by Byrd, Daniel
The passenger door to his left opened, and Mikhail sat down with a heavy sigh as he struggled to get the cane in.
"What was that about?" Roman asked.
"An informant," Mikhail replied as he closed the door. "There has been a change in plans. We are going to Germany."
"Germany? What business do you have there?"
"Supposedly the military presence there has been asked to clear the area in light of an important event to take place. Apparently it is a coalition by the request of the United States President."
"Is that so? Who was this informant? American?"
Mikhail shook his head. “Russian. One of mine, now. Former Russian Army. He is now a lowly member of a private military company based out of Italy.”
"What PMC? I am not familiar with any in Italy. Not anymore. Also," Roman said with a smirk, "you must have offered the man a large sum for him to expel such things. How much money do you have stashed away, old man?"
"Enough," he replied with a grin. Mikhail had his connections, and he kept them well hidden. “The man claims that the Inspector of the German Army has been asked to cooperate with American forces in something big. He isn't sure what, but I have a feeling Ramstein will play a key role."
Roman rolled his eyes. "And what position does he hold in this PMC? How do you know if this is reliable information?"
Mikhail scratched his gray hair. "Sorry, I do not even know…"
"Of course," Roman replied, the vexation needing no other words.
Mikhail chuckled. "For never having met most of the constructors of my web of details, I think I am doing okay. Even my American attachments were of unknown rank most of the time, and they proved reliable, did they not?"
"I just wonder how one can place so much trust into what was once considered the other side of the curtain…"
"Times have changed, Roman."
"The world is changing, and for the worst." Roman shifted into first gear and drove out of the parking lot of the gas station, headed west. The British Prime Minister was giving a statement on the condition of the country when someone else interrupted to report that more outbreaks were being reported in Sydney, Australia. Roman tried not to grin at his own morbid thoughts as he figured that even the outback wasn't safe from the undead. Mikhail was playing on a smart phone, lost in whatever news he was reading. The old man beat the stereotype of technology and the elderly. He understood that stuff better than Roman ever would.
“The Russians have renounced their condemnation of the Americans.”
"Are the two former enemies finally working together?" Roman asked in wonder.
"I highly doubt that. It would take more than the dead walking among us to bring those two sides together in this age. I imagine they just hope help will come when needed.”
Roman laughed. “I suppose you are right. Still, that brings me back to my question; what are the Americans doing here in Europe? Haven't they lost enough on their own land?"
Mikhail grunted. “I believe they know something about this organization. Perhaps they are here to hunt? Maybe they seek vengeance?"
"I seek vengeance. They seek closure."
Mikhail looked at the traffic jam ahead of them. No one knew where to go. Nowhere was safe. "Roman, don't-"
"Mikhail, I do not care. I will start listening to you after I have killed that man, and the others. Until then, I should tell you that anything you say to convince me otherwise is a waste of breath."
Mikhail couldn't get through to him. He smiled, and decided to try a different approach. "Well then, if we are going through with this, we will need to make a quick detour first."
"Why is that?" Roman asked.
"We are going to need a faster car than this hunk of rolling metal. I know someone who can help us."
"Is that so? Care to enlighten me?"
"Assuming we go, we will be early. While I leave you to prepare, I will be having an adventure of my own. I am going to need a faster car though. Sorry, but I am afraid informing you of the details would only hinder your enthusiasm."
Roman scowled. "You love to keep secrets, even without someone above you forcing you to. Tell me, why is that?"
"I have my reasons," Mikhail answered. Roman wasn't satisfied.
"Then I have no reason to help you."
Mikhail grinned. He had an ace in his sleeve. "I can give you one that is unrelated to my endeavor."
"Oh? What is that?"
Mikhail put the phone down and crossed his hands in his lap. "What if I told you I knew of the American who is supposed to be meeting the organization member in Berlin? What if I told you there is a strong possibility he is one of the men you are after? What if I told you he was a member of the project team that killed your father?"
The ride was silent for a few miles. Mikhail wasn't sure if Roman didn't believe him, or was still processing the news. He didn't want to use Roman's vendetta against him, but something important was happening in Berlin, and he wanted to know what it had to do with these zombies.
"The meeting is in two days, correct?" Roman finally asked.
Mikhail nodded with a blank expression on his face, curious as to what was going on in his student's head. "That is right."
Roman smirked and made a low-tone laugh. "Which exit do I take?"
Chapter Nine - Grave Robbers
The flight into Pennsylvania was smooth, and Major Michael Hampton was thankful for that. After spending what would be the last night in a while with his fiancé, he loathed to leave Seattle, but he was needed somewhere else besides with her, as much as he hated to admit it. Now that he knew he was going to be a father, he was certain the stress wouldn't do her or their unborn child any good, but he had to see this operation to the end. He wanted the world to be a safe place for his child.
After landing on the runway of the Pittsburg IAP Air Reserve Station, all personnel were to report to the conference room of the civilian airport where they would be briefed on the operations being undertaken by Joint Task Force Grave Robber. The entire facility had been swept prior to their arrival to ensure no deadmen were lurking on base, and then prepped for military use. Sentries were on patrol around the perimeter to guarantee that the military would get their work done in general peace. Many units were selected for this task force, and all were eager to get revenge on the terrorist group that they believed was the cause of the Hell around them. If only they all knew the truth about the Emmerich Research Facility incident.
As they departed from the plane, Houseman grabbed Hampton by the shoulder. "By the way, Major. I wanted to say congratulations."
"Huh? Oh! Uh...thank you, sir."
"You know, you don't have to go. I understand if you'd like to stay here and be close by."
Hampton was grateful, but he wanted to see this through. "No sir. I'd like to help out in any way I can. My place is with the task force."
Houseman sighed. "If you say so. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to stay. There's no telling when we'll be back, and the worse this thing gets, the longer we'll be gone."
"I understand sir, but I'm committed to this operation until the end."
Houseman patted the man on the shoulder. If anyone needed a definition of loyalty, Houseman figured he could just point to Major Michael Hampton.
***
"Jesus Christ, when the hell are they gonna' start? I'm let out of my cell for once and I'm more bored than I was in there."
"Jackson, calm down. General Houseman himself is briefing us, and he's coming from Seattle. Didn't you see that plane just come in? Maybe that was his. Just be patient."
Jackson eyed Max maliciously. "I waited for three months in a prison cell. I'm done waiting."
Max gave up. Jackson had no shred of patience in him. He'd say the man next to him was like a kid eager for a trip to an amusement park, but that was a terrible metaphor for a man ready to tear something apart amidst an entire room of military troops. Max decided distracting him was the best option. Crossing his arms, h
e thought long and hard for a question that would occupy them both while Jackson continued to mutter complaints next to him.
"Jackson, I was wondering," he started, "you've been in the Army for a while, right?"
"Yeah," Jackson replied, taking a break from his complaints, "why?"
"Well, not to be offensive, but wouldn't you be a higher rank than Private First Class by now? Like, E-5 or E-6? I mean, you're what, twenty-seven?"
Jackson glared at him. Max regretted the idea, though he was genuinely curious. He thought it was a good question. Jackson swore and stomped the floor with a boot. After a moment of welcome silence from the disgruntled man, he finally opened up.
"I've always had trouble with authority. I disobeyed direct orders on several occasions on my first few tours in the Middle East and tried to do things my own way. One of those times almost cost some lives, but I'd rather not get into that. I was on the verge of being discharged when a sergeant decided to take me under his command. I owe a lot to Sergeant Jerry Bates. The man gave me a second chance; twice actually," he said solemnly. “I almost threw it all away. Now I'm going to prove that he was right in putting his money on me."
"Still going to go renegade on this mission?" Max asked him.
Jackson shook his head. “No, I'll get along with these guys. Working against the tide is only going to fuck us all in the end. I had a lot of time to think about that."
"Good to hear," Max said with a grin. “Seems like you're willing to cooperate on your own."
"I'll do whatever it takes to kill the assholes responsible."
"Sound plan," Max said with a nod, "and then what?"
Jackson shrugged. “Hell if I know. For all I do know, they've probably got a suicide mission planned for me."
"As long as they don't send me with you," Max said jokingly.
Jackson punched his arm and laughed. “Shit, you and I are in this together. What would Katie say if I didn't bring your ass back to her?"
Max didn't want to think about it. Katie had handled the initial news surprisingly well. It wasn't until Max had left that morning that she had told him the truth. She didn't want to lose anyone else. He was all she had left. Of course, the same was true the other way around. He had promised her he'd be back, but Max was a realist. He knew there was a chance he'd die, but he didn't dare give a hint of that. She cried up until he left the room. There was nothing he could do. He'd been given no choice in the matter, and now he was about to leave her alone to travel halfway around the world to join the hunt for the group who was conspiring to end it.
Jackson popped him on the back of the head, "Hey, stop worrying. I'm not gonna' let you die. You'll make it back to her, got me?"
Max bit his lip and nodded. “Yeah, I hear you. Thanks, Jackson."
"Hey, do me a favor. Call me Zach. I only respond to Jackson in the Army."
Max held a finger up. “Uh...this-"
"Max, shut up."
"At least you're not griping anymore."
"Max. Shut. Up."
Max dropped his arm to his side with a smile. A small victory was still a victory. The people in the room began to fall silent from one side to the other. A large projector screen had descended behind the stage, and seconds later it was displaying a large emblem Jackson and Max had never seen before. The center depicted a wielded shovel being driven downward into a skull, and the phrase under it was in what looked like Latin. The words surrounding it on the outside of the emblem spoke of the scale of the unified forces. “Joint Task Force Grave Robber” had a nice ring to it. Jackson nudged Max's arm and pointed to the doors to the right that had just opened.
"I think it's time."
***
Hamilton wasn't surprised to see Major Hampton following General Houseman into the lobby, where hundreds of troops were gathered to listen to what the General had to say. As more amassed in the large room, Dr. Hamilton slipped in from the back and attempted to blend in with the crowd. Being the only guy wearing a brown coat and jeans surrounded by military forces didn't really strike him as conspicuous until he glanced around. Dumbass. You couldn't look more civilian if you tried.
"I'm not supposed to draw attention. A civilian isn't a scientist."
Yet a civilian is still going to look out of place in the middle of the armed forces. Especially one as chatty as you. No one else cares for your work, yet you still treat them all as boards to bounce ideas off of. Do you still find it hard to understand why those two guards were being smartasses towards you until you threatened to, and I quote, "use them to determine if the undead would actually drag themselves by the skin of their teeth to claim their meal after having all limbs removed?"
"Shut it."
The Marine in front of him turned around and shot him a threatening stare. “What did you say?"
Hamilton held up a hand and gave a false smile. “Nothing, nothing. Just ignore me."
"What?"
Hamilton quickly sought a way to disarm the situation. “Just...look! The address is about to start!"
General Houseman took to the front of the lobby and stood before the glass pane windows, looking around at the men and women before him. For an improvised gathering, Hamilton was impressed by the professionalism. The microphone was set to broadcast his voice over the airport PA system. "At ease, people! Those were some long flights in from Washington for most of you, and standing stiff as a board must not feel too comfortable right now!" That drew very little laughter, but this wasn't the time for jokes anyway. "Today marks the beginning of what has been decidedly dubbed Operation Worldbreaker! The goal of the operation is as follows; to locate, infiltrate, and utterly destroy the terrorist group know as the World to Come! Other than their location, their numbers and their potential are also unknown! We may be dealing with a few powerful individuals who are hiding behind a wall of walking corpses, or we may in fact be dealing with an army! It makes no difference, because the outcome will be the same! We will find them, we will crush them, and we will make them wish they never played God, let alone attacked our homeland!”
The usual cheers and "hoo-rahs" filled the lobby, and Hamilton was just glad that everyone was buying into the lie. Scapegoating was a useful method of instilling motivation, after all. Houseman waited for it to die down before continuing. "We're in this for the long run people! Once we've arrived in Europe, we're not coming back until we've accomplished our mission! Now, you've all been selected because of your expertise and experience! Everyone is vital to the success of this operation! Some of you will work intelligence with the CIA, some of you will be first responders to an outbreak near our base of operations, and some of you," he said as he looked in Dr. Hamilton's direction in the back, "will be utilized in special operations!"
Hamilton didn't like the stare he was given from the man of attention. He already knew of his own role in the days to come, but he didn't think his bad feeling could be pressured into expanding. You are fucked.
"More than likely," Hamilton muttered.
The Marine in front of Hamilton looked back at him again. "Man, you're creeping me out. Who the hell are you-"
"The next thing I'd like to go over is the enemy!” Houseman announced. “Many of you in here have encountered the undead, but I'd like to cover every detail about them! For that, I've brought an expert in! Dr. Hamilton!"
Hamilton straightened up at his name. He shook his head, but the General continued to motion for him to come forward. This is a bad idea.
Houseman smirked. "Don't be shy! Come on up here!"
Hamilton adjusted his coat and looked around. The Marine from before was eying him suspiciously. Hamilton took one shaky step forward as everyone parted to either side to let him through. "Um...all right."
Hamilton slowly approached the front of the room as all eyes were fixated upon him. He stood beside Houseman and gave a nervous wave to the crowd.
"Well, doctor," Houseman muttered, "enlighten them."
"Enlighten them about what, sir?" Hamilton
hissed back through his teeth.
Houseman gave him a stern look and raised an eyebrow. "The deadmen, Hamilton?"
"Oh, um...right," he said, clearing his throat, " I suppose I should start from the beginning. You see, years ago, there was a privately funded project that-"
"Doctor!" Houseman hissed, "Details on the undead! Weaknesses, strengths, those sorts of things!"
There was muffled discussion amongst the crowd as Hamilton swallowed his nervousness and continued. "Okay then, I'll skip to the basics. I'm sure most of you in this room grasp the general concept; the living are dying, but coming back to life. Well, this is possible because of the alteration of-"
"Hamilton," Houseman interrupted again. Hamilton looked over his shoulder at the General of the Army. Houseman shook his head disapprovingly at the doctor. "Not science; strategy."
Hamilton pushed his glasses up on his face and tried once more. "The undead may lack thought and precise function, but they're far from harmless. The newly turned still have basic motor skills, and retain simple thought patterns until the brain deteriorates to the point of primitive cannibalism. This means that some of the undead you encounter may in fact seem like they've retained connections to their human selves while their body slowly shuts down on them. They can be quite aware of their state of being before they've turned. After that, anything and everything translates to one thing for them; food. Any sound, any movement, and anything that triggers their senses will be relegated to the only thought they can still comprehend, and that is to feed. They bite into metal, into flesh, into wood, and probably into each other at some points. It's not that they only desire living meat, but that they will always be hungry, and always actively seeking a way to satisfy that endless famine. The only safety exists in being one of them. Why? I can't truthfully tell you, be it hormones, smell, or whatever else that keeps the dead from eating one another. I can tell you that we are only food to the infected. It's not religion. It's not magic. It's an unfortunate science that splits the top of the food chain into two opposing sides, if not propelling the infected further above.”