The sounds of magazines snapping answered his instructions. A swelling of pride washed over him. He had fought alongside these men and women. Some for years. Others, like Ebony and Allie, only recently, but each of them fought with valor.
Even though it was late morning, the sun rising over the mountains had little strength. Ryan shivered and shouldered his M4A1, a gift from Captain Richmond, along with a fresh set of fatigues. Cal tapped his shoulder, and he walked forward heel to toe, eyes alert. The wind chilled his skin as he scanned for hostiles. Still nothing. It struck him as strange. Ever since the combusting, they had encountered at least some survivors. Seen people watching from behind curtains or upper floor windows. In Tokyo and Hokkaido they had seen hundreds of survivors. But here, at Ted Stevens International Airport, there wasn’t one.
Booth and Sofia took up covering positions at a fire exit, then Cal pushed open the door and went left. Inside the arrivals hall, it looked like the aftermath of a stampede. Luggage trolleys overturned, contents scattered; tables and chairs knocked over; food squashed into the floor; kiosks that sold anything from phones to travel pillows had been looted.
Keiko gasped and stifled a sob. Scattered amongst the carnage were human remains. A man in a flight crew uniform, his front soaked in blood and his head at an angle, torn from his torso, the two ends of his spine licked clean. A woman in a business suit, hand still clutching her coffee cup, had met a similarly grisly demise. But there was also evidence of fighting. Spent shotgun cartridges and shell casings. Next to a stuffed grizzly lay three Siphons, each with head wounds. One, which had been a man, was missing the lower half of its face. Its hair had fallen out, apart from the lower half of its mullet.
“Which way, Allie?” Ryan said, his voice low.
“Last time I was here, the Airside Operations was up there.” Allie pointed to the mezzanine level. “The big office above the arrival gate. Next to it was Information Management.”
Ryan picked his way through the shambles that was International Arrivals, his finger resting on the trigger guard. If there were victims here, there had to be Siphons somewhere.
They made it up and into the airport’s offices without incident. Allie went to work hunting through the flight manifests. The Nameless didn’t want to wander around the terminal, hunting for the plane they needed. This time, they wanted a larger plane to get them all the way to Portland.
“Contacts,” Booth whispered. “At least a dozen. Siphons down on the main floor.”
Ryan swiveled and peered through the glass. He frowned. Though they looked similar to the Siphons they had come across later on in Japan and at the NSA station – bald heads, the red lines crisscrossing their exposed skin, and the same milky eyes – these appeared to be more organized. They were a pack, hunting for prey by sniffing the air where The Nameless had been moments before.
“Allie?”
“A few more seconds. It looks like a shift change was happening. Nothing’s where it should be.” She was sifting through several piles of ash. “Got it.” She held up a boxy clipboard and flicked through the pages.
“They’re spreading out,” Booth said.
“I got more coming from the south,” Cal said. “I lost count at twenty.”
“At least we know where everyone went,” Ebony said. She carried no weapons but had changed into the blue and gray Navy fatigues like everyone else.
Sam began a low growl as he sniffed and scratched at the door. Ryan ignored it and kept his eyes firmly on the growing number of Siphons. Why so many?
“Gate five. Boeing 737-800. Fueled and ready for boarding,” Allie said.
Ryan scanned the upper levels, looking for a back way to the boarding gates. There had to be one somewhere.
“Pilot’s lounge?” he said.
Allie crouched and sifted through the ash remains again, pulling free a keycard. “We’ll need this. The door at the far end of the concourse, marked staff only.” She threw Ryan the card.
Several shrieks sounded, piercing through the offices. Like the flip of a switch, The Nameless went into battle mode.
They burst from the room, carbines raised, picking targets. Ryan shot a Siphon sprinting up the stairs and another that was climbing the railings. The Siphon’s chest convulsed as the bullet entered, and it lost its grip to splash down into the fountain below.
The Nameless hustled down the hanging concourse, dispatching any creature that got too close. More Siphons joined those in the terminal, tracking their movement and shrieking, attracting others to the prey. Some walked while others limped, dragging shattered ankles. A few had arms hanging at their sides, broken and useless, while others, wounded, dripped blood on the floor as they ran.
“Never easy, is it?” Cal muttered.
“That’s not our way. This is…difficult,” Ryan said.
They reached the door marked Staff Only, and Ryan swiped the card. The lights stayed red. He tried again. Nothing. Cursing, he considered the hinges and the structure of the door. He guessed solid timber; too strong to kick in.
“What’s the hold up?” Sofia said.
“Card’s not working.”
Booth and Allie groaned, their rifles cracking as they dropped a Siphon each. There were dozens now, maybe as many as forty. The way they mingled made it difficult to get an exact count.
Frantic, Ryan looked for another option. The only idea he had was crazy. The office floor stretched the length of the terminal. The architects had designed a narrow ledge for plants, creating a green belt suspended above the main floor.
He nudged Cal and pointed at it. “Over there.”
“Better than nothing,” she said, grimacing. She climbed over the low glass divider and chucked a couple of palm trees off to make enough room. The soil scattered over the shiny tiled floor below. Next, she helped Keiko and Sam over the barrier. Ryan covered Sofia, Booth and Allie with several bursts from his M4. Despite his accuracy, a couple of Siphons made it past his barrage.
Ebony screamed and sprinted toward the Siphons. “Go!” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I got this.”
Ebony dodged through the knot of Siphons, kicking, punching, only stopping to snap their necks. Her movements were so fluid and precise, Ryan couldn’t help but gawk. He reminded himself not to get on Ebony’s bad side.
“Connors!” Booth said, snapping him out of his trance.
Ryan paused after he climbed the barrier and jammed in a fresh magazine. Nothing was going as planned – as usual.
Eight
Portland, Oregon
Why was she chasing these men? Zanzi puffed out a breath as she followed the tire marks on the asphalt. Was it a sense of duty? She knew that she wasn’t trying to prove herself to anyone. There was only one reason. Though she had only seen the three men for approximately five minutes, that had been enough. They were odd. Acted strange, eyes wide, pupils dilated like a child at Disneyland. The men, she guessed they were brothers, were in a situation that their perverse minds likened to all their Christmases coming at once. The world had been turned on its head. Gone was the law and order they had to abide by. Now they had free range. They could do whatever they chose, and their choices horrified her.
Zanzi halted and crouched outside a boutique clothing store selling prom dresses. The yellow Humvee had careened around the corner and plowed into a sky-blue VW Beetle. Three of the doors were wide open. Oil and water dripped from underneath the car, but other than that, she didn’t spot any movement. Next, she scanned the windows of the stores to her immediate left, then right. The lower-floor windows were clear, but the upper floor held her attention for a moment. A curtain had moved. She was certain. Zanzi got a better look through her scope, spotting the sash window was open. Even so, she waited a full five minutes but detected nothing further. Satisfied, she checked her six. The ratty-faced men couldn’t have come back toward her. This road was a dead end. The Willamette River and a pedestrian path were the only other routes out. She rubbed her finger on the t
rigger guard, mulling over her options. Keep going, or backtrack to see if they had hidden in a shop until she had passed? Zanzi decided on the first option. From their body language, these men were runners, not fighters. After all, they had run after Tilly had killed Adam.
She activated her comms. “Lisa, I found their vehicle. Crashed on Fourteenth Avenue near the funeral home. I’m close to the river on…Bybee Avenue.”
“Copy that. I’m close. Sit tight.”
“Wilco.”
Zanzi stayed where she was, eyeballing the Humvee. Lisa jogged up the street, sticking to the shop fronts until she reached Zanzi.
“Anything?” Lisa said.
“They’re long gone. I think they headed north. That’s the way the Humvee’s pointing.”
“That’s my assessment too.”
“Did you learn anything else from the kids?”
“A little. The missing sister is the twin of the girl you rescued.”
“Brave to have survived for this long.”
“Smart kids too,” Lisa said. “The boy said their parents used to take them to the bakery most weekends. He also said their school is nearby.”
“Makes sense. You go back to what you know. The kids know food and school. Once the food in the house ran out, they went to the other places they knew. I think I like these kids.” Zanzi pursed her lips. “Maybe we should start with the school.”
“No tracks to follow?”
“Not that I can see.”
Lisa nodded and pulled out a folded paper map. She had their area circled and jabbed her finger onto the page. “Llewellyn Elementary.”
Zanzi and Lisa continued down Bybee Avenue and ducked under the trees to join the Bluff Trail. As they walked, Zanzi kept alert for any hostiles. They hadn’t seen any more Rabids since the bakery. Distant shrieks sounded at regular intervals. Sound carried far now, with no ambient noise. They turned north, staying in the shadows as they leapfrogged up the trail. Always one watching the front and the other the back.
At length, Llewellyn Elementary school appeared amongst the residential houses. The main school building was boxy and rectangular and surrounded by playgrounds. Zanzi’s heart plummeted as she crouched behind a vehicle. Even from this distance, she could see that the kids had been playing at the time of the combusting, tiny piles of ash lying where they had fallen. Basketballs had rolled to one side. Skateboards and scooters stood still. A red ribbon caught on the fence fluttered in the breeze. Lunchboxes lay opened on benches, food unfinished. What horrors had these children witnessed? What had they thought when their friends and classmates screamed in pain and terror?
Lisa grasped her shoulder. No words were said. Nothing needed to be.
Zanzi finally understood why her parents had joined LK3. Not for any vain or misguided reasons, but to stop things like this happening. Stop evil from spreading.
Ultimately, they had failed. Everyone, those who had sworn to protect, had failed. But they had all been fooled. Now it was time to amend the situation. These tiny piles of innocent ash were all the reasons she needed to know that what they were doing was right. Now, every time she pulled the trigger to take down a Black Skull, she would think of this scene, use it to comfort her doubts.
“If they are in there, they’ll be watching from the top floor,” Lisa said. She unfolded the map and studied it for a few moments. “As they’re an unknown, we can only assume. Logically, you’d be watching the main entrance and perhaps the exit leading to the playgrounds.”
Zanzi furrowed her brow as she studied the map. “So that would leave both the north and the east sides free.”
“We can assume that. Unless they’re really dumb, they would’ve locked those doors and windows.”
“Right. What about the roof?” Zanzi asked.
“You really are a Connors, aren’t you?” Lisa rolled her shoulders. They had been crouching behind the vehicle for close to twenty minutes. “We’ll circle through these houses and approach from the north. We go slow. Car to car, stopping and watching.”
“How do we get up on the roof?”
“We’ll figure that bit out when we get there.”
Zanzi took one last look at the tiny piles of ash scattered around the playground and pivoted to follow Lisa. She had to admire the director’s incredible stamina despite being retired from active duty for more than twenty years. They broke into a slow jog, skirting the properties. Zanzi caught a glimpse of a face in one window, but it quickly ducked out of sight.
Lisa paused behind a plumbing contractor’s truck and pulled out a pair of binos. Zanzi took the opportunity to secure the straps of her rucksack before looking through her scope. First, she scanned the right of the school building. Nothing moved behind the windows. No shadows danced across. It was as still as the playground.
Zanzi wasn’t looking forward to entering the school. If the playground was a graveyard of the innocent, what did it look like inside?
They moved up to the next vehicle and repeated the maneuver. Still no movement. Cautiously, they sprinted the last few meters and pressed their backs against the brick wall of the school.
Lisa risked a quick glance in the classroom and ducked her head under the windowsill. “Empty,” she whispered. Then she tried the window. It gave way with no resistance.
Okay. So these guys are dumb. Are they even here?
Lisa held up her fist and signaled that she was going to crawl inside. Using her fingers as an indicator, she counted down.
1… 2… 3
Zanzi jumped up and covered her, swinging her carbine, searching out the corners. The classroom, unlike the playground, was devoid of any horror. No small ash remains. No fed-upon human victims. Instead, Lisa found neat rows of desks, paintings on the wall, innocent stick figures that only children could paint. In one corner was a play area with toys and picture books. Zanzi joined Lisa in the classroom and they moved to the hallway. Again they repeated the process, each time stopping, listening, and covering each other. Twenty minutes later, they had swept the first floor with no sign of anyone. Near the front entrance, they found evidence of foot traffic. Wet smudges. Zanzi stared at the footprints. One thing was clear: they weren’t child-sized.
“Someone’s been here recently,” Zanzi said.
Lisa nodded and checked the perimeter outside the front doors. Like everywhere else, it was quiet – too quiet. Zanzi had only caught glimpses of life in the last twenty-four hours apart from the men they now tracked.
Lisa pulled Zanzi inside the school office and closed the door. “Logically, they have to be in here somewhere. They aren’t exactly trying to cover their tracks. The muddy footprints, the broken branches. That soft toy you saw in the middle of the road. We’ve got two more floors to search, with two flights of stairs at each end of the building. They’ll be watching, spooked, on edge. We can go now or wait a couple of hours. Make them stew, worry.”
Zanzi scrunched her eyes together and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her analytical mind whirred. “Maybe we’re giving them too much credit.”
“How so?”
“Everything they’ve done up to this point has been sloppy. Amateur. These idiots have no training or even common sense. They don’t think like we do.”
“Right. Their instinct will be to hide, not defend.”
“Exactly. If they’re going around kidnapping children, they’re cowards. They’ll be hiding.”
“In the basement,” Zanzi and Lisa said together. They smiled at each other.
Something Ryan always said to Zanzi came to mind. The trick is to think like your prey.
He had meant the animal they were hunting at the time, but the maxim suited this situation too. It was too easy and natural to look at a situation from your own perspective, not another’s. Humans, by default, are predictable once one tunes in to their habits. They buy coffee from the same cafe. Shop at the same supermarket. Cook the same meals. Watch the same shows. If you’re used to living in the shadows and hiding from autho
rity, why change?
A hollow metal clang sounded, echoing down the hallway along the metal water pipe above their heads. Without a word, they crept from the office and leapfrogged up the hallway. They headed north, following the pipes to the boiler room. Here again they found muddy footprints – older, drier. Some were large, adult-size, while the rest were obviously children.
Zanzi crouched and placed her ear to the door. Muffled, arguing voices filtered through above the sounds of sobbing and whimpering.
“…will you shut those kids up, Sawyer. I can’t hear myself think.”
“I can’t watch the door, Cooper, and shut the kids up at the same time. Which one do you want me to do?”
The metal clang sounded again, louder this time. Like a gong in a Chinese restaurant.
“Who the fuck is hitting that pipe? I’ll kill ya. Forget the door and knock out the motherfucker who’s making all that racket.”
Zanzi jolted to her feet. “They’re threatening the kids.”
“We need eyes in there. Hold up,” Lisa said.
The director reached into her rucksack and grabbed a black box. Attached to one side was a bendable tube like a reading light, except this one had an optic camera on the head. Lisa switched it on, the screen humming to life. The image was black and white, but clear as she fed it under the door. The boiler room was long and narrow. Ten children were huddled together on the floor. Above them, tied to pipes and spread-eagled, were three adults. Bags had been placed over their heads. At the far end of the room, one of the ratty men stared out the window, though his head kept flicking back at the other ratty man.
“Hit that prick again.”
As they watched, the ratty man slammed his fist into the stomach of the adult male closest to the door. The man sagged in his bonds and went limp.
Zanzi clamped a hand over her mouth at the sight of the frightened kids. It was abhorrent that innocent souls could be treated in such a way, and she wasn’t going to let it slide. Not for a second. She gripped her carbine tighter. She was going to kill Cooper and Sawyer.
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