by JT Sawyer
“And one more thing—once this is over and you’re all back on the hospital ship, I will be placing Agent Reisner and his team under confinement in their quarters until they can be sequestered back to the Reagan to stand trial.”
Ivins’ throat went dry, and he looked across the cabin at Reisner then averted his eyes. “Say again, sir,” he replied with conviction.
“You’ve got your orders, Lieutenant. This wasn’t an easy decision by any means, but given Reisner’s involvement with the Agency and the unfolding events surrounding the virus, it would be better for the U.S. to cut our losses and disavow him now than wait for this to get any murkier than it is.”
“Sir—”
“This isn’t open for debate, Lieutenant. Complete your mission in L.A. then place Reisner and his team under arrest upon arriving at the hospital ship. McKenzie out.”
Ivins felt like the headset was squeezing in on his skull. He jerked it off and handed it back to the pilot, then ran a hand through his hair. This is bullshit—no way in hell Reisner or any of his people should have to pay the price for the deeds of a few evil men. What if the tables were turned and it had been my team and me who were the first ones on Hayes’ research vessel? Would McKenzie be throwing us off the cliff for this virus instead? Is that what we’ve come to now? Ivins shook his head. He knew that operators like himself and Reisner, despite their affiliation with different arms of the government, were expendable both in the field and in the political arena. He just never thought something like this would be unfolding at a time when every operator was needed in the fight against the monsters overrunning the world. How little some things have changed.
“Everything good?” said Reisner from across the cabin. “Is there a glitch in our plans?”
Ivins sat up straight, pressing his shoulders against the wall. He clenched his jaw. “Just another SNAFU, but it won’t affect the immediate mission at hand.”
As if sensing the recent conversation with the admiral, Murphy, a short, muscular SEAL sitting near the door, gave Reisner a sneer. “Seems like that’s a regular ingredient in what we do, isn’t it. Always has been, but it sure seems like there are more surprises these days.”
“How do you mean?” said Reisner, noticing that a few of the other SEALs were giving him and his team a similar look of contempt.
Murphy sat up straight. “What I mean is that ever since we extracted your crew from Taiwan, things haven’t always felt like they’ve been on the up-and-up with you.” The SEAL glanced over at Ivins as if looking for permission to continue, but the commander only leaned back. “You sure seem to know a lot about what is going on, and it makes me wonder if…” He paused, looking out the side window.
Reisner leaned forward, interlocking his fingers and giving Murphy a hard stare. “Go on. You were saying, ‘it makes you wonder…’”
Ivins scratched the stubble on his chin, giving Murphy a subtle look to remain silent. “My men are just wondering whose side you’re playing for. I know you’re all solid operators when we’re on the ground, so it’s not about you watching our backs.” Ivins looked out at the window for a second, then back at Reisner. “You left the Reagan yesterday on another mysterious mission that McKenzie seemed more than eager to sign off on, then he tells us we’re providing support but shouldn’t inquire about the nature of your asset, Pacelle. Are you just trying to mop up the fucking mess the Agency clearly made at some point with what’s going on in the world, or are you and your crew running solo now, working for the Navy this week and then next week you’ll be in the wind?”
“You think this was our doing?” snapped Nash. “We’ve been busting our balls right beside you guys this whole time, trying to get answers on the paras since this started.”
“Hell, you tell me—was this the CIA’s doing?” Murphy said, with a scowl directed at Nash. “All I know is, I lost my seven-year-old boy to the virus and my wife is missing, probably dead.” He looked down the line at the other tense SEALs. “I think I speak for the rest of us here when I say that we’re not into playing along with any more murky shadow-ops.”
Ivins put his hand on Murphy’s shoulder then looked at Reisner. “That hot LZ we extracted you all from in Taiwan and its proximity to ground zero in China can give a person from this side of the bench a lot to think about.”
Reisner realized it had been a mistake to keep everything about his original mission bottled up from Ivins and his men—the very warriors who had been putting their lives at risk to fight alongside him all this time. As he looked around the cabin into the questioning eyes of the other SEALs, he knew they deserved more. These were men who had lost their families and would probably never return home again. All the things that they fought to protect were now gone. With the Agency gone as well, what did he have to lose divulging the nature of their mission to the Atropos?
Reisner took a deep breath then let the exhale linger. “In the work we all do, there comes a time when you wish you could rewrite a particular mission—create a different ending. I have had two times in my career like that.” He paused to look over at Pacelle. “One was in Belarus, four years ago, and another in the South China Sea last week, when we boarded the Agency ship, the Atropos.” Reisner gazed out at the Pacific Ocean in the window to his right, wishing he was on some distant island right now. He looked over at Selene, wondering if she would ever trust him again.
“My team and I were sent there by Agency Director David Siegel, who, unknown to us at the time, had sanctioned Professor Hayes to construct a bioweapon designed to unobtrusively impact the Chinese economy when our administration deemed it necessary. Hayes apparently decided to take things a step further and unleashed something far more devastating than even he and Siegel anticipated.”
The rotor wash from the helicopter was the only other noise evident when Reisner wasn’t talking, and all eyes were fixated on him as he spoke. “By the time we got to the Atropos, it was too late. We tried to gather Hayes’ research samples but the lab was overrun with creatures. We lost two of our team in the battle, and only managed to escape with a laptop and a few flash drives. We knew then that Hayes had unleashed a horror beyond anything the world was prepared for.” He paused, lowering his eyes as he recalled the grisly deaths of Byrne and Dominguez that day aboard the Atropos.
“By the time we arrived in Taiwan, the virus had spread throughout much of the globe, sealing the fate of the human race.” He looked to either side at his own team, who were lost in their thoughts of that dreadful operation. “We knew then it would be too late to stop it, but getting Selene out of Taiwan with Hayes’ research files became the new mission.” He gave her a partial glance. “She was never connected with any of this. It was either luck or fate that our paths crossed with hers that day in Taiwan. As for Siegel, that bastard put a bullet in his head a short time later, leaving the rest of us to clean up his affairs while putting our necks on the line.” For the first time, he accepted the hard reality that he was going to be viewed by McKenzie as being guilty by association for Siegel’s crimes—if he wasn’t already. He glanced around at his own team. “I didn’t divulge any of this before, not only for the obvious OPSEC concerns that I was clinging to when we arrived on the Reagan, but also to protect my people. If word got out that we were associated with the perpetrators of this pandemic, our lives would be in jeopardy with a crew bent on retribution.” Reisner leaned back, his shoulders slumping as if he had just dropped a rucksack full of rocks on the floor. He felt a long line of tension drain from his face as he took a deep breath.
“Damn,” whispered Murphy, releasing his clenched fist and running his fingers through his hair. “I love my country, but I never did have any trust in our government. They fucked us over good this time.”
The cabin of the helicopter remained silent for several minutes as everyone mulled over Reisner’s shocking revelations while reflecting on the changes in their own lives that had occurred in the past week. He looked over to his right at Selene, her eyes re
vealing a blend of sorrow and understanding. She felt her fingers slide over his. This time, he didn’t pull away. Her touch felt like a lifeline, the only thing holding him up from the edge of a bottomless pit.
“We appreciate your candor, Agent Reisner,” said Ivins. “More than you may know.” Some of the SEALs nodded in agreement while others were still lost in their thoughts. “We certainly understand when it comes to keeping secrets about operational details, but this goes a long way towards clearing up some things.” He grabbed an overhead strap while lurching forward. “There’s something else I need to discuss with you.”
The helicopter pilot leaned back and shouted, “Five minutes to LZ.”
Ivins frowned, settling back into the bench seat while thrusting his chin up at Reisner. “After this leg of the mission is over, I’ll get with you. Something brewing on the horizon you oughta know about.”
Chapter 23
East Los Angeles
The screams that had gone on for hours had died down in the tunnel, and whenever that happened, Blake knew they’d be coming for more fresh meat. He kept fondling the tarnished Zippo lighter in his pocket, craving a smoke but thinking more about what his old man would have been telling him to do if he was around: Why don’t you do something with your life, you waste of space. Get your ass moving instead of being such a sad sack.
He glanced down at the lighter, studying the faded image of an American eagle on the side then flipping it over to read the initials of J.N. Blake smirked at the irony. He’d gotten the lighter as a parting gift from his dying father last summer, but knew his old man had lifted the piece from some poor sap on the street during his pickpocketing days. This is what he gave me to remember him by. How fucking pathetic. He wasn’t sure why he held on to it, other than that it was reliable, the exact opposite of his abusive father, who only came home when the booze ran out or his money for hookers dried up.
Blake couldn’t tell what the creatures were doing to the other captives once they left this room, but he knew he’d rather die fighting to escape than be tortured slowly, held down by those monsters while they feasted on him, limb by limb. At least, that’s what he surmised had been happening to the others. Why else would they have been in agony for so long?
Shit—we need to get out of here. He ran a sweaty hand through his wavy black hair, looking around at the others. They were down four people since this morning. He knew that, out of the remaining nine, five of them were still strong enough to fight. The others were too weak from lack of food or too old and infirm to join in.
Allison and Vic weren’t in great shape from their injuries, but Blake knew they had the hearts and minds to kick ass if needed. He’d seen the fighting spirit in others too many times to mistake it. Plus they both had rough, calloused hands, which meant they had worked hard to earn a living. Soft hands, soft soul. In his world, you were either a gazelle or a lion, and he’d seen an awful lot of gazelles get eaten on the mean streets of L.A. after scratching out a living during his thirty-two years.
He moved over towards Vic and the others, holding several large rocks in his hands. “We don’t have much time. They’ll be coming back for more of us. We need to do something while we still have numbers on our side.” He took off his shirt, revealing his abs, and a wolf tattoo on his right pec. Blake placed three softball-sized rocks inside the black shirt and wrapped it up, tying a square knot in the middle. He grabbed the improvised bludgeoning tool and swung it in the air once.
“Vic—you ever get in any scrapes on the street when you were younger? Maybe a few, I’m guessing,” Blake said, looking at the man’s meaty forearms and scarred knuckles.
“Yeah, a few when I was in middle school. Why?”
Blake figured it wouldn’t take much to peel back his civilized veneer and let that side emerge again. He could see that hunger for survival lurking beneath Vic’s eyes, and knew that the man would be a good second-in-command.
“Good; remember the sons-a-bitches who wronged you back then and unleash that rage upon these fucking parasite-ridden freaks.” He thrust his chin out at Allison. “The same goes for you. I know you’ve seen your share of bullshit living in this city, especially if you grew up on the east side like me.” Blake glanced down at the rebar in her right hand. “Swing that bad boy like you are clubbing some thug busting into your home at night. Make these bastards pay for what they did.”
Allison nodded as she paced her breathing between clenched teeth. “We can do this. We’re not going to die in these tunnels.”
He glanced around at the others, giving them a fierce look. “The rest of you grab what you can and follow me.” He heard the sickeningly familiar shrill sound getting closer in the tunnel. “Hurry, we have to get in place now.”
Allison clutched the tarnished rebar while Vic removed his sweaty t-shirt and mimicked Blake’s efforts. Three college-age men stood up and grabbed splintered sections of lumber from the ground while a teenage girl named Brandy with a brushcut and a nose-ring snagged the remnant of a rusted shovel head. Brandy did a few practice swings, as if she was about to step up to home plate, while she bit down hard on her trembling lower lip. The others cowered further into the shadows, trembling and muttering their final prayers.
Blake motioned for those with weapons to split up and take either side of the tunnel entrance. The sound of the drones’ feet approaching had increased. Blake narrowed his eyes into slits as he listened. “Ten or twelve of ’em, sounds like.” He glanced into the scared faces of the motley warriors lying in wait next to him. “Remember, you must become as savage as the monsters we’re fighting. Get mad for what they’ve done to you—to your families—and unleash hell upon these fuckers. After we’ve killed them, we’ll make a left turn and that should take us back out to the main entrance we came in through.”
Blake clutched his makeshift weapon, gripping one end as he prepared to thrust it into the head of the first creature. The sunlight in the tunnel was fading and he could hear the dragging sound of bare feet approaching, but it was slowly drowned out by the high-pitched noise they always made. Long shadows appeared first, outlining the head of a short man-thing clad in ragged jeans. Blake lunged forward, clobbering it on top of the skull, dropping it instantly. He swung around a second time, the momentum driving his rock-filled shirt into the skull of another creature, who collapsed with a thud against the cement wall. Blake swung his oaken arms above his head, releasing the weighted shirt into two creatures, who took the brunt of it in their chests and fell backwards onto the pavement. He rushed forward, slamming his boot into the chin of one, causing its neck to snap, then stomped the other in the center of the face, collapsing the nose and orbital sockets like they were made of cardboard.
The other captives rushed in, baring their teeth as they sliced, hacked, bludgeoned, and shivved the small band of nine creatures. Allison drove her rebar into the eye socket of a tall beast in coveralls then immediately swung it like a baseball bat into the neck of a portly freak clad like a construction worker. It recoiled into the wall, rushing back at her. She struck it again and again in the skull until it went down and its shrill screams stopped. Blake helped Vic finish off the last creature, both men striking its head so hard that it separated from the neck and rolled into the room behind them. Vic started stomping the tangle of liberated worms with his boots, then rushed back inside to tell the others to follow them. The huddled masses of frightened souls stumbled out of the shadows and followed on Vic’s heels.
Blake grabbed his weighted shirt and trotted to the edge of the tunnel intersection, then assessed each direction. He looked back at the rag-tag crew in tow, glad that they had the stones to get up and fight alongside him. Now they were in for the run of their lives.
“From here, it’s a straight shot out of the tunnels. We run past some construction equipment and barrels then it’s about a hundred yards to the edge of the aqueduct.”
He looked everyone over, unsure if some of them could even walk fifty feet before coll
apsing. Normally, he’d snicker and spew out some sarcastic remark like he was talking to a newbie in his biker gang who couldn’t hack it, but he truly felt sorry for some of the older ones. They didn’t do anything to deserve this kind of ending to their lives.
“We’re battering rams from here on out—destroy anything in the way, then we’re free.” At least of this tunnel. He wasn’t sure what awaited them outside.
He clutched his shirt and turned the corner, trotting as the others flowed in behind him. Approaching a stack of cinder blocks and plumbing equipment, he stopped and traded in his shirt for a sixteen-inch steel pipe, then continued on. Ahead were two smaller tunnels coming in from either side of the main branch. Near the left passage was a row of oil barrels and empty pallets. He noticed the tunnel was dry, not showing any signs of footprints inside. To the left, the other passage was rife with fresh blood. The smell of rotting flesh was smothering. He motioned the others to stop. Blake crept forward, peering around the side of the tunnel. His heart nearly punched through his chest and he felt his stomach churning as he stared at the arranged bodies of close to sixty dead people, lying on their stomachs with their shirts removed. Each one had small incisions on either side of the spine, just above their hips. Blake heard a slurping sound, like someone was sucking the last dregs of a frothy beverage. He craned his head out further, his pulse throbbing. He saw a woman-thing leaning over the body of a recently killed man in his fifties. Blake recognized him as Robbie, an insurance agent from Anaheim. He had been dragged off by the drones a few hours ago.
He watched in horror as the creature leaned over the dead man, its mouth ajar as an immense parasite emerged, plunging its head into the nearest incision. Its body seemed to pulse with movement as it lapped up clear fluid of some kind. Blake tried to recall his anatomy, but most of his knowledge of the human body centered around breaking limbs. My God—what the hell is that thing doing? The creature was thin but extremely muscular. He could see a red-and-black outline of a butterfly tattoo on its right forearm, the image accentuated against the nearly translucent skin.
