by Adrian Smith
“Stay down, Harriet!” Zanzi shouted. She squeezed her trigger and caught a commando off guard, her round thumping into his shoulder. If Zanzi thought he was done, she was drastically mistaken. The commando brought up his weapon and let loose a volley.
Zanzi dived headfirst to her right. His bullets missed her by inches as they pounded into the musty earth. She hit the ground and bounced hard, knocking some of the wind from her lungs.
She blinked away the tears and tried to find the shooter again. Wisely, he had dropped behind a thick pine tree, but had left a foot poking out.
It couldn’t be that easy, could it?
Zanzi nestled the M4 into her shoulder and breathed in. Before she could have any thoughts of empathy, she shot a three-round burst into the man’s foot and was rewarded with a howl in pain.
Above the din, a policeman shouted into a megaphone, “Put down your weapons!”
The instructions were met with gunfire: rifles and a couple of booms from shotguns.
Zanzi ignored it all and ran to where the commando was lying. He sprayed bullets around, trying to hit her as he lurched away, moving out of sight. She swallowed her fear and kept advancing to his last position. Suddenly he appeared from behind her and gripped her in a bear hug. How had he moved so fast?
Zanzi was helpless. She tried stomping on his injured foot, but this only earned a tighter squeeze.
“Stupid bitch. Stay still,” he said.
“Let me go, asshole.” She smashed her heel down on his boot. He grunted.
“Echo 4, reporting. Property acquired,” he said, talking into a throat mic.
Zanzi took a deep breath, centering herself. She went limp and wriggled down in the man’s grasp. She slammed both feet down onto his boots to gain better traction, then pushed off the balls of her feet and slammed her head up, under Echo 4’s chin. He grunted in shock and loosened his grasp. Using her advantage, Zanzi flung her arms above her head and slid down until her bum hit the ground. Echo 4 staggered back and fumbled for his weapon. She didn’t bother trying to aim. All she could think of was to shoot and shoot now.
Her finger found the trigger and she tugged it. The round hit Echo 4 in the chest, and he tumbled to the ground.
Zanzi rolled away, jumped to her feet, and scanned the area. Lisa was nowhere in sight. A gun battle raged on the street. Rifle fire cracked, glass shattered, and panicked shouts tore through the air.
Echo 4 groaned, drawing her attention back to him.
“Harriet! C’mon.”
Harriet peeked above the garden bed and ran over. Zanzi grabbed her hand and sprinted into the woods. She had no idea where Lisa was or what was happening out on the road. She aimed for their vehicle, betting that the commandos were distracted by the police.
Together, she and Harriet ran through muddy pine needles, jumped over logs, and through thick brambles. She used her body to shield Harriet from the branches stabbing her and, locating a creek, sloshed through the brackish water. She spotted the ’50s-style bungalow and sprinted from the trees. Her heart dropped.
Standing next to the Jeep Cherokee, arms folded, was a tall man dressed in the same black fatigues as Echo 4 and the others. He had broad shoulders and bulging muscles, like he spent way too much time in the gym. His cold blue eyes, intense, stared straight at her. His skin had a marble-like quality, smooth and unblemished, apart from a light blue tattoo of four lines above his left eye. His sidearm was holstered, but his MP5 lay on the hood of the Jeep. His whole demeanor and stance chilled her.
This man commanded respect. He oozed it. It frightened her. Like he didn’t care that she was armed and had killed some of his men. He grinned at her and tapped his ear.
“Hear that?” His voice was strong and even, with a hint of a German accent.
Zanzi gulped past the lump in her throat and pulled Harriet in tighter against her. Four more commandos appeared, weapons trained on her.
“I can’t hear anything,” she said, levelling her eyes on his.
“Exactly. It’s over now,” he said, still smiling. “Harriet. Good to see you again.”
Harriet stiffened.
A black Chevy van pulled into the drive and stopped twenty feet away, its engine still running.
“Who the hell are you guys?” Zanzi said.
“You can call me Milo. Don’t worry, we are going to get to know each other really well.” He tilted his head, and two of the commandos grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Be thankful, Ms. Connors. We let Director Omstead go. She is going to wish we hadn’t. You, on the other hand, have a special appointment. One that we cannot be late for.”
Zanzi dropped the M4 and allowed the men to take her to the van.
“I’m sorry, Harriet,” she whispered as the door was flung back and they were roughly shoved inside.
Milo jumped into the passenger seat and turned around. “Get comfy. We have a long drive ahead.”
One of the commandos jabbed a needle into Harriet’s neck. She blinked with surprise, then her head rolled to one side. The commando laid her down gently on the seat and sat back down.
Within moments, the van was rushing through the streets of Portland and out onto the interstate. Zanzi only caught glimpses through the windshield, as all the other windows were painted black.
The commandos pulled off their helmets. The guard closest to Zanzi had her hair tied in a ponytail. Now that she was closer, Zanzi took notice of their uniform. Black fatigues, and on the right shoulder, the unit badge showing a grinning black skull. Behind the skull was the silhouette of three mountains. On the left shoulder was the American flag. Here, in the daylight, she could see the flag was wrong. Sure, it had the thirteen stripes and fifty stars. But in the bottom right was a black star, tucked underneath the last row.
“What’s with the extra black star?” Zanzi asked.
The woman ignored her.
“You guys fail history? Old Glory has fifty white stars.”
“I don’t know. Now shut it,” the woman said.
“Don’t know? Weird. I’ve been around a lot of military, and they all wear the flag with pride. Know its significance. Defend it.”
“Shut it.”
Zanzi glanced at the woman. The desecration of the flag confirmed her suspicions. These Black Skulls didn’t fight for the USA, or if they did, it was someone else they answered too.
“Are we there yet?” said Zanzi.
The female guard stared straight ahead, her gaze directed out the windshield.
“What about now? Now? Surely now? Are you an Echo too? I killed Four. What number are you? Three? Seven? Wait. I got it. Nine. Definitely a nine.”
Not even a flicker of emotion or response. Zanzi switched tactics and nudged the Black Skull with her foot.
The female commando slammed her forearm into Zanzi’s chest, crushing her against the back of the seat. Zanzi grunted in surprise. The guard clenched her teeth. “I would keep your mouth shut if I were you. You’ll need your strength.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“Nabb,” Milo said, turning around in the passenger seat, “leave her.”
Nabb scowled and shoved Zanzi again.
One of the other commandos pinned Zanzi to her seat, holding his gloved hand against her mouth. With Nabb’s help, they gagged her and placed a black hood over her head. Zanzi fought them as they bound her hands and feet.
She relaxed a little once they were done and tested her bonds for a few moments before giving up. With her sight and speech gone, she strained her ears, listening for any indication as to where they were taking her, but the vehicle was whisper quiet; the only sound was the tires, humming over the asphalt.
She tried to keep it together by using the calming techniques she had been taught but, with the hood over her head, her fear of being buried alive burst forth.
Zanzi could sense the panic attack coming but couldn’t stem the tsunami. She screamed through the gag and thrashed in her seat.
“Shut her up!”
Milo shouted. Something sharp jabbed into her skin, followed by something warm and tingly.
Zanzi blinked, knowing what was coming. Still she fought it. Zanzi kept kicking and screaming until her eyes grew heavy and the blackness descended.
Twenty-One
Koyasan, Japan
Tap… Tap… Tap…
As gently as he could, Ryan hit the old and faded brickwork, fearful of alerting the squads to their position.
It had taken thirty minutes of searching till they found the entrance to the bunker. At least, Ryan hoped it was the entrance. It wasn’t like there was a sign that said, “This way to the bunker.” They had backtracked and searched the rooms again and finally, in one of the rooms, Allie had pushed a stack of rotting crates aside and discovered a metal door. It was painted dark gray and had a cross handle in the center that once spun. The paintwork was now faded and dull, a relic of a distant, brutal time. The doorway was surrounded by old, crumbling bricks, and much of the concrete render that coated the walls had corroded and fallen away, forming piles on the ground. As hard as Ryan and Daisaku tried, they couldn’t budge the handle, even when Allie added her weight to theirs. Like everything else down here, it was frozen in time.
The storage room they were in had comparatively new shelves on the walls, all loaded with books, and a label had been written on a piece of timber in elegant calligraphy. On the floor were more piles of books and, cluttering the spaces between the books, chairs and desks. Old blackboards and boxes of chalk.
Ryan had found some metal rulers and was now using one to scrape away at the mortar between the bricks beside the door. Daisaku was next to him, engaged in the same task.
Ryan finally pushed one of the bricks through and shone his flashlight through the hole, like Howard Carter holding up a lamp and gazing into Tutankhamun’s tomb. But instead of golden treasures, he found ammunition crates stacked up along unpainted walls, dusty and abandoned. He swiveled his light from side to side and spotted a small oval door.
“Guys. Whatever you’re doing, do it faster. We got hostiles closing in,” Allie said, her whisper tinged with panic.
“How far?” Ryan said.
“Stairwell.”
“Daisaku, help me,” Ryan said.
With one brick out and Daisaku helping, they dislodged more bricks until they had a small hole.
He urged Daisaku through the gap and handed him his spare Maglite. Allie snapped her head around and shut the hallway door.
“They’re down,” she said, holding her fingers to her lips. Ryan pointed at a couple of blackboards and gestured putting them across the hole. Once they had the boards in place, he squeezed through after Allie and drew his handgun. The musty room was empty apart from the ammunition crates. Ryan trained his flashlight over the oval door and hoped it was in better condition. He strained his ears, listening for the sounds of the men searching. Their muffled voices echoed back.
“Why are we searching down here? There’s nothing down here but rats and cockroaches feeding off these useless books.” The voice was gruff and deep.
“She said to search everywhere, so we’re searching everywhere.”
“Waste of time if you ask me.”
The door to the storage room banged open. Ryan held his breath and aimed his Glock at the hole he had created. At least he’d had the foresight to push the bricks into this room.
“See, I told you. Oh look, more dusty crap,” a voice said, and then the door was slammed closed.
Ryan kept his weapon trained on the hole as he listened to their footsteps thumping down the hallway. They were safe for now, but all his instincts told him they had to keep moving. Stay ahead of the squads. They would continue to sweep the village every few hours until they had ferreted out all survivors. He nodded to the others and tried the second door.
The oval door creaked and groaned but gave beneath a shove. Flakes of rust rained down to the ground, adding to the thick coating of filth.
Ryan shone his torch around the room beyond. It was long, with a low ceiling. The light revealed dirty shapes of cloth and boxes stacked against natural rock and smooth concrete walls. Trickles of clear water, with the scent of calcium and salt, dripped down, crystalizing into lumps where it fell. A mixture of diesel and lime added to the smells. Ryan stepped through and turned to help Allie and Daisaku over the threshold before closing the door.
“What is this place?” Allie said as she spun around, bō staff clutched in her hands.
“It’s a World War Two cache. Look.” Ryan lifted a tarp to reveal the truck underneath. As he walked past a stack of boxes, he read the kanji stamped on in black ink. Beretta. Arisaka. Bergmann. Rifles, machine guns.
He moved around, peeking under tarps. A couple more trucks. Half a dozen motorcycles. Sankyo, Indians, Meguro, according to the stamps. He scrunched his eyes together as he looked the bikes over.
“Ryan?” Allie called, her voice echoing. “You might want to see this.”
She had the tarp pulled back, revealing the tracks of a tank.
“Is that a Sherman?”
“Yeah. But that’s not what I want to show you.” Allie pointed to a stack of paper on a small desk. “Plans.”
Ryan flicked through the blueprints, trying to be careful not to tear the fragile paper. From what he could make out, the room they were in was the first of many. The whole bunker was built into a natural cave, with auxiliary tunnels as needed. He scanned the plans and found one that clearly marked several exits. He traced the lines and spotted the front entrance. He pulled the map from his satchel and spent several minutes cross-referencing the markings with the outside terrain. The plans Jiro had given him were incomplete or old. These drawings showed several more floors, and tunnels stretching to the next town.
He turned back to Allie and Daisaku. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this place.”
“What? Worse than people combusting? Worse than squads of armed men hunting us? Worse than rabid people trying to kill us?” Allie raised an eyebrow and tapped her bō staff on the cavern floor.
“Yes.” He held up the drawings. “Because whoever built this place wanted it to be forgotten. And this.” Ryan pulled open a box of rifles and held one up. The metal made a hollow sound as he hit the stock. “Fake. All fake. Take a closer look. Made from cheap aluminum. Whoever built it wanted the space. Not this pile of junk.”
Allie and Daisaku picked up a rifle each and looked them over.
Allie shook her head and tossed the fake carbine back. “I’m getting more confused with every passing hour.”
Ryan pulled three crates out from the wall and plonked himself down on one. The other two joined him, and he shared what little snack food he had in his satchel. A couple of bags of trail mix and water weren't going to go far. They sat in silence as they ate, each lost in their own thoughts.
Ryan used the time to look around at the piles of war supplies and machinery. He couldn’t help but smile. The equipment looked real enough. Maybe, with the passing years, it had become more obvious. Any soldier handling this probably hadn’t cared. It was just another tedious task in a war and, by then, they had forgotten what they were fighting for.
“Why would someone do this?” Daisaku asked. “Any of this? It doesn’t make sense.” He flung his hand out, pointing first at the machinery and then at the ceiling.
Allie glanced at him and then at Ryan. “To hide something in plain sight,” she murmured.
“Why? What’s the point?” Daisaku muttered.
Ryan grunted and used his smartphone to snap a few pictures of the expanded plans.
He pointed to the exit. “There’s only one way to find out. Through there.”
Daisaku muttered again, before standing, “I always thought my grandmother told me stories of Yuki-onna to scare me into behaving. Now, since you told us about rabid monks sucking on spines, maybe they were true. The spirit of the succubus has infected everyone. Maybe those soldiers are here to protect us, not kill us. If we gave
ourselves up, they would surely understand.”
“I don’t think they would.” Ryan said.
“How do you know?”
“Call it a hunch. You ran, trusting your gut. Keep trusting it.”
“I just want to get home.”
“So do we.”
As old and abandoned as the bunker had been, the next corridor was new and gleamed in artificial light. Apart from red and blue lines painted on the floor, everything was white.
Script written on a laminated sign indicated that they were on the fourth floor, southern prefecture. After handing the map to Allie, Ryan had her take point, with Daisaku bringing up the rear. Like most Japanese institutions, this supposedly non-existent bunker was pristine and efficient. A floor plan was screwed to the wall at every junction. They crept forward in single file.
The silence wasn’t what concerned Ryan, though. It was the black, round cameras dotted along the ceiling at regular intervals. Allie looked over her shoulder and gestured up. He waved her on. There was nothing they could do about them.
After a hundred meters, Ryan began to see piles of ash just like in the town above. At first just the odd pile lying in the corridor, then groupings of them near doorways, near tracks running across the passage. He stopped and glanced at the metal groove in the floor and followed the gap up into the wall. Gates could slide across on command, locking the section down. What were they doing down here?
They passed engineering labs and cafeterias with half-eaten meals, cups, and dishes spilled on the floor. Large clear windows showed robotics and prosthetics half assembled on tables. On one table, an eight-legged robot lay on its back, wires and hydraulics exposed. Like every other room, the floors were coated in ash. Ryan half expected to find pools of blood but found only more charcoal ash. It was everywhere, in neat human-shaped piles. The last painful action of the person, frozen in agony like the victims of Pompeii. Some had outstretched arms as if reaching out for the comfort of a loved one. Some, spread-eagled. Others huddled together against a wall, finding solace in each other’s arms.
Ryan shivered, knowing what had caused it, fearful that he too would join those frozen in agony. In pain. In despair.