by Byrd, Daniel
There was no response. He knew he wasn't alone, but that was because he expected armed guards like before. The question was where Ruthven was…
You haven't heard his voice in a while now. If anything, I'd enjoy the peace before whatever they have you do.
“I can't enjoy the peace,” Hamilton uttered.
Is it because you're now cut off from the rest of the world?
“No, it's because you're still here.”
Remember the last time you were alone and surrounded by enemies?
“More freedom? Less stressful?”
Does that include killing Jul-
“Enough!” Hamilton shouted.
“My, my,” a familiar voice chided. “You really do not enjoy peace and calm, do you, doctor? I am curious as to why you are speaking with yourself.” Hamilton didn’t need to see to know that Ruthven was speaking. At least he knew he was still here, keeping an eye on him.
“I just don’t like having only myself to chat with.”
“You are not a fan of being alone?” Ruthven asked. Hamilton wished that the guy could see just how sincere his face was as he shook his head in response. Ruthven spoke in a friendly tone. “You are not alone anymore, Dr. Hamilton. Your new employer looks forward to working with you.”
“So that’s not you after all?” Hamilton inquired. He was going to dig for information while he could.
“No, I am just here to ensure your safe delivery.”
“That’s what the last guys said, and then we were shot at, remember?”
“Well, I did not account for outsiders, but they will be disposed of momentarily.”
Hamilton remembered Ruthven discussing something over a cell phone on the train ride. Unfortunately, all that was said was in German, and Hamilton only knew ten words at best. “So, was that what that talk was about?”
“Hm? Oh, that discussion from earlier? Sorry, I was not trying to be a rude host, but I am a busy man.”
“Ruthven, I’m curious. You’re a man of rational thought. You have to be. You were reacting so calmly the entire time we were under fire in Berlin. You’ve put a lot of time into ensuring this plan to get me would go so well. Who are you, really?”
An audible grunt was made. Hamilton waited for an answer, and when Ruthven spoke again there was much more aggression in his tone. “Dr. Hamilton, I am a man who is growing tired of your inquisitive personality. I understand that you are an intelligent individual who thinks that he can manipulate others and get around rules, but you will only discern that I have a much more sinister side. Stop asking questions.”
“And you said that I was impatient,” Hamilton remarked.
“Okay, Ren,” Ruthven said with a sigh. “One time.”
Even with the sack over his head Hamilton saw the impact coming. He knew that his words sometimes got the better of people, but where it was normally humorous, this time it was pretty damned scary. For the next minute his head swam while his mind berated him for bringing on the punishment.
“We will be there shortly,” Ruthven stated in a much softer tone, despite what had just happened. “Just don’t give me another reason to have Ren strike you.”
A radio crackled, and Ruthven spoke in what Hamilton could only assume was…Italian?
It’s another language. Just how many does that guy know? We don’t even speak French properly and he’s showing off at this point.
“I don’t think it’s showing off,” Hamilton muttered. Whatever was being said must’ve been pretty important, because Ruthven addressed whoever else was in the chopper too, minus Hamilton. Hamilton could only break through so many barries; ethics, religious, moral, and even mental barriers. Unfortunately, language barriers were their own league of challenging. Another voice next to Hamilton responded in Italian, and soon Hamilton felt like a kid left out of a group of friends.
That’s not new at all.
“Shut up,” he hissed.
“Hey!” The voice next to him shouted. “Stop talking! You’re creeping me out!”
Good. At least you’re maintaining your cover. Just like Houseman wanted.
“It’s not that hard…”
“I said shut up!” the voice barked again. Hamilton held his middle finger up to his left, and it was immediately grabbed and twisted. He let out a yelp as he felt a pop. “I noticed you're missing one finger. Want to make it two? Sir, with all due respect, do we require him any longer? We have what we need, and I’d like permission to kick him out of the door.”
“Let him go, Ren,” Ruthven replied with a sigh, “he’s still needed.”
Hamilton actually gasped as his finger was released. He grabbed it and pulled until he was sure it wasn’t broken.
“Hamilton, please behave,” Ruthven chided. “You’re not twelve.”
And you’re not the boss.
Hamilton let the words sink in. Maybe the voice in his head was onto something…
A coughing fit overtook his mental process. It sounded like someone was having a hard time with their lungs. Following that was a mild groan, that slowly worked its way up to a scream that threatened to trigger Hamilton’s PTSD of the event in Washington.
Happy thoughts, happy thoughts! Don't start freaking out in a helicopter! You might end up flying outside after all!
“Sir!” The one Ruthven had called Ren sounded like he'd left the seat next to Hamilton. There was a lot of commotion going on across from him now. “You've been gone too long! You shouldn't have been sent on this assignment! You need-”
“Shut…up!” The roar sounded unlike anything Hamilton had ever heard.
What the fuck is on this helicopter with us?
“Mr. Ruthven, please! Let me grab the medical kit and-”
“Leave me…alone!”
There was a struggle going on, and Hamilton wanted to remove the bag and see what the hell was happening. His hand had barely left his lap when something seized him by the wrist of his coat sleeve. All was calm again.
“No need to be concerned, doctor,” Ruthven wheezed. “I'm just a very sick man, but fortunately people like you can cure it.”
Cure what?
“Perhaps if I knew of the ailment? I'm not exactly a medical doctor. Prognosis of diseases requires-”
Ruthven let a hoarse laugh escape. “In time, Hamilton. We’ll be there shortly.”
What have we gotten ourselves into?
***
“Jesus Christ.”
General Houseman had just gotten off the phone with the Inspector of the German Army. Everything that could go wrong was going wrong. Damn you, Murphy.
“Sir!” Major Hampton shouted from across the room. “The reports from smaller settlements outside of Oranienburg are confirming that multiple explosions could be heard followed by tremors. They say it was like an earthquake!”
“Is anyone on scene yet?!” Houseman barked.
“Negative!” someone replied. “We have forces inbound, and the German Army is on the way too! With what happened in Berlin, sir, our attention is divided at the moment!”
“Then focus our forces on Oranienburg! Get planes in the air! Launch what we can spare! I want that area covered!” Houseman ordered. “The Germans have Berlin under their control!”
“Yes sir!”
Houseman began pacing back and forth from one wall to another while others sat around tables, laptops, and at the door ready to alert troops at a moment’s notice. This was all going so wrong. First, Hamilton’s tracking signal from his chip vanished once he was in Berlin, and the one for his shoe remained at the memorial. Then, reports of gunfire, and then helicopters fleeing the city. Finally, whatever the hell was happening north of all of that. They were being thrown for a loop, and had no idea where Hamilton was anymore.
“Sir!”
Houseman dared to look at Hampton for fear of more bad news to stack atop the rest. “What?!”
“We've got confirmed reports of the undead in Leipzig!”
“South of Berli
n?!” Houseman roared with fury and kicked a rolling chair across the floor. Deadmen, living men, all were pissing him off. He'd have to prepare a report for Loft soon, and he knew that the last thing the president wanted to hear was that the plan had failed before it even lifted off.
Hampton knew he had to ask the hard question for the sake of everyone else. “Sir, what do we do about Hamilton?”
Houseman composed himself and went to pick the chair up. “We’re going to have to count on him.”
“Sir, he was told not to contact us.”
Houseman actually had to grin at the thought. “We’re talking about Dr. Evan Hamilton. You've seen his personal files. Have you ever known rules that apply to that egotistical bastard?”
Hampton was surprised. “Sir, do you really have that much confidence in that man?”
Houseman kept up his smile, but his gaze fell to the floor. Someone has to have faith in something right now.
***
Captain Allen Davenport couldn't be happier as he taxied his plane onto the runway. This was all he wanted; the freedom of the sky was his favorite place in the entire world.
“Yeeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaaw!”
The afterburners ignited the air as the F-15 roared down the runway and ascended towards the heavens.
“Altitude restrictions cancelled. Good luck, Loudmouth.”
“Flying dry to conserve fuel.” Davenport looked at all of his readings. “Yeah, I'll be just fine.”
Another voice began to chirp into his transmission. “Captain Davenport, good to know you're finally joining us in the great blue above. Try and keep up, would ya’?”
Davenport smirked underneath his helmet. He may not have gotten along with McCall’s wingmen, but he had some respect for his friendly rivalry. “Roger that, Newt.”
“That's my old name!” McCall shouted into his ear. “How the hell do you know that?!”
“I’ve heard your rookie stories,” Davenport replied mockingly, “and trust me, I'm happy being told I talk to much versus what you did as a nugget. You were a damn plumber.”
“Those were the old days.”
“Yet here you are now, Mother Goose.”
“Not a fan of that one either…”
“Hey, it's a compliment. I mean just look at the fine pilots that have come and gone under your wings.”
“I'm glad I don't have a weird callsign like you two.” Bartlett’s voice added.
“It comes with experience, Peacemaker,” Davenport replied. It was true, though those experiences were usually the bad ones. He knew enough pilots with names that made them groan more than it made them laugh. Still, Bartlett’s couldn't be any more fitting…or ironic.
“All squadrons are airborne,” a commanding voice stated, “now we can get to the emergency briefing.”
“About time,” Davenport remarked.
“Loudmouth, right? Cut your chatter and listen. Mission parameters are as follows: Identify the status of the city of Oranienburg, and keep a lookout for any hostiles. You are not to engage unless directed to do so.”
“You guys take the fun out of everything.”
“Loudmouth, shut up. If you're trying to live up to your name then I guess I can have you grounded so we can discuss a new one. How does ‘insubordination’ sound?”
Davenport swallowed his pride and responded with annoyance. “I'll behave.”
“You'll have to excuse Loudmouth, sir,” Bartlett came on over the radio, “he's flying fangs out today.”
“I don't care. Your orders are to survey and await instructions from German ground forces that will identify any hostiles. Their own birds will be between there and Berlin.”
“May I ask what we're searching for? From what I've heard, sounds like bombers, yet we’re equipped with unguided bombs.”
“Enough talk, Loudmouth. I am required to inform you that multiple helicopters bearing red and black colors were seen departing from the Berlin area. You are not to engage them.”
“Helos? Any ties with what’s going on?”
“I repeat,” the guy sounded aggravated now, “do not engage. Maintain radio silence until further notice.”
Davenport made a mocking face as he silently mimicked the order. He didn't like any of this. They didn't know what the fuck they were doing other than patrolling. The brass were hiding something, and he was risking his life over secrets. Welcome to the military.
Most people thought about things while driving, but Davenport preferred doing that thousands of feet higher at a cruising speed of 570 mph. For the first time ever, Davenport was silent as he approached the mission area.
Chapter Nineteen - As the Dust Settles
Ringing. That's all Max could hear as he sat up in the backseat of the car. The windows were already gone, so they had little protection from the rush of wind. He still wasn't so sure what had happened. One moment they were driving into the city, and the next they were knocked off of the road and into a building. Blinking the dust from his eyes, he looked around the interior of the car. Roman was missing, and Mikhail was breathing heavily up front. Jackson was leaning over the dash, his back heaving ever so slowly.
“Jackson?” Max coughed. No response.
“He is unconscious,” Mikhail sputtered. He coughed a bit more before trying again. “Are you injured?”
Max didn't feel much pain as he shifted around in the backseat. Bruising would come, but he was relatively fine. “No, I don't think so.”
“Good. That is good.”
“Where's the other guy? Roman?”
Milkhall coughed again before replying, “He is already out and about. He is scouting out the situation.”
Max peered outside, leaning out of the broken window. Dust was in the air, so he couldn't see very far. Squinting didn't help. Rays of sunlight cut through the eerie setting. He couldn't see anyone out there.
“Just sit still,” Milkhall told him, “no need to move just yet.”
“It's hard to breathe,” Max complained.
“Calm yourself. No need to panic. You are alive.”
A distant scream could be heard. Max cringed. It tore through the empty gray out there. It wouldn't stop. Max grabbed the handle of his door and forced it open. With a protesting groan against the chassis it obeyed, and soon after he was walking out into the dust as Mikhail called out to him. Max wasn't listening. All around him he could hear cries of terror, of pain…of complete anguish.
Someone was shouting in German. Max looked to his right to see a shadow emerge from the gray, bloodied and shredded. He'd seen deadmen, but this man was alive. The man was still conscious and quite aware of his own pain and fear. He wasn't a maddened corpse ready to ravish. He was an innocent person who was seeking help as he cried out.
He must've seen Max, because he was approaching with an outstretched hand. Max’s breathing grew faster and faster. He couldn't sound out any of the words in his head, but it didn't matter. The man got within feet of him before dropping to the ground with the loudest thud imaginable. It was sickening. Max didn't know what to do. How could he help? The shrieks drilled into his ears as he dropped to the ground, hands over them and tears forming. This was war. This was what it looked like. It wasn't just bullets flying and lives lost. It was sheer terror. It was unknown. It wasn't a place he wanted to exist in.
“Child.”
A hand snatched Max’s right arm away from his head. He was being shaken by someone, but nothing was going to get him away from here. Even if they did, his eyes had already etched the image into his brain for life. He'd still be there.
“Child, there was nothing you could do.” Max finally realized it was Roman’s voice. There was sincerity in his tone. That was new. “This was a bombing. I am not sure how it was done, but it was nothing we were prepared for.”
Max sat in his shell shocked state as the howls of the dying echoed across the new wasteland of dirt and grime dancing in the light that dared to trespass on this tragic scene.
“
When you are done moping over what you had no control over, I will be speaking with Mikhail about procuring a means of travel out of here…if we can.”
“Why did this happen…” Max uttered. “These people weren't infected…were they?”
“No,” Roman stated. “They are the casualties of war. It is a sad fact that you must come to terms with. Did this not occur in your home country?”
“But…we weren't told that this would be done here.”
“Enough of your anguish.” There was his usual tone. “Swallow it. We are alive, and we have to move on. I would like to leave you here, but that is not an option. There is still much you two know that we do not.”
Max’s fingers curled into fists, and he turned to face Roman. The man was caked in gray, from his hair to his clothing.
“What difference does it make?! We told you what we know!”
Roman shook his head as the dust continued to slowly fall upon them both. “Not enough. The other has a military background. He will prove vital.”
“Fuck you! We're not your prisoners!”
“You are right, but you will help regardless. Unless you want more of this to occur.” Roman gestured around them. “You are not really needed. You are just a child. You do not belong here.”
“You do?”
Roman uttered something angrily before replying, “You should have waited in the car.”
“And what?!”
“Not stand here and become useless.”
That did it. Max moved to throw a punch, but Roman read his signals like an open book. A gunshot to the leg didn’t hinder the guy at all. Max never stood a chance. Seconds later he was on his back, and Roman was glaring down at him.
“Stay here if you will. I have things to do, and people to hunt down.”
Max didn't bother getting up. Roman gave him a subtle nod and stepped over him, but a sight in the foggy debris made him stop. Max stretched his neck to look at the upside down world behind him. There was a strange shape in the dust hobbling towards them.
“Deadman?” Max asked.
“I am not sure,” Roman replied as he drew his gun and prepared himself. The figure suddenly became two as one dropped to the ground. The shape was humanoid, and it too appeared to ready itself. Max rolled over and started pushing himself up.