Milo’s phoned vibrated in his jeans pocket. There was only one person who would contact him: Offenheim. Milo had messaged him earlier, updating him on the movements of The Nameless.
The message was one sentence:
Take out Director Omstead and her control team.
Milo shut his eyes and let out a breath. He had hoped for more time so he could convince Lisa Omstead of his plan. He bolted upright, grabbed his tactical pack and holstered his weapons. Annie uttered a muffled curse as he hauled her to her feet. “I have a job to do. Keep working.”
“Where are you taking Annie?”
“She’ll be safe with me. Finish the code, Daniel, and you can all go home.”
Milo didn’t look back. He shoved Annie in front of him through the apartment door and locked it behind them. His mind was already working through the upcoming conversation with the director.
Twenty
Ryan ducked as another group of Black Skulls came charging out of the hospital’s front entrance. They had little intel on how many were stationed inside the vast complex, but he was getting used to flying by the seat of his pants. At least now he was in his home city. Over the years, he’d spent hours cycling, walking and driving the streets, knew his way round without thinking. When Zanzi and Liam had been babies, he had walked the streets, trying to soothe them to sleep as they teethed.
“What are you smiling at?” Cal asked.
“Nothing. Just remembering pushing the twins around in the stroller.”
Cal rolled her eyes. “I bet. All those women flirting with you. Idiot. Focus. One of those babies is in there.”
Ryan kept his MP5 trained at the Black Skulls amassing at the main entrance. He thumbed his comms. “Booth, can you get rid of these commandos?”
“Nearly there.” His voice sounded strained, like he was heaving something heavy. Moments later, Ryan understood why. First one vehicle, then another, came tearing down the exit ramp of the car park, engulfed in flames.
As the first car tore across the road, the Black Skulls spun, rifles raised and opened fire. Bullets pinged off the flaming bodywork as it smashed through the large glass windows and into the lobby. The Black Skulls who had thrown themselves out of the way barely had time before the next vehicle came. This one veered slightly and went through the open doors, slamming into the reception desk. Gray smoke poured out from inside the hospital.
Ryan flinched and stumbled back as another car fell from the upper levels, crashing to the ground with an earsplitting shriek. The acrid smells of burning rubber, fuel and oil filled the air. Cal tapped his shoulder, and they made a run for it. Like any public building, the hospital had myriad entrances. Side doors, goods and laundry doors, fire escapes. Ryan and Cal tracked south, leaving Booth and Reid to keep the Black Skulls guessing. It took a few minutes to reach the fire exit they’d directed Zanzi to, making sure they kept out of sight.
Zanzi burst through the exit, head turning as she searched for her parents. Her face lit up for a second, then she crouched on one knee and aimed her Glock back the way she had come.
Cal, understanding the situation, moved up beside her and took up a covering position.
Ebony flashed past with another woman, her white lab coat flapping as Ryan ushered her to one side of the door. He ignored the wild fear in the doctor’s brown eyes and focused on the charging pack of Siphons thirty meters away.
It was Ryan’s first up-close encounter with the mutated humans in America, but they had the same rabid behavior, gnashing teeth and snarls.
Twenty-five meters…
Ryan moved his finger onto the trigger guard. He searched around for something to lock the doors with but came up short. Like fire exits everywhere, these were designed to be accessible, not locked. That was the point. He shivered as he remembered a nightclub in Brazil where the club-goers had perished in a fire for the lack of an accessible fire exit. The Nameless had been in a safe house close by, preparing for a mission. The screams of the trapped and burning still haunted him.
Fifteen meters…
“Go!” He nudged Cal gently in the back. She took point, with Zanzi and Josie following. Ebony glanced briefly at him. “I could take out a few.”
“Do it,” Ryan said. “Quietly.”
He took off at a jog following Cal, Zanzi and Lahm. He wasn’t worried about Ebony. In her, Ando had made a super-soldier. She was strong, fast, and healed at an accelerated rate. She had been trained in martial arts and weaponry. If he hadn’t witnessed her in action, her abilities would sound like fiction.
They headed south, away from the hospital, ducking between cars and buildings, keeping off roads and sidewalks. They jogged past the cardiology and children’s hospitals and skirted a baseball field. Bats, balls and mitts lay where they had fallen during a game. Was it always going to be like this? Reminders of life. Reminders of what had been lost. But at the same time, reminders of what they were fighting for.
The sounds of speeding vehicles and thumping helicopters broke the silence. The group ducked under a large oak tree and crouched. Ebony sprinted across the field and skidded to a stop. “We’ve got company heading right this way.”
“What did you see?” Ryan asked.
“Lots of soldiers getting into big cars. They took off in all directions.”
“Did they see you?”
Ebony shook her head. “At least, I don’t think so.”
Ryan activated his comms. “Booth, what’s your location?”
“Heading south on Vancouver Avenue. We’re…” Booth hesitated for a few seconds “…near a brewery.”
Ryan slowly turned in a circle, getting his bearings. Beta team was close, a block east. The original plan had been to meet in the industrial area west of the hospital and Interstate Five before making their way back to the safe house.
“Head to the rendezvous point,” Ryan said as the helicopters thumped overhead.
“Copy that.” Booth replied. Powerful searchlights flashed over the grounds of the hospital. One chopper searched to the north and began circling out, while the other went to the west. They had five, maybe ten minutes to get out of sight.
Ryan thumbed his comms again. “What’s your location Jolene?”
“Parked up a few blocks from the hospital. I had to stop, too many soldiers.”
“Stay put, we will draw them away then you head back.”
“Okay.”
Ryan hated to leave Jolene like that but Lahm was their primary mission.
Zanzi turned to Ryan, jolting her head at the choppers. “They’ll have thermal cameras.”
“Are you sure?”
“They did when they were hunting for Lisa and me. We only escaped because Brock and Kamal led us into some caves.”
Josie sat down, puffing, and folded her arms. “I told you. ‘Come with us, we’ll save the world.’” She raised her voice theatrically. “You can’t beat these people. How can we? They’re mad. They won’t stop until I’m found.”
Zanzi spun and yanked the doctor to her feet. “Why? Why are you so important to them?”
Shrieks echoed through the park, clearing their minds of all thought. Even in the semi-darkness it was easy to spot the Siphons, dozens of them, their ivory skin shining like beacons as they wandered in all directions, pausing every few meters to sniff the air for humans. One would detect something and shriek, the others close to it would react, and they would run off, searching for whatever got its attention. Cracks from rifles split the night.
Alpha and Gamma teams burst from their cover of the oak trees and threaded their way through the surrounding properties. Once they were under the interstate and into the industrial area, Ryan pivoted, covering their retreat. His eyes found the helicopters. One was a couple of kilometers away, but the one searching west would be on them in a manner of minutes. He hunted for a way out. How can you avoid thermal imaging cameras? Ryan ran through what he remembered. Glass was opaque to thermal images, but unless you had a large amount, that
was out. Space blankets were the best way. Most first aid kits had those.
Ryan kept one eye on the chopper as it flew in circles, ever closer. He spotted Booth and Reid a few meters ahead. They turned and waited for Alpha and Gamma to catch up. As Ryan passed a storm drain, he had an idea.
Anyone who has lived in, or traveled to, the Pacific Northwest knows how much it can rain. Heavy downpours, torrents. It must all go somewhere. The Willamette and Columbia rivers were the obvious choice. As the city grew, Portland had constructed a stormwater system to compensate for the deluges they got. Not massive, like the one in Tokyo that The Nameless had used to sneak into Yamada Tower, but big enough to stand up in. An entry would be larger than that for the sewers.
Ryan grew frustrated the more he looked for the stormwater system. No matter where he looked, there was nothing to be seen. The helicopter’s rotors thumped, just a block away now, distracting Ryan as he scanned the gaps between the properties. The chopper banked suddenly, and the searchlight swept the street ahead.
“In there!” Cal shouted, gesturing at an open RV-repair shop. Even here, ash remains lay as they had fallen. Some next to an open hood. Another pile next to the phone on the wall, while another was next to a broom that lay abandoned on the greasy concrete.
“Get down!” Ryan said as he pulled out his survival blanket. “Get these out and cover yourselves. Quick.”
The helicopter’s rotors thumped so low and loud overhead, the metal roller door and the glass in the repair shop windows rattled. Ryan pulled Cal and Zanzi down, and they pulled the shiny blanket over themselves. Booth, to his credit, helped Ebony and Lahm under his, while Reid had his own.
The OPIS chopper buzzed back and forth, making several passes before finally moving away. They gave it another ten minutes before they left the repair shop. They kept the blankets handy in case a helicopter re-appeared.
“That was close,” Booth said. “’Spose we have to walk home now?”
“Less talking, more moving,” Ryan muttered.
Siphons’ groans echoed through the empty streets.
“I thought you got rid of those?” Cal said, staring at Ebony. Ebony shrugged and kept walking.
Ryan wanted to get out of the area before the Black Skull patrols had a chance to catch up. As he walked, he kept scanning for the stormwater system.
Shrieks from up ahead bounced off buildings and walls. The Nameless stopped. It was like they were being hunted from every direction. It didn’t take long for the Siphons to appear. They had once been factory workers. Some still wore white overalls, now shredded and hanging off their bodies. A few had paper hair nets on, while others wore white rubber boots. As soon as they spotted The Nameless, their shrieking grew louder and they surged and tumbled over each other, arms outstretched, to get to their prey.
Booth and Reid cursed and raised their weapons. Booth fired a three-round burst at the lead Siphon, taking out a chunk of its neck. He continued firing as they retreated.
Ebony growled, deep and guttural, almost primal, and spat on the sidewalk. She looked at Ryan and Cal. “Go. I’ll kill these fuckers.”
“We can help,” Cal said.
“Those Black Skull assholes will be here soon. Go.”
She growled again and launched herself at the mob. She kicked, punched and snapped bones with lethal efficiency. As soon as one Siphon was down, she was on to the next.
Ryan caught a glimpse of a shiny blade in one of her hands as she stabbed it into a temple, spun, and drove her elbow into a creature’s midriff. Ryan tore his eyes away from the sight and nudged his radio.
“Control. Heading west and south. Going underground. Too hot up here.”
“Copy that. We’re picking up movement to your north on the traffic cams. You guys have stirred something up. They’re throwing a lot of personnel your way. If you can get to the north steel bridge, I’ll send Allie to meet you.” Lisa’s voice came through clear and strong.
“Wilco.”
Ryan finally spotted what he was looking for between two empty lots. The concrete tube stuck out of the ground by a meter, with a wire dome set on top. He lifted the dome and gestured the others inside. Cal, Zanzi, and Booth ducked in and climbed down the ladder.
Lahm frowned and shook her head. “I hate small spaces.”
Reid gave the doctor a shove. “It’s a small space or the suckers.”
There was plenty of headroom inside the stormwater system, and its walls, covered in green algae, gave off a musty scent. The water level was only up to Ryan’s knees as he sloshed south-west. The drains emptied into the closest river, but the system tunnels branched off in all directions.
Ryan pulled his compass from his satchel and took a tunnel leading west. “If we keep heading in this direction, we’ll come out near the bridge.”
“You say that like you’ve been down here before,” Booth said, grinning from ear to ear.
The teams trudged silently through the muddy water. Even though this was a drainage system, the stench of decomposing animals soon filled their nostrils. Doing his best to ignore it, Ryan kept glancing over his shoulder, fearful that the Black Skulls would discover where they’d gone. He’d been the last to enter the system, and as he had replaced the cover, he’d heard the faint barking of dogs. It made sense. Despite all the technological wonders, a dog’s sensitive nose was still an accurate tool for tracking someone.
Reid, on point, used his night vision goggles to guide them. As they walked deeper, the darkness had a way of wrapping around them like a blanket.
Reid held up a closed fist to halt the group. Using hand signals, he indicated something was ahead.
Ryan joined him and crouched. “What do you see?”
“Not sure exactly. I couldn’t make it out. It’s big, about the size of a cat.” Reid handed Ryan the NVGs.
It took a few moments for Ryan’s eyes to adjust to the grainy image filtered with green. Twenty, maybe thirty meters ahead, he spotted the movement. Dozens of cat-sized animals had gathered around a pyramid-like mound. What the hell were they? It was hard to make the animals out. A slight breeze blew into his face, which meant they were downwind; the rotting carcass odor was stronger.
He took a couple of steps forward. At that point, something about the creatures caught his attention. Their skin was pale, faces long, rodent-like. A shiver crawled up Ryan’s spine. Rats. Mutated, like the Siphons. They’d lost their hair, revealing ivory skin like the Siphons, and they’d swollen to be as big as cats. Ryan turned his focus on the mound. They were bones. Some he recognized. Skulls of dogs and cats. Birds and cows.
He backpedaled slowly and held a finger to his lips, then pointed back the way they had come. Just then, a shrill, high-pitched squeak sounded. That one squeak turned into a chorus. Ryan spun, whipped off the NVGs and clicked on his flashlight. The rats had abandoned their mound and were tearing toward The Nameless.
Ryan clicked off his safety and raised the MP5. “Incoming!”
Josie screamed as everyone who was armed began to fire at the wall of squeaking rats.
Twenty-One
Portland, Oregon
LK3 had chosen the location of their safe house well, hidden inside other buildings so it was surrounded. The whole setup reminded Milo of the speakeasy bars he had once seen on a tour in Chicago, rooms hidden inside rooms hidden inside buildings.
After locking Annie into another apartment and making sure her bonds were secure, Milo had spent the next thirty minutes scouting for the best entrance into the safe house. He had to be methodical and, at the same time, careful, but finding a suitable door proved too difficult. He was getting anxious. He had limited time in which to talk the director into his plan.
Milo paused at the edge of the roof he was about to climb onto. Helicopters thumped in the night sky across the river, circling. More than likely hunting The Nameless.
He hauled himself onto the flat roof and, staying on his stomach, slithered across the iron. A row of windows jutte
d out from the roof, nearly in the exact center. Instinct, honed from years of hunting targets, told him he was right. Inch by inch he slithered, swiveling his head from side to side. LK3 would have cameras up here, hidden amongst the vents and clutter of aerials and microwave receivers. The last thing he wanted was to trigger something and set off alarms. Milo’s biggest concern was to make this look sufficiently like an attack to satisfy Offenheim, and at the same time give himself a chance to talk to the director. He had contemplated radioing her but had ruled that out in case he was being monitored.
In the middle of the roof, he spotted what he was hoping to see: an electrical junction box, about the size of a side table. Like a snake, he made his way to it and broke the lock. Klaxons wailed out immediately.
Dammit!
Foregoing any further attempts at stealth, Milo turned and sprinted toward the row of windows, crashed through feet first and plummeted to the ground. He twisted in midair, trying to get his bearings. Four figures sat at a bank of computers. Their heads turned toward the sound of breaking glass. Faster than he’d anticipated, Director Lisa Omstead and Sofia Ortiz reacted, guns drawn and blazing. All he could do to keep from being hit was to keep moving. He spun in dizzying circles to the right.
Bullets chipped the concrete around him, the flecks bit into his flesh.
“Wait! It’s me, Milo,” he said, backpedaling until he crashed through a door.
More rounds hit the concrete and wood around him. Either Lisa and Sofia hadn’t heard him or didn’t care because they kept firing.
Milo found himself in a communal dining room and kept running, down some stairs and onto the floor of an old factory. Perfect. He’d wanted open space with room to move, to avoid them, if necessary, until he could get them to talk.
***
If you asked Lisa Omstead where her reactions came from, she would tell you that it was her years and years of training, and instinct. In the split second it took for the sounds of glass and wood breaking to reach her, her brain had identified it. It could only mean one thing: they were under attack. As Milo was falling to the ground, she had drawn her weapon while her eyes sought out the target. She had expected a team of Black Skulls, fully loaded, abseiling down ropes with guns drawn. Not a lone man dressed in gray.
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