“Blow the door,” said David, clearing the area.
Howard followed him, counting down from two. David never heard zero. The breaching charge detonated with a thunderous crack, shooting splinters onto the dark brown laminate floor. The door swung on its hinges into the apartment, a jagged, two-foot-wide hole missing where the door handle had been.
David hurried through the entrance into the smoky space, relieved to see a figure on the couch—safe at the other end of the apartment.
“Dr. Hale? My name is David Olson. I’m a friend of Dr. Eugene Chang. He sent us to get you out of here.”
The doctor backed up toward the balcony slider, grabbing a kitchen knife from the coffee table in front of the couch.
“This doesn’t feel like a rescue,” she said.
“Dr. Hale, I don’t have time to explain,” he said, digging through his vest for his badge. “Dr. Chang is at NevoTech. I volunteered to come here with a few other law enforcement officers. I’m a cop with the Westfield PD.”
He tossed his badge in her direction, the wallet bouncing off the coffee table and landing near her feet. She picked it up and examined it.
“This isn’t Westfield,” she said, throwing it back.
Howard’s rifle shattered the temporary quiet, barking twice.
“We’re running out of time!” yelled Howard.
David’s earpiece crackled. “I hear gunfire. What’s your status?”
“Howard is keeping that last shooter off our ass. I’m trying to convince Dr. Hale to come with us,” said David. “She’s not convinced.”
“Just grab her and get the hell out of there!” said Larsen.
“She’s holding a knife,” said David. “And we can’t exactly go anywhere with a shooter on the loose.”
“Copy that. I’ll be right there,” said Larsen. “Keep the shooter occupied.”
“Be careful entering the stairwell,” said David. “The doors make a lot of noise.”
“Is that Chang?” said Hale, still holding the knife in front of her.
“Can you move away from the balcony slider?” said David. “It’s not safe.”
Howard fired again, causing Hale to flinch.
“And this is?” said Hale.
“They sent a team to kill Chang. We spotted them in the apartment building directly across the street,” said David. “There might be more. We don’t know.”
She moved away from the slider, cautiously making her way to the hallway entrance on the right side of the apartment.
“Where are they now?” she said.
“The last one is in the hallway out there, trying to kill us,” said David. “The rest are dead.”
“I’m not sure what this guy is doing. He hasn’t fired a shot. I think he might be trying to surrender,” said Howard.
“What makes you think that?”
“He stuck his hands out of the doorway and yelled something,” said Howard. “I can’t hear a damn thing after that door charge.”
“Pass that along to Larsen,” said David. “He should be coming up behind the guy in a few seconds.”
“Got it.”
While Howard’s conversation with Larsen played out over the radio net, David continued his negotiation with Dr. Hale, who still didn’t look convinced that they were here to help.
“We need to get you back to NevoTech, a few blocks away. It’s completely locked down. Completely safe,” said David. “Over two hundred company employees and family members are hiding out on campus. Many of them injured. They really need your help over there. The campus has a fully stocked infirmary, even some surgical equipment. The only thing they don’t have is a doctor.”
“It all sounds a little too convenient,” she said, her skeptical look slightly fading.
“Ma’am,” interrupted Howard, “I’m head of security at NevoTech. We’re doing everything we can to help the people that made it onto campus, but some of them are severely injured and simply won’t survive without the help of a doctor. That’s why I volunteered for this mission. An emergency room doctor is exactly what we need.”
“I was just doing a rotation through the ER,” said Hale.
“Well, in that case…” said David, trying to get her to crack a smile. “Seriously. We need your help. My son is with them. We’ve put everything on the line to bring you back. You can’t stay here.”
“Especially now that you blasted the door apart,” she said.
“Even if the door was completely intact, it would only be a matter of time before this place wouldn’t be safe,” said David. “You’ve seen what’s happening out there, right? This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. It’s already near impossible to walk down the streets without getting ripped to pieces. Please come with us. I promise we’ll keep you safe.”
He could tell she was giving it serious thought.
“Time to make a choice,” said David. “Once we leave, that’s it. You’re on your own.”
She lowered the knife, still holding it tight.
“Why would anyone want Dr. Chang dead?” she said. “I can’t wrap my head around that part.”
“Chang specializes in the kind of virus that was released in Indianapolis,” said David. “All over the country, actually.”
“Released?” she said. “Wait. This isn’t confined to Indianapolis?”
“He thinks this was a bioweapons attack. And yes, at least twenty more cities have been hit with the same thing,” said David.
“Who attacked us?” said Hale. “What does that have to do with people wanting to kill Chang?”
“We really don’t have time for this, Dr. Hale,” said David. “Chang can explain his theories when we get back to NevoTech. He thinks the government is involved. Maybe the military.”
She cocked her head slightly, indicating that something he said had resonated with her.
“Are you coming or staying?” he said.
“I’m coming,” she said.
“Then I need you to leave the knife behind,” said David.
“I’m not giving up my only insurance,” said Hale. “Plus I thought you said it was dangerous out there.”
“It is, and that knife won’t help you much,” said David, drawing his pistol and offering it to her. “You’ll be much better off with this until we can get you a rifle.”
She reluctantly accepted the pistol, still keeping her distance.
“How are we getting out of here, exactly?” she said, nodding at Howard, who was pressed against the shattered door frame, rifle aimed down the hallway.
“We’re working on that,” said David, pressing his transmit button. “Larsen, what’s the status on the guy in the stairwell?”
“Under control,” said Larsen. “Give me a second or two. Out.”
He turned to Dr. Hale with a raised eyebrow. “I’m told everything is under control.”
“You don’t look convinced.”
“That’s because nothing has been under control for the past twenty-four hours.”
Chapter 18
Larsen took his hand away from the transmit button, his rifle held perfectly level with the other hand. Stansfield stood against the concrete wall, his hands interlocked over his head. A rifle similar to his own lay on the stairwell floor several feet away, kicked out of reach by the operative a few seconds earlier.
“What’s the story, Stan?” said Larsen.
“You tell me. This whole thing is a cluster fuck,” said Stansfield. “I just want to go home.”
“You nearly took my head off,” said Larsen.
“Dude, I recognized the helmet and put three rounds into the concrete wall a few inches below your face. Two more just above your head to keep you from spilling my brains onto the street. You didn’t seem to have any hesitation laying waste to the rest of us.”
“I figured you gave me a pass. That’s the only reason I didn’t shoot you on sight,” said Larsen, pausing. “I had to take out Ochoa. I knew he’d kill me on sight. Same
with Rock. Ripley seemed alright.”
“Ripley would have killed you just the same,” said Stansfield. “The team was a bit high-strung for my tastes.”
“They’re all dead,” said Larsen.
“Ochoa is still alive,” said Stansfield. “Sounds like he’s in a bad way, but he’s still there.”
“Great,” said Larsen, transmitting to the team. “Get Hale out of the apartment. We still have one active shooter out there.”
“I thought you got them all,” said David.
“One of them is wounded, but still in the game. Get her out of there immediately before you take a full mag through the windows.”
“What about the shooter in the stairwell?”
“I have him in custody. You’re clear to move,” said Larsen.
“On our way.”
“Dr. Hale is the woman we saw?” said Stansfield. “What does she have to do with this?”
“Nothing. Friend of Chang’s,” said Larsen.
“Where’s Chang?”
“Safe.”
“Ochoa says we have orders to capture or kill him. Wasn’t that way when we jumped,” said Stansfield.
“Wasn’t for me either,” said Larsen. “The orders changed as soon as I reported that we’d landed. I didn’t buy it for a second.”
“Neither did I,” said Stansfield. “But I would have killed him if it meant I could get the fuck out of here.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” said Larsen, wondering if keeping Stansfield alive would be more trouble than it was worth.
He couldn’t kill the guy in cold blood, but maybe they could tie him up inside Chang’s apartment and…that would be the same as killing him.
“Will you help me get Ochoa?” said Larsen.
“If that gets me home,” said Stansfield.
“It might,” said Larsen. “Unfortunately, there are no guarantees out there. Things are beyond our control.”
“I’ll do it.”
“All right. First things first. I need your pistol,” said Larsen.
“Do you want me to lie flat—”
“No time for that,” said Larsen. “Turn around, remove the pistol and toss it behind you.”
Stansfield faced the wall and unstrapped his holster, flinging the pistol toward Larsen’s feet. A knife followed, clattering across the brushed concrete floor.
“Any grenades?” said Larsen.
“Negative.”
The soft shuffle of feet outside the propped-open door caught Larsen’s attention.
“Larsen?”
“We’re good in here,” said Larsen. “Subject is disarmed, in the corner of the stairwell to your immediate left. When you enter, hug the wall to your right so you can stay out of my line of fire.”
“I can see why Ochoa was jealous of you,” said Stansfield. “You’re good.”
“That’s close-quarters battle one-oh-one,” said Larsen, motioning for David to bring the rest of the group through.
“He wasn’t at the one-oh-one level with a lot of things,” said Stansfield, turning his head slightly.
“Keep your eyes on the wall while they pass,” said Larsen. “We’ll have time for introductions later if you keep your word.”
Stansfield nodded, squaring his face with the corner. Dr. Hale stopped next to Larsen.
“You’re hurt pretty bad,” she said.
“I’m fine for now. I’ll take you up on some medical care a little later,” said Larsen, glancing at her long enough to give her a quick nod.
“Where do you want us?” said David.
“Stay inside this building on the second floor,” said Larsen. “I’m headed across the street to take care of some unfinished business.”
“Understood,” said David. “Be careful.”
“Always,” said Larsen.
Larsen waited for the three of them to vanish down the stairs before putting his plan into motion. He removed the magazine from Stansfield’s rifle before ejecting the round in the chamber.
“Turn around.”
He tossed the rifle to Stansfield, who swiped it out of the air. “I know you have at least twelve magazines within easy reach.”
“I can’t imagine I’d live long enough to pull one from its pouch,” said Stansfield.
“As long as we understand each other,” said Larsen. “I need you to radio Ochoa and tell him you neutralized Larsen’s bitch—Brennan—but at least one of them made it into the apartment.”
“I’d never call her a bitch,” said Stansfield.
“Just say something to that effect. Say she winged your leg. Tell him you’re approaching the apartment and can hear some yelling inside. Arguing.”
“I’ll do what I can,” said Stansfield.
Larsen listened as Stansfield reported to Ochoa, arguing with him about what to do next. Picking up what he could from the one-sided conversation, he got the distinct impression that Ochoa didn’t care what happened to his last remaining teammate.
“Was that good enough?” said Stansfield.
“He’s up to something,” said Larsen, slinging Stansfield’s rifle around his shoulder. “Let’s head to Chang’s apartment. If you can lure him into view, I’ll take him out for good.”
“This is going to get me killed.”
“Not if we do it right,” said Larsen.
They entered the hazy apartment, Stansfield several feet ahead of Larsen. He took a quick measure of the place, deciding on a rather hasty plan that might get them both killed.
“Stand aside,” said Larsen, raising his rifle.
He fired three bullets through the center of the sliding glass door to the balcony, shifting the rifle to Chang’s kitchen to his left and firing several times. He repeated the sequence again, capping off the fabricated firefight with at least ten bullets stitched across the slider.
“Tell him you took down Larsen,” he said, quickly reloading. “But the woman’s still alive. Hit in the thigh and bleeding badly. Ask what you should do.”
Stansfield followed his directions, engaging in a heated conversation with Ochoa, while Larsen slipped into the hallway next to the living room.
“He said to kill her and get out of the building,” said Stansfield.
“Tell him that Larsen had a rope and that you’re coming down the front of the building—instead of going back through it,” said Larsen from the other room. “Tell him to cover the ground floor of the apartment building so you don’t get capped by whoever is still alive on Larsen’s team. I’ll pop him when he appears across the street.”
“He’s not that stupid,” said Stansfield.
“He’s not that smart, either,” said Larsen.
The moment Stansfield started talking, Larsen slipped into the master bedroom, which had a balcony facing the street. He stayed toward the back of the room, in the shadows, as he took up a concealed position behind the bed. Quickly locating the shattered balcony slider across the street, he centered the rifle reticle on the missing section of glass and waited.
“He said he’ll cover me,” said Stansfield. “This better not get me killed.”
“The second he shows his face, he’s dead,” said Larsen.
“I’m opening—”
A sharp crack hit his ear, followed by a heavy thump. He didn’t bother calling out to Stansfield, who had more than likely taken a bullet to the head, dropping him like a bag of dirt. Instead, he pressed the trigger repeatedly, emptying his thirty-round magazine into the apartment across the street, shifting his aim around during the fusillade to ensure a lethal spread of bullets. When his rifle went silent, he quickly reloaded and fired an entire second magazine. He dropped the empty magazine from the rifle and quickly moved into the hallway leading back to the living room and kitchen area.
“What the fuck is going on up there?” said David in his earpiece. “Sounds like world war three erupted on the street. Those rifles aren’t as quiet as you think.”
He crouched before peeking into the room. Stansfie
ld lay in a heap next to the coffee table, a glistening pool of blood spreading from his head across the hardwood floor.
“Stansfield is dead,” said Larsen. “Ochoa gunned him down before I could react. I’m going to cross the street to make sure Ochoa is done. I’ll check his command tablet for any updates.”
“Leave all that shit, Larsen,” said David. “We need to get out of here.”
“We’re not going anywhere until Howard’s people get the SUV fixed up for another diversion,” said Larsen. “I’ll be in and out in two minutes.”
“We’ll move into the parking garage and cover you in case your shooting match drew any attention.”
“Stay out of sight until I confirm that Ochoa is dead,” said Larsen. “He took Stansfield out with a single shot.”
“Understood,” said David.
Larsen dashed out the doorway, taking a hard left toward the splintered front entrance. He emerged in the second-floor hallway, immediately detecting someone to his right. He whirled and aimed at a man in his early twenties, wearing glasses, who raised his hands almost instantaneously.
“Get back in your apartment,” said Larsen, glancing over his shoulder at the hallway behind him.
“Are you the police?” said the man.
“Not even close,” said Larsen. “The best thing you can do for yourself is lock yourself in your apartment.”
“I’m running out of food,” he said. “And I don’t think it’s safe to go outside.”
“It isn’t,” said Larsen, motioning toward Chang’s apartment with his rifle. “Feel free to take whatever you can find in there.”
The man started to move.
“Stop,” said Larsen, freezing the man in place. “Stay away from the windows. There’s a sniper out there somewhere.”
When the man disappeared into the room, Larsen took off for the stairwell. He got halfway there before the man scrambled out of the room and tumbled to the hallway floor.
“There’s a dead body in there!”
“There’s a lot of dead bodies around,” said Larsen before plunging down the stairs.
He passed the second-floor landing, pushing through the excruciating pain in his leg to reach the ground floor as fast as possible. If Ochoa had somehow survived the storm of bullets he’d fired into the apartment, he didn’t want to give the former SWAT officer the time to gather enough courage to reengage before Larsen crossed the street.
The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 42
