by JT Sawyer
“So don’t be pissed at the messenger, is that it?”
“Look, you’ve had my back a dozen times over—I’d fight with you at the gates of hell, but McKenzie has his own political agenda. If I know him, he’s probably going to try and get other commanders back in the States on board with pinning this virus on you and your crew, as well as Runa.”
“Guilty by association, is that it?” He shook his head, clenching his jaw. “Fucking McKenzie—no wonder he always had us away on some meaningless mission while we sailed back home. He’s probably doctoring up all of Hayes’s files to implicate us.”
“As I see it, you and your team’s options are to accompany us back to the GoodWill and—”
“And then end up in the brig—that’s bullshit.”
Ivins cleared his throat and moved closer to Reisner. “And then get a skiff and make your way to Baja or some other uninhabited region and forget about this world.”
“And play Swiss Family Robinson for the rest of our days, no thanks. I plan to get back to my sister in Florida.”
“Then you risk being public enemy number one and being made into the fall guy for Siegel’s actions.”
“Runa is back in the picture now and is with the secretary of state. He will have some pull with her.”
“Maybe, but not if McKenzie gets the word out first and paints you as the architect of this pandemic. The world would jump at the chance to have one person to pin all this on, and painting you and your crew as rogue operators would take some of the heat off the U.S.”
“With half of the fucking world gone, you’d think McKenzie would have other things on his mind.”
Ivins leaned his head inside the room, watching Pacelle busy at work. “And in another hour, we’ll see if the other half will still be here.”
Reisner moved into the shadows, resting his back against a door. He felt like the hallway was squeezing in around him. He lowered his rifle on its sling then rubbed his fingers against his temples. He had seen McKenzie’s type before in the halls of Congress and at the Agency—the politicians who would sacrifice anyone to forward their needs. And he understood that need in this present reality, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take the fall for the actions of two madmen who brewed up this pathogen. He glanced at Nash, Connelly, and Porter in the server room. We’ve served with honor and distinction at every turn with all the bullshit that’s been thrown at us, including losing our own.
He walked down the hallway, his hands resting on his hips and his gaze focused on the tiled floor. I could have relinquished my duties the moment I set foot on the Reagan. I didn’t ask for this. He clenched his fists and planted both feet firmly. No way I’m running away. With Runa back in the picture, we’ll figure this out.
Chapter 40
A half-mile away, in a damp subterranean passage, the alpha female suddenly stopped moving, her head tilted up at the concrete ceiling, seeing through the eyes of its drones. She saw two black objects floating across the sky before landing on a building. It was the same image the creature had seen hours earlier in another city, just before thousands of its minions were killed.
The base of her neck throbbed painfully at the thought of losing more of her brood. She continued walking through the storm drain, her pace increasing until her trot became a sprint as she headed for the opening of the viaduct. Bounding up the concrete incline that led to 6th Street, she stood on top of the rubble of a collapsed bridge. Her breathing had intensified and her lips began fluttering as a piercing shrill erupted from her mouth. It filled the skyline, reaching out for miles in every direction. The rumble of tens of thousands of drones erupted from the tunnels, buildings, and houses throughout the city, a cloud of dust forming in their wake as the army of creatures gathered beneath her.
Chapter 41
Reisner heard the elevator doors open and turned to see a bedraggled group of people emerge. They were led by a coarse-looking man with oaken arms covered in tattoos. Murphy was behind them, and he nodded to Reisner before returning to the elevator and heading back down to the lobby.
Reisner extended his arm out, giving a handshake to the man at the front, who walked like he was in charge.
“Blake—and are we ever glad to see you guys.”
“Will. Is this all of you?” He looked beyond the muscular figure, seeing the forlorn eyes of eight other people of all ages. All of them were bruised and had blood-stained t-shirts that accentuated their pale skin. “Damn, I can’t imagine what you’ve all been through out there on these streets.”
“We were in the sewers mostly, until this morning, when we made it out,” said Blake, who was busy scrutinizing Pacelle at work in the other room. “Escaped from this fucking queen-bee who was sizing us up for an appetizer.”
“So you saw an alpha—one of the smart ones in charge?”
Blake nodded, scratching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good description. She squawks and the other little fuckers come to do her bidding.” His face turned white for a second. “The strange thing is that we came across her little feeding chamber during our escape. She seemed to be draining the dead bodies of the other captives—she wasn’t chowing on them.”
Reisner’s eyes widened. “Say again—what do you mean, draining them?”
He pointed with his thumb behind his back. “Each of the bodies had these slits on either side of the spine, just above the hips, and she was lapping up some kind of clear fluid.”
“Christ—what the hell is that about?” said Reisner.
“The other creatures had rounded up a few dozen of us, but never tried to kill us,” said a blonde woman behind Blake, who introduced herself as Allison. Her lips were trembling as she spoke, and her white knuckles were clutching a rusty section of rebar as if it was welded to her hand.
“I know someone up top who is going to want to talk with you.” Reisner called Nash over. “My man here will take you to the roof where our helo is stationed and have our doctor look you over for any injuries. After we’re done here, we’ll be heading to a Navy hospital ship off the coast.”
There was an audible wave of sighs emanating from the other survivors, who had been clustered behind Blake but now stepped forward and began hugging each other and then shaking Reisner’s hand.
“You guys don’t look like you’re part of the SEALs?” said Blake.
“We’ve got quite a mish-mash of operators on this trip,” said Nash with a smirk. “A coalition of different branches of the government, you could say.” He motioned for the group to follow him to the stairwell.
Reisner returned to the server room and stood behind Pacelle.
“Five minutes more and then we’re good to go,” said Andre as the others gathered around his computer terminal, standing before the tangle of wires and specialized equipment. “I’ve fortified the defenses for our power grids and the virus is on its way to the servers in China. Once it hits, the aftershock will be immediate, shutting down their entire electrical grid in the developed parts of the nation.” He leaned back and looked at Ivins, then over at Reisner. “Question is, do you want all eleven of their emergency bunkers targeted or just the central bunker in Nanjing where the first computer virus originated?”
Reisner and Ivins gave each other knowing looks, feeling the weight of the decision in their hands. “There have to be thousands of people at each location,” said Reisner. “We turn off the juice for good and we’ve just condemned them all.”
“Don’t forget they tried to fuck over our country,” said Porter.
“That could have been the doing of a few rogue generals—someone like Lau, who was always chomping at the bit to initiate hostilities with the West,” said Reisner.
“Three minutes,” said Andre, pointing to the clock ticking down on the computer as the blue upload signal indicated the virus was almost at its destination.
“It’s an act of genocide if we target all their remaining bunkers,” said Connelly.
Ivins stared at Rei
sner, his face rigid. “Another nation shouldn’t have to pay for the sins of one man, don’t you agree?”
Reisner rubbed his chin. He looked at the blue download indicator then up at Ivins. “You’re the one with the highest rank in this room, but you’ve got my vote for targeting Nanjing.”
“Do it,” said Ivins.
Pacelle punched in the kill codes for the virus pathways leading to the other bunkers, leaving only the terminal to Nanjing open. Reisner thought of the doomed souls who were about to be trapped in that inky abyss because of the nefarious actions of a fanatical leader, knowing that many of them had never signed on for the fate that was about to befall them.
Andre leaned back and handed him a printout of a nautical map of the Gulf of Mexico, with a red arrow in the center near a cluster of islands. “Here is the location of the Agency bioweapons ship that Runa mentioned. I accessed the cloud from here and pulled that off of what’s left of the Langley database.”
Reisner memorized the coordinates then folded the paper and slipped it in a pocket in his tactical vest. “Good work, Andre.” His tone was aloof. There was no point now in trying to mend any rift between them. No amount of time or good deeds would ever completely redeem the man in Reisner’s eyes.
Ivins heard Murphy’s voice come over his ear-mic. The SEAL’s right cheek quivered, and he took a long gulp. Ivins unslung his rifle and rushed to the door. “We’ve got contacts—thousands of them heading into the DOJ building next door. They’ve already gotten onto the roof and killed the other Blackhawk pilots.”
“Why that building?” said Porter.
“Because this one is shuttered and practically impenetrable from below,” said Reisner, realizing the implications.
“Head up; I’ll help Andre with the rest of his gear,” yelled Reisner as the others sprinted for the door.
Andre was frantically disconnecting his laptop and hard drives from the NSA mainframe and thrusting them into his metallic suitcase. He looked over his shoulder at Reisner, who was busy gathering a stack of routers.
“William, I know you may never forgive me for what happened in Belarus, but I just want you to know that what happened to Mira and to you as a result of my involvement is one of the greatest regrets of my life, and I can never undo the pain I’ve caused you.”
Reisner didn’t look at the man and only slapped the lid closed on the suitcase. He had wanted to kill Pacelle for so long, but he ultimately knew the mission in Belarus was a combination of bad intel, timing, and corrupt politicians on both sides, and that Andre was made out to be the sole scapegoat in the end. Reisner had seen the documentation and watched the satellite images enough from that horrible day to know that Pacelle’s involvement was only one element in the botched mission.
He recalled Andre’s words from the porch of his cabin when they met a day ago: The map is not always the geography. He stood erect, staring at Pacelle, suddenly realizing that fate was replaying the same footage over again, with his own life now being forfeited by the powers at hand. Reisner took a deep breath and felt years of anguish trickle away, as if a plug in his soul had been released. As the older man walked to the door with his head lowered, Reisner moved up alongside him.
“Andre,” he said, extending his hand. “Thank you for what you did here today. I’m grateful in more ways than one.”
Chapter 42
Johnston Atoll, 750 nautical miles southwest of Hawaii
McKenzie was on the bridge of the DDG Peary, the second of two destroyers in his carrier strike group. It was a welcome break from his overwatch on the Reagan, and he was enjoying a rare celebration with the crew, as the captain had gone ashore. The long journey across the Pacific back to Pearl Harbor was almost over, and the admiral was beginning to feel at ease after their six-month voyage.
In prior years, the atoll had served as a refueling station for the Navy, and he knew the short break to replenish their supplies would be good for morale. The Reagan was anchored a mile offshore from one of the inlets and the rest of the carrier strike group and civilian ships were spread out in an arc around the thirty-two hundred-acre island.
McKenzie had already had his forward teams recon the island and clear out a few dozen paras from the buildings earlier in the day. The sun was setting like an orange disk being plucked down beneath the waves, as if by the hand of Poseidon himself.
He removed a cigar from his left breast pocket and ran it along his upper lip, inhaling the fragrance of the Cuban. It was his last one, and he had saved it for a special occasion. Originally, he thought that would be arriving back at Pearl Harbor, but now he was just glad they were in familiar waters, with the bulk of the trip behind them.
As he considered stepping out on the deck to light his cigar, the red light on the console before him began flashing and he heard the pensive voice of Rodriguez, the tactical actions officer, blaring from behind. McKenzie spun around and rushed to the young man’s station, staring at his computer screen, which showed a red triangular image racing across the screen.
“Active radar indicates a bogey inbound.”
“Inbound to where—the Reagan or the island?” said McKenzie.
The officer tapped his spindly fingers on the keyboard, scrutinizing the trajectory further. “Neither, sir. It’s veering to the southwest, well beyond our coordinates. It’s a long-range surface missile.”
McKenzie heard the voice of the commander from the destroyer DDG Halsey in the distance, indicating that they were attempting to target the missile and launch counter-measures to intercept it. He moved to the console next to another tactical action officer to the right named Reynolds. She was scanning the radar screen, trying to pinpoint the exact origin.
“Get me a location on where that came from, Lieutenant,” snapped McKenzie.
“Three vampires inbound to our location, sir,” shouted Rodriguez, relaying the approach of anti-ship cruise missiles.
McKenzie knew the commander of the other destroyer was, no doubt, already preparing counter-measures to kill the missiles. With their combined efforts, he surmised they should be able to thwart whatever hell had just started raining down upon them if they could locate the enemy’s position and prevent further aggression. He knew it would only take one missile slipping through their defenses to cause a catastrophe, and he silently scolded himself for letting his guard down. With the element of surprise working against them, he realized the Halsey was unable to launch a missile on a kill track towards the initial bogey, and he feared that it was already beyond reach.
“Active radar indicates a Shang 1 Class submarine, sir,” said Reynolds. She tapped her index finger on the outer edge of the radar screen. “There it is.”
“We need to get a lock on those birds and kill them,” said McKenzie, looking out the starboard windows at the Halsey, which had just launched three missiles from its front deck. McKenzie glanced at the lights and campfires on the island—a third of his crew exposed, with nowhere to hide. He had kept them safe on their journey across the globe, then through the nightmarish first days of the pandemic, only to thrust them into an even more vulnerable position.
He pivoted back to Rodriguez’s location and saw the three incoming missiles disappear off the radar, their interception successful. He saw the initial long-range missile still trailing across the screen, its destination unknown.
“Calculate the end trajectory of that first bogey.”
Rodriguez expanded the map on his computer screen, tracking the missile along its arc. He typed in the speed and flight path, then pulled up a set of coordinates. “This is off the coast of Baja, Mexico, sir. Estimated time to impact is eight minutes.”
McKenzie balled his fists, his heart punching against his chest. “Lord, no—that’s the current location of the hospital ship.” He yelled back at the communications officer, “Warn the GoodWill, now!”
He picked up the mic to hail the commander of the Halsey, but heard Rodriguez shouting about another incoming volley.
“We are being targeted with nine incoming tracks—five missiles and four torpedoes.” He paused, thrusting his face towards the radar screen. “Wait, they just launched another volley—eight more missiles inbound.”
McKenzie squeezed in between the two tactical action officers, his eyes widening at the multiple streams of destruction heading their way. “Jesus—they’re sending everything they have. This is a suicide mission for them.”
He heard the outgoing missiles from the Halsey, their contrails lighting up the evening sky. McKenzie stared down at the radar again, watching the inbound missiles colliding with some of the destroyers’ countermeasures. Then he heard the roar of torpedoes being shot off the bows of the two U.S. ships, eight in all, as he ordered Rodriguez to return fire. The entire radar screen was lit up with red and green triangles racing towards each other. Some of them succeeded along their intended route while others slid past. Every time, the destroyers launched another volley of missiles to kill the incoming birds.
McKenzie saw the eight torpedoes racing towards the calm harbor where they were anchored. He watched each torpedo and missile disappear off the screen as they were terminated, until there were only four left. One torpedo got through the defenses and slammed into the aft of the Halsey, a fiery explosion rocking the vessel. McKenzie pulled away from the console and moved towards the windows overlooking the smoking ship, which had suffered a direct hit and was beginning to sink. He knew the Navy hospital ship was going to suffer a similar fate soon.
He didn’t need to hear Rodriguez’s confirmation that two surface missile had gotten through as one inbound projectile sped towards the Reagan and another towards a cluster of civilian frigates moored near each other. For a moment, he saw the faces of his crew on his bridge, searching for him in vain. Then there was a concussive blast, followed by the sickening sound of splintering metal and glass as the bridge of the aircraft carrier exploded in a cloud of flame and swirling smoke. The bridge of the Reagan was nothing more than a crater. A second later, the makeshift lab with Munroe’s specimens and research was on fire, along with a fishing trawler, their hulls splintered open as the ship’s bows slid below the water.
