wait for Dash to stand up and have the snipers put bullets through the base of his skull. Either way, Dash had made a choice and he had to trust in faith to see it through.
“God protect me,” he whispered.
Dash turned the pistol around and handed the butt to Onsurez, who decocked it and set the weapon on the desk.
“You four, clear the tower,” Onsurez ordered. “Talk to no one.”
The hostages scrambled to their feet, then scurried down the ladder.
Dash’s mind shrieked at him that he was at his most vulnerable. The pistol was his protection and the hostages his leverage, both gone in the space of a minute.
Onsurez walked over to him, holding out a hand. “It’s all right, Dash. You can stand up now.”
Dash shook like a leaf as he took Onsurez’s hand and stood on rubbery legs. “Inshallah,” he mumbled. Without weapons or other protections, he needed to proceed on faith.
He looked out the window, over at the waiting Globemaster. The two snipers stood on the aircraft, their rifles now slung.
Relief surged through him and his knees gave out.
“Whoa!” Onsurez grabbed his elbow. “You all right, Dash?”
It took a moment for Dash to be able to stand up straight. When he could, he turned to the captain. “Did I do the right thing?”
Onsurez nodded. “You did. I promise.” She tugged Dash’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait.” Dash retrieved his brother’s flash drive. “I can’t lose this.” His fingers curled around the tiny plastic device. “I paid too dearly for it.”
Twenty-Five
THE HELICOPTER’S ROTORS roared as it skimmed across the lagoon towards the massive gray hulk of Enterprise. Commander Bruce and Captain Onsurez sat on either side of him, each carrying similar bags. To Dash’s surprise, two young children—seven and nine years-old, he guessed—sat across from Captain Onsurez, torn between gaping out the hatch and the teal waters and staring at their mother with eyes the size of saucers.
The Seahawk helicopter climbed up as it approached the converted carrier, then banked into an orbit around it.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Bruce asked, his voice tinny over Dash’s headset.
“That she is,” Onsurez agreed.
Dash nodded, dazed from the emotional and adrenaline aftermath of what happened in the tower. Even so, his inquisitive mind wasn’t totally asleep. Dash clicked his microphone as he pointed at a band of white protrusions below the flight deck that blended into the hull. “What’s that?”
“Rocket belts,” Bruce replied. “Might need them for attitude control during ascent and descent. We’ll also use those to land with a gentler touch.” He pointed at the elevator descending. “That’s are our airlock now. We’ll land on deck, then descend into the ship through one of those.”
Dash stared in awe as he saw the carrier lay on solid, dry ground. The concrete ring around it was a massive silo, filled with superstructure and what looked to be a massive elevator.
“What about that?”
“It only works once.” Bruce chuckled. “As the elevator descends, the mechanism rotates Enterprise into launch position, giving us enough clearance to ignite the Orion without damaging the pusher plate.”
The helicopter touched down on the deck. Dash unbuckled himself and pulled off his headset, then grabbed his bag and hopped out. Bruce helped Onsurez’s children out and guided them away from the helo. Dash followed Onsurez, who led them at a quick pace.
They strode ac
ross the deck to the massive elevator where a woman in a bright yellow shirt and baggy blue pants waved them over. Her yellow and white helmet bulged at the ears and she saluted the captain as they approached.
“Welcome back, Captain Onsurez!”
“Thank you, chief.” Onsurez snapped a sharp salute, then stepped onto the elevator and grabbed her son’s tiny hand.
The carrier’s deck disappeared and opened into a large chamber with enormous doors. The metal deck showed black streaks and tire marks.
“We had to convert the hangar,” Onsurez explained. “It’s too big a space to leave to waste, but we were never going to carry aircraft aboard Enterprise. Not after we discovered Erebus.”
The elevator halted, and they walked to a smaller hatch, whose handle spun as the door opened. Inside, the hangar deck looked like a massive warehouse. Racks lined the walls, filled with enormous crates of all shapes. More crates and pallets crowded every square meter of deck space, tied down with thick, red canvas webbing.
A young man in a black flight suit approached. He wore a white armband with SP on it but didn’t carry tactical gear or a weapon. “Ma’am!”
“Dash, this is Petty Officer Gersbacher, part of our security force. He’ll get you checked in and taken to your quarters.” Onsurez smiled. “If you have any questions, just ask him.”
“Sir.” Gersbacher nodded.
“Hi,” Dash said, suddenly reluctant to leave the captain’s side. He didn’t suspect treachery or the like—it would have been easier to kill him in the tower—but things were moving at a pace Dash wasn’t comfortable with.
“This way, sir.” Gersbacher reached for his bag.
“Ah, I’ve got it. Thank you.”
Gersbacher didn’t seem fazed. “Yes, sir. Follow me, please.”
He led him out of the hangar, then turned right. The narrow corridors seemed to close in around them. Protrusions and strange stencils covered the white walls. The security officer never wavered, however. He guided him to a hatch and opened it.
“Here you are, sir.” Gersbacher rapped on the open hatch.
“Come on in,” a man’s voice replied, “We were starting to get lonely.”
Gersbacher stepped aside and gestured for Dash to go ahead.
“Thanks.” Dash walked into the room, astonished to see rows of bunks, three high, with blue curtains to draw across for privacy. Red slats stuck out, but it took Dash a moment to recognize they were steps for a ladder.”
“This is your berth,” Gersbacher said. “You’re in compartment 5805, okay, sir? That’s an important number to remember.”
“Five eight oh five. Got it.” Dash nodded.
“Hi!” Another man walked from around a row of bunks and held out his hand. A tad shorter than Dash, with short black hair and skin the color of mocha, he wore navy blue fatigues that looked at least a size too small. “You’re number three in here! I’m so glad to see another face. I’ve been here two days.”
Dash shook his hand. “Dash Riordan.”
“Gilbert Moray, nuclear machinist’s mate.”
“I’m, uh, a writer.”
“Nice to meet you, Dash. Call me Gilbert or Bert. Either works fine.” Moray beamed. “Well, they put you in the top bunk, huh?”
“Oh, if you want—”
“I’m joking. There’s just the three of us so far. Pick pretty much anything you want,” Moray said.
“Excuse me, petty officer, but I need to take Mister Riordan to sick bay.” Gersbacher interrupted but didn’t look embarrassed.
“No problem. Just leave your stuff on your bunk,” Moray said. “I’ll make sure the other thieves don’t touch it.” He chuckled and slipped off his shoes. “See you later, Dash.”
“Bye,” Dash said, watching Moray roll into his bunk like a practiced gymnast.
Gersbacher said, “Let’s go.”
Dash had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. Now that he wasn’t carrying his heavy pack, however, that proved to be less of a problem.
“Are all the beds so small?” He asked.
“You mean the bunks?” Gersbacher chuckled. “The family quarters are a little better. They’re the old officers’ quarters, so they’ve got two beds and a bit more space.” He turned to him and shrugged. “It’s a carrier, sir. Not a cruise ship.”
“No, of course not.” Dash’s cheeks flushed with shame. Enterprise would spare him from humanity’s doom and he was asking about the accommodations? “Um, why do I need to go to sick bay?”
“XO’s orders, sir. You’re a last-minute addition from what I understand. We’re processing you as best we can, but we need to get you the inoculations everyone else got and check your standard issue.”
“My issue?”
“Your gear. Everyone was told to bring one bag of luxury or sentimental goods. Photos, mementos, that kind of thing. The rest of their equipment would be issued at Midway. You didn’t do any of that, so we’ve got to make up for lost time.”
Dash rolled his eyes. The only things he’d brought with him were some hastily selected clothes from Walmart, a laptop, a couple of crappy burner phones, and the OSI badge he’d taken from Castillo. He didn’t have any keepsakes to speak of. He had some personal photos on his laptop, but that was all.
What a joke. The apocalypse was upon him and he didn’t even have his lucky blanket.
Gersbacher kept him busy for almost two hours.
In the sick bay, he met a nurse wearing dark blue scrubs.
“Jesus!” The nurse gasped as she walked into the examination room. “What the hell happened to you?”
Dash glanced around, then saw his reflection in the mirror.
A haunted face stared back. Black bruises covered his right cheek, a black scab cut through his eyebrow, he had a split lip, and bags under his eyes.
“A lot, actually.” Dash lowered his eyes and took a moment to remember how fortunate he was.
“I’m Lieutenant Cole. I need to examine you and establish your baseline.” Cole had a deep voice and a southern accent. Under other circumstances, Dash might have been interested in her. Today, now?
“Sorry, but could I please have a man do the examination?” His cheeks burned, but Dash doubted it showed through the bruises. “I’m a little shy.”
“Of course.” Cole nodded and left the room. A male corpsman in his late thirties appeared and took charge.
Dash was weighed, prodded, poked, and injected repeatedly. The corpsman asked a thousand or so questions to build up his medical history, making a point of verifying that Dash didn’t use tobacco in any form, wasn’t a drug addict, and wasn’t carrying any sexually-transmitted diseases. The corpsman warned him, in very blunt and graphic terms, what would happen to a fetus if he got a woman pregnant, then proceeded to give him a shot in the arm.
“Wait, what if I want to get someone pregnant later?” Dash had asked. “Is that a birth control shot?”
The corpsman chuckled. “No, sir. Birth control for men is still pretty much condoms and abstinence. That’s an immune booster shot.” He made a few notes on a tablet. “As for pregnancy, once women are cleared for that, they’ll come get their implants removed and y’all can proceed to make the beasts with two backs.”
The corpsman smiled, but Dash squirmed at the joke.
He wondered why.
After sick bay, Dash followed his guide to the quartermaster, where he received what Gersbacher had called his standard issue.
“Department?” A petty officer in a navy blue uniform asked. She had pale, freckled skin, and a shock of bright red curls tied into a sort of bun.
“Um...Five eight zero eight.” Dash nodded, pleased he’d remembered.
“That’s your compartment, sir,” Gersbacher whispered. “You’re in Morale.”
Dash blushed. “Sorry. Morale.”
“Very good, sir.” The quarter master disappeared into another room and came out with a plastic crate. “Okay, let’s get you settled. All of this will fit
into your locker under your bed. Your personal belongings will go in another locker in your berthing area.”
“Got it.” Dash nodded once.
“You’ll get two of these issues as we go, all right? This is the first one. Just because you’re getting another doesn’t mean you shouldn’t treasure these, understand? Where we’re going, it will probably be awhile before we’re making our own clothes.”
Dash swayed on his feet as the unreality of the situation sunk in.
“All right. You get five flight suits, rust-red for the morale department, two pairs of sneakers, black—make sure you alternate shoes every other day or you’ll get athlete’s foot—five sets of sweats for PT, fourteen pairs of underpants, and fourteen pairs of socks.”
The quartermaster stuffed all the clothes into a green canvas sea bag and handed him a clipboard. “Sign here.”
Dash obeyed.
“Sign here.”
The quartermaster tapped the clipboard.
“Next, you’ll get your toiletries, which contains one toothbrush, one tube of toothpaste, one spool of dental floss, one tube of dermal scrub, one bottle of multivitamins, one package of wet wipes, and one bottle of shampoo and conditioner.”
“Only one tube of toothpaste?” Dash asked.
“We’ll issue replacements as they’re used. Don’t waste yours. Once your allotment runs out, you’ll be down to using water and nothing else,” the quartermaster warned him.
“What about showering? I don’t have any towels?”
“Towels will be kept in the shower facilities. You’ll dry off and leave them there so that they can be laundered. Also, water is unbelievably precious aboard Enterprise. A Navy shower is a minute of water to wet yourself, then you soap up, and another minute of water to rinse. We won’t even get that. A space shower is a wet wash cloth, soap, and a liter of water for your hair, body, and rinsing.”
Dash’s eyes shot open. “I had no idea.”
The quartermaster ignored the statement. “We don’t have enough space to store towels for everyone in their bunks, plus they’ll get smelly awful fast.”
“Okay.”
“Sign here.”
That made sense to Dash. His first college roommate had used a fresh towel every day, but just threw them in the hamper afterwards. They stank after only a few days and couldn’t be purged of the odor no matter how much laundry soap was used.
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