Fall of Man | Book 3 | Firebase:

by Sisavath, Sam

  Swoosh! as the chrome door slid open in front of him before he even reached it.

  Cole tensed, the Remington rising to take aim.

  “Took you long enough,” a voice said.

  Cole stepped inside, taking it cautiously because he didn’t have any choice. There was blood on the floor, which made it slippery. Days old, leading across the room and to a woman sitting in a swivel chair in front of a wall of monitors that showed, from what Cole could tell, various parts of the LARS facility.

  Early thirties, short blonde hair, torn jeans, and a T-shirt with a giant letter P in the middle of a white box outline. The blood, he couldn’t help but notice, led right to her. One of her legs was heavily bandaged with duct tape.

  “I hope you can carry an extra 100 pounds, big guy,” Sal said, “’cause I’m not gonna be able to run to the elevator on my own. I’m, uh, not too mobile these days.”

  Cole sighed, while the Voice laughed hysterically.

  Chapter 14. Emily

  “You think it’s true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  “Yes.”

  “You answered those two pretty fast.”

  “After everything we’ve seen and been through, you still have doubts?”

  Greg shook his head. Emily could see him struggling for the right words. Or maybe he already knew what those were but just didn’t want to say them because speaking them out loud would be akin to accepting them. Denial, after all, wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

  As for Emily, she didn’t have the luxury to even entertain those thoughts. She had to deal with the facts at hand. That was what she was good at.

  “I don’t know,” the big man said. “It’s just that…” He paused for a bit. Then, “How many did you say was in a division?”

  “Ten thousand and up.”

  “Jesus. Ten thousand men. Gone, just like that.”

  “That’s not entirely true.”

  “No?”

  “That ten thousand men up and vanished. I’m guessing a good portion of them are still out there looking for someone to kill.” She glanced out the window at Stoner, talking to the ex-soldier that had been fiddling with the elevator since he arrived. “The rest of them are in here with us.”

  Greg didn’t say anything for a while. The former contractor stood next to her, hands in his pockets as if he didn’t know what to do with them. She could practically hear the gears inside his head turning, trying to process everything he’d just heard, and coming up…lacking.

  “Ten thousand men,” he finally said.

  “If this thing is affecting everyone whose blood type isn’t O negative, that’s a good 93 percent of the population. 93 percent is…a lot to fight.”

  “So how do you think Stoner and his guys made it?”

  Emily looked from Stoner to the two men watching the gaping holes around the semi at the front of the warehouse. They stood calmly, weapons at the ready, leaving just enough distance between them and the ways in to pick off anyone or anything that tried to come through. The only other entrance—the side door that Stoner’s men had assaulted earlier—had been re-barricaded. Luckily, they hadn’t destroyed it when they made their dramatic entry but had just knocked the deadbolt out of place.

  Her gaze fell on their guard standing nearby. He was younger than the rest by far—early twenties, with the same buzz cut as the others—and didn’t seem to have moved very much since she first saw him. But it wasn’t his youth that she focused on; it was the rifle he was cradling while he ate from a bag of MRE using a titanium spork that was part of a multi-tool set.

  “Emily?” Greg said when she didn’t say anything.

  “The crazies don’t use guns,” she said. “Stoner and his guys did. That’s how they made it.”

  “I forgot about that. You think it’s true what Cole said? About why they don’t use guns?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s a good theory. Then again, that’s all any of us has, right? Just theories?”

  “I guess. But you’re way better at this than I am.”

  “What is ‘this?’”

  “Solving problems.”

  “I guess I should be; I used to do it for a living.”

  Emily watched Stoner and the other guy at the elevator talking. From their gestures and the disappointed look on Stoner’s face, Emily guessed he hadn’t gotten very good news.

  Greg figured out the same thing, because he said, “I don’t think they got the elevator to work.”

  “I don’t think they did.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not—”

  The pop-pop of two quick rifle shots cut him off.

  Greg glanced up at the ceiling—not that he could see Stoner’s men up there, the one called Hawkeye and his spotter/partner, Green Arrow. Those weren’t their real names, but Emily hadn’t been the one to figure that out.

  “Comic book characters,” Greg had said.

  “What is?” she’d said.

  “Hawkeye and Green Arrow. They’re comic book characters. Superheroes. One’s from DC, and the other’s from Marvel. They’re sharpshooters, though they mostly use trick arrows. Unlike other superheroes, they don’t have any superpowers besides the ability to be really good at hitting things with a bow and arrow.”

  Emily had shaken her head. “I don’t know what any of that means.”

  Greg had smiled. Sheepishly, maybe a little embarrassed that he knew what she didn’t.

  Not that the real names of Stoner’s men mattered. The fact that they weren’t wearing their American flags and name tags were all the hints she needed that they had shaken off their U.S. Army responsibilities. That, in a way, made her not completely trust them. (Not that she even slightly trusted them to begin with, though she was leaning toward the old standby of “Trust, but verify.”) Stoner’s group gave her vibes of Bowman, Barton, and Chrisman—three cons that had been impersonating cops when all of this started.

  The same thought occurred to Greg. “You really think they’re ex-soldiers?” he’d asked her as soon as Stoner left them.

  “Yes,” she’d answered quickly.

  “Why?”

  “It’s not that hard to tell. Soldiers give off a vibe.” She’d nodded, certain then, and still certain now. “He’s not lying about that. As for the rest… I don’t know. So let’s stay on our toes until we know for sure one way or another.”

  Greg had nodded. She didn’t think she had to add that last part, especially after what had happened with the three fake cops, but it was better to be sure than assume. After all, assuming sometimes led one to being an ass.

  Pop! from above them.

  Then, about five seconds later, Pop-pop-pop!

  “I hope those superheroes are getting good shots and not just wasting bullets,” Emily said.

  “Maybe they have too many bullets,” Greg said.

  “You can never have too many bullets.”

  “I was kidding.”

  “I wasn’t,” Emily said, remembering just how few bullets she and Bolton had before Stoner took their guns away from them.

  …and how many bullets did Cole still have, ten floors below them?

  She clenched her teeth as the frustration bubbled to the surface.

  Cole. He was down there by himself, and the only thing between them was an elevator that wasn’t working.

  “Emily, what—” Greg said when she opened the door and stepped outside.

  The young man guarding them turned around, his spork, with a big chunk of beef in its teeth, halfway to his mouth. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  “I need to speak to Stoner,” Emily said.

  The ex-soldier dropped his MRE, and pieces of beef and gravy splashed the concrete floor, some coating the noses of his boots. The guard was too busy unslinging his rifle and moving it from behind him to in front of him to care about the mess.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  She did, but looked past him and
across the warehouse.

  Stoner, hearing the commotion, had glanced over.

  “We need to talk!” Emily shouted at the older man.

  Stoner might have narrowed his eyes at her but didn’t say anything.

  Behind her, the office door opened again, and Greg stepped outside. That only made their guard tense up even more, and the young man slipped his forefinger into the rifle.

  Emily thought, Bad trigger discipline, kid.

  “Stop!” the guard shouted, this time at Greg, somewhere behind her.

  Emily glanced over her shoulder at the contractor. “Stop, Greg.”

  Greg’s eyes widened slightly before moving over to the ex-soldier.

  “It’s okay,” she said. She turned back to the young man with the M4 rifle that could kill both of them where they stood with a simple trigger pull. Emily looked past him again and shouted at Stoner, “We need to talk! Now!”

  This time, she was sure Stoner smirked as he began walking over.

  Quick flurries of motion from behind the guard. Emily glanced over at the bigger office nearby. Zoe, Bolton, and the others had stood up and walked over to a window to look over at the commotion.

  She focused on Bolton. The chopper pilot appeared ready to burst out of the room and attack the guard standing in front of Emily, with his back turned to the real dangers.

  Emily discreetly shook her head at Bolton.

  Or she thought she was being discreet, anyway. Except the ex-soldier standing in front of her saw it and spun around to glare across at Bolton.

  For a second or two, Emily had the chance she had been waiting for. She could have lunged at the guard and knocked him down, then taken his rifle. Or the Beretta M9 pistol on his right hip. Then there was the knife on his left…

  But she didn’t.

  Right now, the smarter move was not to fight Stoner and his men, but to work with them. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to get very far even suddenly armed. Even if Greg, still behind her, could also grab one of their guard’s weapons, it was still two of them against Stoner’s four.

  And those were only the ones in the building. There were the non-superpowered superheroes Hawkeye and Green Arrow on the roof to deal with, too. If Emily had learned anything during her army days, it was never to take the fight to an enemy that had the high ground.

  So Emily did nothing, and waited for her young guard to finally realize he’d looked away from her and Greg for too long, and quickly turn back around.

  She smiled at him and got a puzzled What are you smiling at? grimace back.

  “What?” the young man said.

  “Nothing,” Emily said. Then, looking past him at the approaching Stoner, “You want to get down there.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know,” Stoner said.

  “I want to get down there, too.”

  “And? I’m waiting for the punchline.”

  “No punchline. But we can help each other.”

  “You already told me you don’t know how to get the elevator working.”

  “That’s right.”

  Stoner put a hand on the young guard, who lowered his rifle and took a step back. The young man looked more than just a little relieved to be given the command to stand down as he faded into the background.

  “Well?” Stoner said to Emily. “I’m waiting.”

  “How many of you are there?” she asked. “Six? That’s not a lot. How many crazies are out there? More than six, at last count.”

  That was only partially true. Stoner did have just six men with him, but she had no idea how many maniacs were running around out there waiting to come in and kill them. But she figured Stoner didn’t know that, and his sentries on the rooftops must have already informed him there were, if not an exact number, then a lot.

  “I’m still waiting,” Stoner said.

  “You have six men and more guns than you know what to do with,” Emily said. “I think you and I both know we’re not a threat to you. We both want the same thing: LARS. That’s the ultimate goal.”

  Stoner didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t interrupt her.

  “We can help each other,” Emily continued. “You can double your numbers by joining forces with us. Against us, you’re fighting on two fronts.”

  “It’s not much of a fight on one front,” Stoner said. He hadn’t said it with anything that even remotely looked like arrogance, either.

  No, he was just stating a fact.

  Not that Emily had lain down and accepted it. “Maybe, but do you really want to be constantly watching us? Or would you rather have every able-bodied man doing something to keep those crazies out?”

  “You?” Stoner said. Then, looking past her, “And him?”

  “Me, him, the two men in the other office. Not to mention the three women.”

  “What about the kid in the wheelchair and the girl? They’re going to help, too?” That time, Stoner did smirk a little bit.

  “Hey, don’t underestimate Dante. He’s pretty fast in the wheelchair.”

  Stoner glanced back at the others—Bolton, Zoe, the rest—looking at him from inside the other office.

  Then, turning back to Emily, “You used to be Army, didn’t you? Let me guess: Army Intelligence?”

  Emily smiled. “Maybe.”

  Stoner looked around the warehouse. First, at the two men guarding the semi and wide-open front, then at the one working on the elevator. Finally, his gaze settled on the young man standing behind him.

  His hard eyes eventually fell back on Emily. “We saw choppers and a Gulfstream parked nearby. Does one of them happen to be yours?”

  “One of the choppers,” Emily said. “The Bell.”

  She’d considered lying but decided it wasn’t necessary. Stoner came here to access LARS, not to escape from it.

  She nodded across at Bolton. “He’s our pilot.”

  Stoner glanced over. “I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Well, you did bust into the warehouse throwing smoke grenades around.”

  The ex-Army man chuckled. “Yeah, I guess we did do that.”

  “So what’s it going to be?” Emily asked. “Are we allies or enemies?”

  “Depends,” Stoner said.

  “On?”

  “If I give you back your gun, you promise not to shoot me in the back the first time I turn around?”

  Emily smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

  Stoner chuckled again before reaching behind him. He took out the Glock he’d taken from her and held it toward Emily. “Truce.”

  “Truce,” Emily said, taking the pistol back.

  She thought she heard Greg sighing with relief somewhere behind her.

  “Now,” Stoner said, “how do we get down there? We both came here for LARS, right?”

  “Right,” Emily said.

  “Um, I might have a way,” a voice said behind them.

  Both Stoner and Emily (and she assumed, Greg too) looked over at Dante, rolling out of the other office door with Fiona holding it open for him.

  “That’s Dante,” Emily said.

  “You know how to get down there?” Stoner asked the teenager.

  “I think so,” Dante said.

  “You think so, or you know so?”

  Dante shrugged. “It’s an idea.”

  “Let’s hear it, Dante,” Emily said.

  “We can use the other elevator down,” Dante said.

  “What other elevator?” Stoner said.

  “The same one they used to take the big stuff down to the facility below.” He nodded at the lone regulation-size elevator in the center of the room. “Didn’t you notice that that’s kinda small? That’s strictly for show, like the rest of this place.”

  Emily hadn’t thought of that.

  Then, exchanging a quick look with Stoner, found that he hadn’t thought of it, either.

  “Which means,” Dante continued, “there has to be another way down. One that’s way, way bigger than the
one we can see. All we have to do is find it.”

  Chapter 15. Cole

  “The generators you’re hearing in the background right now aren’t the finished product,” Sal said. “They’re temporary. Did you go inside the room with the big machines when you passed it earlier?”

  “It didn’t occur to me to,” Cole said.

  “Well, if you had, you would have seen an impressive state-of-the-art generator that’s supposedly powered by a combination solar panels system, a nearby hydro complex, and just for good measure, wind turbines. You know, because rich people give a rat’s ass about the environment and shit.”

  “‘Supposedly?’”

  “That’s the plan. Except Anton didn’t have the money yet. Everything he had, he spent on making this place look like the Starship Enterprise. The corridors, the lights, The Welcome Room. It’s all for show. The generator you walked past is nothing fancy. It’s running on power packs that will shut down in, oh, a day or two.”

  As if on cue, the lights around them flickered once, twice, then shut off.

  “Like that,” Sal said from somewhere in the dark.

  “Shit,” Cole said.

  “Exactly.”

  The chair Sal was sitting on squeaked, not that Cole could see her. It would take a few more seconds—maybe minutes—for his night eyes to settle. He tightened his grip on the Remington anyway just to be safe.

  “The blackouts will keep happening until the entire unit shuts down,” Sal said. “It started two days ago. Quick, sporadic bursts at first. But it’s getting longer now. When it finally craps out, we’ll be walking around in the dark. And oh, did I mention we’re going to need the generators running to keep the ventilation working?”

  She hadn’t, but she didn’t have to. Cole knew how underground bunkers worked. They all needed some kind of ventilation system to recycle the air, otherwise there would be nothing to breathe.

  It took another thirty or so seconds for the lights to come back on. As before, Cole hadn’t been able to detect the generator’s constant hum while it was dark, but could, now that it was running once more.

  “It’s shutting down periodically in order to reset its systems,” Sal said, now visible again in front of him.