by Matt Ritter
Dick took it with both hands.
“Be careful. Make sure you tell him exactly what we went over.”
“Will the colonel come?”
“I hope so.”
“Okay, my friend, stay dry,” Dick said, holding out the hand that wasn’t carrying the bottle. They shook hands.
Ben nodded at him. “You, too. We’ll meet in a few days. You have the most important job of all of us.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.” Dick smiled, then said, “For the Valley.”
“Yes. For the Valley,” Ben said.
He watched Dick hurl his great weight forward and lumber off with his precious plastic bottle down the hallway.
Ben Harrison wanted to waste no time getting back to Mary. He pulled down the coat hanging on the back of the lab door and scanned the room for anything he thought he’d need to take with him. He paused at the door of the laboratory, a room in which he’d spent the better part of his life and surveyed it one last time. Nothing will ever be the same again, he thought.
Out the door, he went, down the long hallway to the elevator. He hit the button to call the elevator, but no light came on. He rushed back down the hallway to the stairwell where he went down eighteen floors and came out into another hallway, sweating and breathing hard. All the doors were closed on both sides of the deserted hallway, and the shiny floor reflected the strip of fluorescents on the ceiling. He moved quickly down the corridor, around a corner to where a soldier stood near an open door.
“Move aside,” Ben said in a stern tone as he approached the young soldier. The soldier stood back, exposing the doorway to the room. He scanned the empty room. Adrenaline surged through his veins. Mary McElroy was gone.
“Where is she?” Ben asked the soldier, gritting his teeth.
“She’s been moved, sir.”
“Were the three boys taken?” Ben asked, trying to catch his breath.
“Yes, sir. My commander came and took them all after the explosion.”
“Where were they taken?”
“I don’t know, sir. He took them down the hall to the stairs, headed to the first floor.”
“Why are you still here?”
The young man looked at Ben, confused. “I wasn’t given any orders, sir.”
Ben left the soldier standing next to the open door and went back to the stairwell. He skipped down the stairs, landing on every other, to the ground floor. When he pushed open the metal stairwell door, he was hit by the bitter smell of rotten garlic from the outside rain, combined with smoke that smelled of burning plastic.
He was in a foyer at the front of the building. To one side, a long hallway ended at a set of doors leading out to a covered parkway at the back of the building. That back exit was now a wide-open hole. Soldiers were scrambling about randomly. Someone out of Ben’s sight was yelling commands. The front doors were propped open with chairs, and the smoke was clearing from the hallway.
Ben went to the front of the building and slipped out the door at the main entrance. He'd entered this building five, sometimes six, days a week for over fifteen years and had so rarely come through the wide, guarded glass doors at the front. A short distance outside the entrance he saw two military vehicles, each loaded with UP soldiers and a white van parked between them. Just beyond the covered parking area, the damp sky sagged, and rain roared on the pavement.
Ben felt the sickly sting of the rain in each of his breaths. Mary McElroy stood outside the door of the van helping the last of the children inside. He moved in her direction but was approached by a young soldier who guarded the first vehicle. The soldier put his hand up.
Ben looked over his shoulder and caught Mary’s eye as another soldier pushed her into the van after the children. She looked panicked.
As the van door slid shut, Ben focused on the wide-eyed boy in front of him. His light blue uniform was impeccable as if he’d never been out of the headquarters building. “Stand aside, soldier,” Ben said loudly. “I’m the Valley Science Minister.”
The boy soldier had an anemic look about him and red rings around his eyes. His pursed lips were a pale green color. He was clearly feeling ill, even under the covered area at the entrance of the building. The boy mustered the strength to stand up straight and put his hands on his rifle. “Sorry, sir. My orders are to not let anyone near the vehicles.”
Ben turned to see the Valley Manager in the back seat of the lead vehicle. He had a gas mask on and a soldier on both sides. The mask had two thick filter canisters at angles to his mouth and a clear plastic hood attached to the back of the mask draped over his head.
“What is this?” Ben yelled over the soldier at the Valley Manager, holding both his hands up. “Where are you taking them?”
The Valley Manager stared at Ben. He was barely recognizable, distorted under his plastic hood. His cold eyes, like little black caves above the mask, stayed on Ben. He turned his head away, keeping his eyes on him, and tapped the driver of his vehicle on the shoulder. They rolled forward, and the van carrying Mary and the children followed.
Ben stepped in the direction of the van, but the soldier put his hand on Ben’s chest.
“Sir, I can’t let you come any closer.”
The vehicles rolled away from the front of the building, and as the Valley Manager passed, he continued to stare. Ben felt a sinking feeling inside as he stood silently watching the sparse convoy disappear into the dirty mist beyond the tall buildings.
He turned back to the entrance of the building to see Millard Fillmore limping out of the front doors. His long black trench coat was covered with white dust, and blood ran down his left cheek onto his neck. His eyes wandered the distance like a dazed crazy man.
As he got closer, Ben could see that there was a gash on Millard’s head, just above the hairline, from whence all the blood was falling. The back of one of his hands looked badly burnt and a pant leg was torn open.
“What did you say?” he asked loudly when he was close to Ben.
“Nothing.”
“My ears are ringing. I can’t hear shit. My vehicle was taken. I need another one immediately.”
Ben shrugged. He smelled burnt hair as Millard pushed his way past him.
“Soldier,” Millard yelled, “bring me a vehicle.” The boy hesitated. “Now,” Millard said, taking a step forward. The boy looked at him for a moment, then hustled off toward the back of the building.
“Where are you going?” Ben asked Millard.
“What?”
“Where are you going?” Ben yelled over the roar of the rain.
“I have an appointment with your new friend Willie Taft at the border,” Millard said with a tight grin on his wretched, bloodstained face.
“How do you know he’s headed there?” Ben asked.
“I know where his daughter is. He’ll come to me.”
A black military jeep came out of the rain and screeched into the covered entrance. The vehicle sat idling and dripping, puffs of white smoke dissipating out of the tailpipe. The young soldier stepped out and stumbled away from the driver’s door. His face was ashen, and he had a wide-eyed, dumbfounded look with visibly trembling lips. He bent over and vomited onto the pavement. Millard stepped away from him.
“Isn’t this rain a bitch?” Millard asked, looking at Ben. Millard went to the boy, who was still bent over on the sidewalk and kicked him gently with the toe of his boot. “Stand up, soldier. Give me your sidearm.” He stood, shaking, his eyes wide with fear, peering back and forth between Millard and Ben.
“Give me your gun, and don’t make me ask you again.”
The boy was apparently too weak and scared to resist. He pulled his handgun out of the holster on his belt and held it out. Millard skillfully popped the clip from the handle, examined the chamber, then reassembled the gun.
While tucking it under his coat, Millard said to the boy, “Go on now, get back into the building and get some fresh air.” The boy just stood there, still bent over, holding his s
tomach.
Millard got into the jeep and pulled a gas mask from the passenger seat over his bloody head. He stared out at Ben through the open window.
“There’ll be repercussions for you. I promise,” Millard yelled.
“There will be for all of us,” Ben yelled back, but there was no way Millard could have heard him.
The tires of the jeep squealed, and Millard sped off into the rain.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The world surrounding the border camp was soggy and washed out, only muted tones of steely gray. The frequent rains had stolen anything vibrant from this place. As the border shifted, pushing forward, then pulling back, the only consistent loser was the land, beaten by man’s ceaseless warring. The sun was never more than a chalky diffusion, whose position in the sky remained obscure throughout the day.
Great sheets of mist sat over the fallow fields, and the smell of sodden leaf mold contended with the remnant rotten rain. Will and Zach walked cautiously toward the contested crossing. A thick duff of fallen leaves muted their hurried passage along the edge of the road. Will’s feet were cold and wet, and he could hear the hum of the border encampment’s generators in the distance. At one point he turned to see his distorted reflection in the dark and oily water in the roadside ditch, masked and hard, with eyes sunken and backlit by the weak daytime glow.
Will heard a vehicle approaching.
“Quick, get down,” Will yelled at Zach.
The whine of the vehicle got louder as Zach lurched in Will’s direction. They both laid on the edge of the abandoned irrigation ditch. A black military jeep roared by them sending aloft a fetid mist from the tarmac. Will buried his face into the gas mask until the spray settled and the sound of the jeep had faded and blended with the hum of the camp.
They drug themselves out of the ditch and continued along the road. After a short distance, they moved up a hill, through an oak woodland to the edge of a clearing where they could see the sprawling UP military encampment below.
Down in the camp, the pavement ended abruptly at a roadblock constructed of old broken concrete traffic barriers with a moveable pole laid between them. Will and Zach knelt in the sour duff at the edge of the clearing watching the guard shed and the activity in the encampment beyond.
A tall wire fence ran along the back edge of the camp and into the chaparral on both sides. Will knew that a short distance beyond that fence, scared and exhausted San Benician soldiers were hunkered down in their damp hovels waiting for their opportunity to advance. Somewhere far beyond those soldiers were their leaders, warm and dry, plotting and scheming in the tall buildings of Hollister City.
The oldest and most permanent buildings of the camp were four long, wooden rectangles laid out in a square. From this core of central buildings, many smaller hastily built structures spread out randomly in all directions. A row of diesel generators at the camp’s edge belched forth a muffled hum. Stained wooden poles supported wires running from the generators, like a chaotic spider web, to various buildings throughout the camp. Several ground-level hatch doors lined the camp’s edge, the entrances to flooded and abandoned underground tunnels.
Walkways covered by rotting plywood crisscrossed the camp between buildings. The heavy chocolate mud of the Salinas Valley was everywhere, staining the sides of each building. The scene struck Will as more of a shantytown than a military camp. He thought back to his time in this exact camp and wondered if it was as dilapidated back then.
Will watched the sky. “I hate this place,” he said quietly, his voice deeply muffled in the gas mask.
“What’d you say?” Zach asked.
“Nothing,” Will said, speaking louder. “I thought I’d never have to see this place again.”
“It looks like a hellhole. I guess this is where I was headed.” Zach looked down at his leg as he rubbed it.
Will studied the sky beyond the camp, then turned toward Salinas City. He thought for a moment he saw an airplane dip briefly below the clouds above the city, then disappear into the ash-colored mist just as fast.
“Did you see that?” he asked Zach.
“See what?”
“I’m not sure. Nevermind.”
Will slipped the gas mask off his face and took a shallow breath. It burned, and the sour stink coated the inside of his throat. A needling pain resided at the base of the back of his head. It had started as a dull headache and was now growing sharper. He knew the mist-laden air was slowly poisoning him. He secured the mask again, pulled the straps tighter, palmed the filter canister against his face, and inhaled deeply. The dirty filters gently sucked in with each of his troubled breaths.
She could be so close, Will thought. Just on the other side of a few UP soldiers. She never should have seen this place. Anger began to seethe deep inside him. Captain Wilson. He had to be patient. They’d have one opportunity, and only one, to get her out. They’d wait for the cover of night, which meant rain was likely.
“There, see that large building along the edge?” Will asked Zach.
“Yeah.”
“That’s where she’ll be. It’s the old mess hall and officer’s quarters.”
The jeep that had passed them on the road was parked with the other muddy trucks in front of that building.
“How do we get down there and get her out?” Zach asked, squinting down into the camp.
“We’ll need to go around that edge of the camp and come down over there. It’ll have the least number of soldiers around. It’ll be best to wait until dark.”
Zach turned his chin up to the sky.
“We need to find shelter and wait. Come on.”
They hustled their way up through the twisted grove of live oaks surrounding the camp. Each crack of a dried stick underfoot, each loud crunch of old bark or brittle leaf made Will nervous. They moved through the woodland to another clearing near a well-worn path that circled the camp.
“That shed at the edge of the camp looks abandoned,” Zach said, pointing down into the camp.
Will grabbed Zach from behind, pulling him back against the trunk of a tree as he drew his handgun. “Shhhh. Don’t move.”
Two UP soldiers were coming along the path headed straight for Will and Zach. They could hear the soldiers talking before they saw them. The soldiers hurried around a bend in the path into the opening, their light blue uniforms muddied below the knees. Both wore gas masks and had rifles drawn.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Ben Harrison watched the back of Millard Fillmore’s jeep fade into the pallid haze beyond the Administration building, disappearing into the murky rain below the ceiling of heavyset clouds. Soldiers rushed chaotically around the building’s entrance while someone yelled commands. Around the edge of the building, the metallic blue light of a severed and arching electrical conduit regularly flashed against the falling rain, buzzing over the roar of water on the pavement. The air was nauseating, and his throat ached and burned with each breath.
Ben went to the soldier, who was still sick from having retrieved Millard’s jeep in the rain. He was still bent over, seemingly studying the small pool of vomit on the pavement below. His spotless uniform and young age betrayed him as a new recruit. Ben placed a hand on the boy’s back.
“Hey, you alright?” Ben yelled over the rain.
Black smoke was rising from broken windows on the front of the building, and there was another loud boom somewhere around the back. More soldiers and administration workers came streaming out, looking dazed and directionless.
The boy didn’t answer, and Ben could feel him shaking.
“Come on, we need to get you inside.”
Ben lifted him upright, and the shaking boy took uneasy steps toward the main entrance of the building.
“Hold that door open,” Ben commanded another soldier as he helped the boy up the steps.
“We’re evacuating the building, sir. You sure you want to go inside?”
“He needs to get away from the rain,” Ben said while c
rossing the entrance threshold.
There was smoke in the foyer and a fine layer of dust over everything. Ben studied the wide hole at the rear of the building. The damage was much greater than he originally thought. There were several soldiers sprawled on the linoleum floor while others stood over them.
“What happened to them?” Ben yelled to one of the standing soldiers.
“Don’t know, sir. They just passed out.”
“He’s not breathing,” another soldier screamed, kneeling over one of the bodies. “What’s happening here?” he shouted at Ben.
“The rain is getting worse. Some of them must be more susceptible,” Ben shouted, dread gripping him. “Get them away from the openings. Drag them to the center of the building.”
Ben pulled on the boy, and they limped together down a hallway away from the entrance. The rotten smell of the rain and smoke faded.
“You’ll be alright,” Ben said, as the boy leaned harder and harder on him.
“What’s happening to me?” he asked, still shaking. His voice was desperate and breathy.
“Sit down, try to breathe slowly,” Ben commanded, lowering the boy onto a chair in the hallway.
“Thank you, Minister,” the boy said, looking up at Ben with panicking watery eyes.
“I was supposed to guard the Valley Manager,” he said slowly, straining on each word. The boy’s face cringed like it hurt him to speak. “I was too sick.” The boy grabbed his stomach and bent over. Ben could hear his short, shallow breaths.
“Stay calm. Try to slow your breathing.”
“I was supposed to go with them to the Boranda. You have to tell someone. I, I abandoned my post,” the boy stuttered.
“That doesn’t matter now.” Ben kneeled and grabbed the boy by the shoulders. “Are you sure that’s where they were headed.”
The boy’s face had turned a pale blue color, and he panted rapidly.
“Something is wrong.” His face was twisted in pain. “I can’t breathe.” The boy gripped Ben’s knee. “Can you smell that?”
“Your orders were to go with the Manager to the Boranda?” Ben asked loudly.
