10
Zeke paced at one end of the CDC Headquarters conference room. "Where the hell is Howell? We've been here over an hour."
Wayne sat back in a chair with his hands behind his head. "I'd like to get going, too, but the fastest way is through Howell. It does no good to be impatient."
A sharp rap came from the open door and Sergeant Howell strolled in, his uniform crisp and clean. "Sorry to keep you waiting, but I'm still clearing some things up."
He sat at the end of the conference table and stared at Zeke. "Have a seat.”
Zeke pulled out a chair and plopped into it. "Where's Jen?"
Howell leaned forward on the table. "I've got a lot to tell you, and Jen’s only part of it."
Zeke crossed his arms. "Where’s Jen?"
Howell sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Last we know, she and D-Day were heading toward St. Louis. That was a number of hours ago."
"Then we’ll be going there," Zeke said. "Any chance of getting a car?"
"If you listen to what I fucking have to say, I'll get you out there quicker than that," Howell said.
"All right, all right.” Zeke put his hands up. "I'm listening."
"There’s a conspiracy that goes to the highest levels of government,” Howell said. "And the members of this conspiracy caused the virus."
Wayne sat up straight. "You've got to be shitting me."
Howell shook his head. "Dr. Cartwright was a major player in the conspiracy. From what I've been able to gather, she had imprisoned Jen in this building’s basement, but Jen was able to escape."
"That's my girl," Wayne said.
"You said Cartwright ‘was’ in the conspiracy," Zeke said. “She’s dead?”
Howell nodded. "But the conspiracy is still alive and well. That's why you were targeted."
Zeke stood. “And if they’re targeting us, they have to be targeting Jen, too.”
“All civilian and federal law enforcement agencies have been alerted to apprehend her,” Howell said. “And I recently discovered that the military is hunting her, too.”
“How about your promise to get us to St. Louis quickly?” Zeke said.
Howell picked up a phone and punched a few numbers.
“This is Howell. I want our Blackhawk ready to go in five.”
He hung up. “We’ll need to stop and refuel once on the way, but we should be there in a few hours.”
“We?” Zeke asked. “You’re coming?”
Howell strode toward the door. “It’ll be like old times. Let’s get armed up. We’re wheels up in five.”
He led them to the armory, where they checked out new pistols and M4s, then went directly to the roof. A Blackhawk fired up its engine as they approached.
“Where’d you get this?” Zeke yelled. “Cartwright couldn’t even tear one of these things away from the military.”
“Cartwright wasn’t in the Army. I know a lot of soldiers who owe me favors.”
Zeke strapped himself in and helped Wayne get settled. The helicopter lifted from the CDC’s roof and flew northeast.
11
Jen whipped her pistol out and aimed it at the soldiers. The corporal who had recognized her froze halfway out of his seat.
She gestured with her gun. “Why don’t you sit back down?”
The soldier eased into the seat.
“Hands where we can see them,” D-Day said. He positioned himself next to Jen, his shotgun pointed toward the soldiers.
Donna stood with her mouth hanging open.
“Donna,” Jen said. “Come around the counter, please.”
Donna looked at her, but didn’t move.
“Everything will be alright,” Jen said. “Promise.”
Donna shuffled to the front of the counter.
“The booth next to theirs.” D-Day gestured to the soldiers. “Take a seat.”
Donna slid in and slumped in the corner of the booth.
A burst of static came from the soldiers, and a muffled voice said something.
“Who’s got the radio?” Jen asked.
A pimply private waved a hand. “Me.”
“Where is it?” D-Day asked.
“On the seat next to me.”
“I want you to slowly pick it up and put it on the table,” Jen said.
The private nodded, then eased his hand to his left and lifted a radio into view.
“Put it on the table,” D-Day said.
The private laid it down in front of him, then raised his hand back over his head.
Another burst of static. “Command to Charlie Twenty-Three. Command to Charlie Two Three. What’s your status?”
The private’s eyes got big and he looked away from Jen’s piercing gaze.
“Answer that,” she said.
D-Day looked at her and arched a brow, but aimed down his sight at the private. “You heard her.”
The private reached for the radio, but the corporal grabbed his forearm. He glared at Jen. “What makes you think that’s us?”
Jen snapped her pistol’s action back, chambering a round. “Get your hand off him.”
The corporal released his grip and the private picked up the radio just as the voice said, “Charlie Twenty-three, this is command. Over.”
The private keyed the mic. “Command, this is Charlie Twenty-Three.”
“What’s your status?”
“Inactive. Getting something to—”
“Under duress,” the corporal shouted. “Hostiles.”
Jen rushed forward and knocked the radio from the private’s hand. The corporal rocketed from his seat and drove her to the floor, knocking the wind from her lungs.
The radio crackled. “All units converge on the Washington Avenue Diner. Charlie Twenty-Three is down. I repeat, Charlie Twenty-Three is down.”
Jen wriggled to get the corporal off, but he pressed down on her, his hands around her throat.
She caught a flash of D-Day’s gun butt driving into one soldier’s temple while another swung at his head and missed.
Jen struggled to breathe, but the corporal pressed harder. Losing consciousness.
She clawed at his face, but her strength had ebbed and he swatted her hands away. Motes swam before her eyes. A body flew past her line of sight followed by a dull thud.
Is this how it feels to die?
Lungs burning, she flailed at the corporal. His face loomed over her, his lips were pulled back in a snarl, and his eyes grew wide and crazed.
Eyes. My eyes.
Jen reached up and knocked her sunglasses off. The sergeant’s face went slack and his grip loosened. Jen took a heaving breath and coughed.
“What the hell are you?” he said.
A gun butt slammed into the back of his head and he collapsed on top of her.
D-Day pulled him off and put out a hand. “Gotta get out of here.”
Deep coughs wracked Jen’s body. D-Day lifted her and set her on her feet. She swayed, but stayed upright. Unable to answer him, she nodded.
Donna still sat in the booth, her back against the wall and her knees to her chin. She shivered.
“Are...are you OK?” Jen stammered.
Donna stared at her and shivered harder.
What the hell?
Jen put a hand to her face. The sunglasses. My eyes. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
D-Day stood in the doorway. “Let’s go.”
Tires squealed outside and D-Day stuck his head out the door. He jumped back, slammed the door shut, and turned the deadbolt. “A Humvee and two crew cabs full of pissed-off soldiers just pulled up.”
Jen stumbled to the kitchen. “There has to be a back door.”
D-Day raced past her and through another doorway past the refrigerator. Jen glanced back to the dining area. Donna was unlocking the front door.
Shit.
Jen hurried through the kitchen and into the hallway D-Day had entered. He stood at a door six yards away, holding it open. “You’re going to have to move
quicker.”
Jen jogged to the doorway and grabbed it to keep herself steady. Fresh air slapped her face and she inhaled as deep as she could. The motes disappeared from her vision and she pushed out into an alleyway.
Shouting voices came from the diner as D-Day slammed the door and dragged a couple of trash cans in front of it. He took her hand and pulled her along the alleyway. “That won’t keep them,” he said.
Banging came from the door. We’ll never make it.
Jen and D-Day burst onto the street and raced to the other side then turned left. A bang came from the alleyway they’d just left.
“They’ve broken through the door,” D-Day said.
A Humvee, maybe the same one D-Day had described, careened around the corner and headed straight for them. Jen’s adrenaline kicked in and she sprinted between buildings with D-Day leading the way.
The Humvee screeched to a halt behind them and doors slammed shut. She dared one glance backward. Three soldiers, their M4s at the ready, dashed into the alleyway.
These guys are just doing their jobs. I don’t want to shoot them.
D-Day reached the next street, and Jen follow him onto the sidewalk. He stopped and she slammed into him and fell on her ass.
A dozen soldiers stood in a semicircle around them, their M4s aimed at their chests.
12
The Blackhawk settled to the tarmac as a military jet blasted off the end of the runway. Even with headphones on, Zeke cringed at the roar of jet engines.
A crew cab truck pulled up twenty yards from the helicopter and a soldier climbed out. Zeke and Wayne followed Howell as he ducked out of the helicopter and jogged to the truck.
“Get in,” Howell said.
The driver took them to a low-slung building at the other end of the flight line. A sign out front said Operations. Zeke hopped out and he and Wayne stayed on Howell’s heels as he entered the building.
Several soldiers and a civilian sat at desks along a bland tan wall. The civilian looked up as they entered.
“Sergeant Howell,” he said.
“Any word on Jen Reed?” Howell asked.
“As a matter of fact, she and her companion were picked up not long ago.”
“In St. Louis?”
“That’s correct.”
Zeke’s heart leapt. “When will she get here?”
The civilian tipped his head forward and peered over his glasses at Zeke.
“That’s a good question,” Howell said.
“They’re not bringing her here,” the civilian said. “They’re detaining her elsewhere.”
“You mean she’s a prisoner again?” Wayne said.
Howell put a hand on each of the brother’s shoulders and turned them away. “Let me handle this, guys,” he whispered. “We’ll get her.”
Zeke frowned, but bit his lip. Never letting her go off on her own again.
Howell leaned on the civilian’s desk and spoke to him in low tones.
The civilian answered, then Howell leaned down until his face almost touched the civilian’s. The civilian stared into Howell’s eyes as the sergeant spoke.
Howell straightened. “Where is she?”
The civilian’s face had gone white. He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Howell.
“Come on.” Howell hurried out of the building.
Zeke looked at Wayne, who raised an eyebrow and said, “Glad he’s on our side.”
Howell opened the driver’s door and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got this. Report back to your station.”
The driver nodded and left.
Zeke hopped in next to Howell, and Wayne took the back. “She’s not far away,” Howell said.
They left the heavy military traffic of the airport and navigated to a near-deserted three-lane road heading southeast. “She’s about fifteen minutes out,” Howell said.
Howell had the truck doing better than fifty miles an hour. He passed two civilian vehicles heading the same direction and a Humvee driving the opposite way. The number of lanes dropped to two, and a few minutes later a sign told them they were on Dr. Martin Luther King Drive.
The buildings turned from residential to industrial as skyscrapers appeared in the near distance.
A one-story white building came up on the right as Howell slowed the vehicle. Surrounded by a ten-foot-high chain link fence, the building had no windows. An armed soldier stood at the gate and put up a hand as the truck approached.
Howell pulled up and rolled down his window. He flashed his ID. “Howell. You should have been told I was coming.”
The soldier looked at Howell, then leaned down and peered at Zeke and Wayne. He backed away and spoke into a radio.
“What’d he say?” Zeke asked.
Wayne frowned. “Can’t hear him.”
The soldier stepped forward. “You’ll have to back up and leave. You’re not authorized to enter.”
“Son of a bitch.” Howell jammed the transmission into park and flung the door open, just missing the guard by an inch.
The guard put a hand on his sidearm. “Get back in your vehicle.”
Howell paused. “Let me speak to whoever’s in charge.”
“Get back in your vehicle and leave,” the soldier said. “Deadly force is authorized at this facility.”
Zeke nudged Wayne and eased his pistol out. “We need to back Howell up,” he whispered.
Wayne slid his handgun from its holster.
Howell’s voice dropped. Zeke strained to hear him. What’s he saying?
The soldier scowled, but spoke into his radio. Howell leaned into the open driver’s side window. “You guys hang tight. I’ve got this. Red tape.” He winked then walked with the guard a dozen yards toward the building.
Zeke and Wayne exchanged glances. “I don’t like this,” Zeke said.
A door opened in the center of the building and an older balding soldier stormed toward Howell.
“This guy looks like someone up the chain,” Wayne said.
“An officer,” Zeke agreed.
Gesturing emphatically, the officer snapped at Howell. Howell pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and shoved it at the officer, who snatched it from his hands and opened it.
As the officer read, his shoulders lowered and he no longer looked like he was ready to jump Howell.
Looking up from the paper, he handed it back to Howell, then nodded.
Howell jogged back to the truck and slipped behind the wheel. “Let’s go get our girl.”
13
Jen stared at the guard in the corner of the room. The soldier’s gaze was on the wall above her head, but it drifted down until his eyes met hers and jerked away.
“Don’t like these baby yellows, do you?” she said.
The guard remained tight-lipped.
She sighed and sat back in the worn metal chair. The chains between her handcuffs rustled. Is D-Day close by? Are they boring him to death, too?
The door opened and a balding, middle-aged soldier with an eagle on his shoulder strode in. He looked at the guard and jerked his head toward the door. The guard closed the door behind him.
“I’m Colonel Vesich.” He pulled out the chair opposite Jen and sat, his eyes never leaving hers. “I have some questions.”
Jen fought the urge to lick her lips. Just stare. Make him uncomfortable. “So do I. For one thing, what right do you have to imprison a federal agent?”
Vesich’s eyes narrowed. He’s not used to back talk. This ought to be fun.
“I don’t answer questions,” he said. “I ask them.”
“Why’s that?”
The corners of Vesich’s mouth twitched.
This asshole’s going to be easy to rattle.
“I’m Intel Commander in this sector,” he said.
Jen leaned forward. “I don’t care if you’re Colonel of the Urinal. I’m not telling you shit until you give me some answers.”
Vesich’s face tightened and his hands clenched
into fists. Jen glanced at them. “Gonna beat it out of me, asshole?”
The colonel pushed himself to his feet, his chair sliding back and bouncing off the wall. “You piece of shit.” He pointed a trembling finger at her. “You’re going to answer my questions one way or another.”
That was easy.
A knock came from the door. Vesich ignored it.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
Others? Does he mean Zeke and Wayne?
“If they were up your ass you’d know it.”
The door cracked open. “Colonel?”
Vesich spun around. “What the hell do you want?” Spittle flew from his mouth. “Can’t you see I’m interrogating the detainee?”
“It’s urgent, sir.”
Vesich jerked the door open and stepped into the hall. A senior-looking soldier with an impassive face spoke to Vesich in a hushed tone.
The colonel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Fine. I’ll take care of it.”
The soldier left. Vesich turned toward Jen and grasped the doorknob. “I won’t be long,” he said. “If you still want to be a smart-ass when I get back, then we’ll have a little wall-to-wall conversation.”
He slammed the door.
Jen took a deep breath. Don’t push him too far. He looks like the kind that would enjoy beating a helpless prisoner.
She strained to hear any movement behind the door, then wriggled her hands and tried to pull them through the cuffs for the hundredth time. Shit.
Her gaze strayed to the ceiling. A small mic hung six inches from a rafter.
“Anyone there? Yoo hoo. Why don’t one of you frag that asshole colonel of yours? I’ll bet he treats you like shit, too.”
She sighed. “I fought with the military at Fairchild. Any of you guys hear about that one? Zombie city.” She lowered her head. “A lot of brave soldiers died there.”
She pulled on her cuffs. “Brave soldiers that didn’t hide behind walls and microphones.”
“D-Day,” she yelled. “Do you hear me?”
Nothing. She leaned back and closed her eyes. If that bald asshole comes back and tries something, I’m going to bite him. Then we’ll see if I can infect humans.
The Zombie Uprising Series: Books One Through Five Page 63