With a genuine threat against their lives—a shot at this range from a shotgun would either blow them in half or cause their heads to explode—Tommy lowered the angle of his rifle slightly and pulled the trigger, firing into the shadow’s unseen face.
The silhouette disappeared as the figure slumped in his seat, demolished head resting on his chin.
Emin took a step forward to enter the room. Tommy held out a hand to stop her. Michael could be a tricky customer. He’d proven that by how much he’d given them the run around so far. They needed to enter the room with great caution.
“Target subdued,” Tommy said into his radio. “Stand down.”
“We got the bad guy,” Emin said. “But what happened to the hostages?”
43.
“ALL RIGHT, boys,” the soldier said. “Stand down. The target has been neutralized.”
“Uh, sir, we’re getting some movement.”
Stepping from the smashed glass of the front door were three figures. To the soldier’s eyes, they moved with the same smooth efficiency as an uninfected human. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
The soldier put the megaphone to his mouth. “Hands up where we can see them!”
The figures did but kept their hands clasped tight together.
“Are they carrying?” the soldier said.
“That’s a negative. I think they’re the hostages.”
Into the megaphone, the soldier said: “Down on your knees!”
The three hostages obeyed.
“Beta Team,” the soldier said into his radio. “Go check them out.”
44.
“HOSTAGES?” Emin said. “How did they slip by us?”
“They must have come down the stairs as we were heading up,” Tommy said.
“That was unfortunate,” Emin said flatly.
Unfortunate. Or planned. The odds of them slipping past like that made Tommy’s mind boggle.
“Turn on your flashlight,” Tommy said. “There’s something I want to check out.”
45.
THE HOSTAGES were close enough for the soldier to make out their appearance. They wore regular smart casual office clothing and appeared to be in good shape.
Beta Team met the hostages. They turned back to the soldier and gave a thumbs up.
“Let’s get them to the doctor,” the soldier said into his radio.
Beta Team helped the hostages to their feet and led them in the direction of the awaiting ambulance.
46.
THE GUY’S whole head was missing.
“Uh, Tommy?” Emin said. “What do you make of this?”
She aimed her torchlight at the man’s hands. They’d been taped together, wrapped about the shotgun. Another length of tape, fashioned into a length of rope, had been wrapped around the trigger and attached to the doorknob.
Tommy spoke into his radio.
“Come in over,” he said. “Come in!”
Blowing the head off a guy was tragic enough. It was even worse that it was the wrong head.
47.
“AH, THAT’S better,” Michael said as the tape was removed from his mouth. “It was difficult to breathe with that thing.”
Next, the soldier cut the tape from his hands. Michael was quick to tuck his hand with its missing digits in his pocket. The soldier moved to cut the women loose. They were breathing hard through their noses, eyes glaring at Michael.
They’re not going to keep their traps shut, Michael thought. The moment they were a safe distance from him, they were going to scream and shout. His little ruse on the fifth floor wasn’t going to remain hidden forever either. He’d escaped the building, and that had been his goal. He needed to act, and he needed to act fast.
“I think I still have a little tape attached to on my fingers,” he said. “Do you think you can help me?”
“Sure thing,” the soldier said.
Michael bit the crust off what remained of his finger nubs and shoved them in the soldier’s mouth. He braced the soldier’s head with his good hand as the man choked on his blood. Julie and the Teenager leaped back and took off at a run.
“Hey! Hey!”
A couple of soldiers took after them. Within a few yards, they’d caught up to them. They’d be spilling the beans any second.
Michael released the soldier, letting him fall to the ground.
“Somebody help!” Michael shouted. “I think there’s something wrong with this guy! Somebody!”
The soldiers rushed to their comrade’s aid.
“Put him on the bed,” a doctor said, gesturing to the back of the ambulance.
Amidst the hubbub, only Julie and the Teenager noticed as Michael slipped away, running for the vehicles parked in an arc down the street. I need something quick, something fast. . . Police motorbikes were parked on the end. Just the ticket.
Please, please, please, have the keys in the ignition. . .
He was in luck.
He climbed on a bike, started the engine, and took off down the street in the direction of the big city.
48.
“THE SUSPECT is among the hostages!” Tommy said into his radio as he ran up the stairs to the roof three, four at a time. “I repeat. The suspect is among the hostages!”
He didn’t wait for a reply. If he knew Michael—and he wished he never needed to know the mind of a warped sicko—he knew he’d already be attempting to achieve his goal. Tommy needed to intercept him and stop him in his tracks.
Tommy shoved the rooftop door open and sprinted to the side that overlooked the street. Above, helicopters floated like lost dragonflies. Below, the military had fanned their vehicles out to form a barrier of protection from any gunfire.
Michael could have taken off in one of two directions. Back down the road, out into the world, or the city to achieve his ultimate goal and mission.
What would I do? Tommy thought.
The answer, when phrased like that, was obvious.
He placed his rifle on the rim of the low brick wall that encircled the rooftop. He crouched and waited.
It wasn’t a second later that he heard the commotion below. Peering over the side, something was happening near the ambulance.
Michael.
There were too many people down there. It was too difficult to pick out a single person. He watched and waited as the ant people rushed from one spot to another.
Then he heard the engine rev.
The powerful motorcycle sprang forward from the arc of vehicles and bolted down the road, toward the inner city, toward the roadblock that had been set up at the end. The line between success and failure for both sides.
A police officer in full uniform shouted, shaking his fist at the motorcycle pulling away.
Tommy leaned down and peered through the sight perched atop his rifle. The bastard was in a rush to reach the finish line. With the fate of the country in his hands, Tommy had better make the most of this small window of opportunity.
49.
I’M GOING to make it! I’m going to make it!
This bike wasn’t really built for speed. It was built for long journies, long pursuits, and long waits. It had a fat ass, stuffed with items an officer might need at all times. Ordinarily, officers sat up and drove, but Michael leaned forward and pressed himself as low as he could to coax as much speed out of the engine as possible.
In his rearview mirrors, he made out the police and military vehicles beginning to pull out and give chase. You were invited to the party, but you were too late, guys!
Ziiiiip!
The rearview mirror suddenly disappeared as a bullet knocked it clean off. Michael thought he’d seen a flash, not from the vehicles giving pursuit but somewhere higher up—
A smile twisted Michael’s features.
From the roof. Tommy.
In his other rearview mirror, another flash. The bike would never react fast enough to outmaneuver a speeding bullet. All he could do was race hell for leather for the endgame.
The roadblock ahead.
Slam into that, and his virus-rich blood would douse the juicy people standing there, nothing more than gormless receptacles, with its majesty.
Look out world, here I come.
50.
ANOTHER SHOT, and another miss. With each passing second, the bike and its passenger were getting farther and farther away.
Closer to disaster.
If Tommy was going to make the shot that mattered, it needed to be now. He gave up aiming at Michael. He was never going to hit his head. The target was too small. The bike, on the other hand. . .
He refocused on it and opened fire, more scattershot this time. He was getting desperate. If he hit a civilian with a ricocheted bullet, so be it.
51.
THE BULLETS bounced off the bike’s hard metal frame, cracked the surrounding windows, and hit something that hissed steam.
Then a loud BOOM!
Michael lost control. The bike swerved left and right. He lost control altogether as the back wheel suddenly overtook the front wheel. The bike slid out from underneath him.
It came to a stop inches before the roadblock. Michael, several yards back, made to get to his feet. Glancing down, he realized he had no feet. Or legs. The fall had stripped the flesh from his bones, the friction searing his skin.
He reached forward with his arms. One was still smoking. An unrecognizable hand. The other still had a couple of digits on it. He pulled himself forward inch by laborious inch. Toward the roadblock.
Then he heard the words he prayed for, the words of a do-gooder angel that would spell the doom for them all:
“Let me through! I’m a doctor!”
52.
TOMMY AND Emin bolted from the doorway and ignored the two dozen guns snapping in their direction. Emin ran for the zombies rapidly tearing through the soldier ranks.
Tommy took off in the opposite direction. He leaped into a truck and buried his foot on the gas pedal.
“Don’t let anyone near him!” Tommy said into his radio. “I repeat. No one is to go anywhere near him. Is that understood?”
By the time Tommy pulled the truck to a stop, a crowd had gathered around the crash site.
A pair of soldiers stood before a lady, not letting her come any closer.
“We didn’t know whether to restrain him or put him out of his misery,” a soldier said.
There was little left of the man formerly known as Michael. A burnt torso, one functioning arm, and both legs were torn free.
“I’m a doctor!” the woman kept saying. “I demand you let me see to him.”
“Lady,” Tommy said. “My fiancee is a doctor. I know how worked up you guys can get, thinking you can always help people get better. But I assure you, there’s nothing good you can do for this man.”
He knelt beside Michael.
“We got you, you son of a bitch.”
Michael looked up at him. The same hate and venom were in his eyes from the first time Tommy had met him.
Lights from a hundred phones and cameras recorded the event. The day disaster was averted.
53.
THE CARGO plane wasn’t the most comfortable vehicle to travel in. Its metal walls were blank, a thousand protruding bolts ready to snag an unwary elbow.
What remained of the terrorist known as Michael floated in a tank in the middle of the cavernous space. Both legs and one arm had been blown off. His bare chest sported multiple holes. His hair floated about his head, forming a halo.
Over his mouth, he wore a mask. It funneled useless oxygen into his mouth. They fitted him with it was so they could talk to him. Built into it was a microphone.
“Are you sure you want to wake him up?” Emin said. “I like the peace and quiet.”
She was sat at the control terminal. It was, thankfully, very plain and simple to operate, consisting of just a few buttons and dials. Sean hovered at her shoulder, mesmerized by the flashing lights on the deck.
Tommy focused on the floating figure in the tank.
“Do it,” he said.
“Okay. . .” Emin said, pressing a big shiny red button.
The body jerked, twitching. Slowly, Michael’s eyes opened. He peered left to right, using his stumps to shift position. He didn’t appear to be surprised to find himself in the tank.
“Good morning,” he said.
His voice was distorted, plumes of bubbles escaping either side of his mouth.
“Where did you plant the other orbs?” Tommy said. “We found a large sack of them in the back of the car you hijacked. How many were there?”
“That would be telling.”
“Innocent people will die. Tell us where they are.”
“I could tell you where they were, not that it would help you. Now they’re on the wind. I couldn’t tell you where they are even if I knew. They’re each making their own little pilgrimage, traveling wherever fate takes them. You can’t stop them. Only a fool prevents progress.”
“Progress?” Tommy said through gritted teeth. “You call genocide progress?”
“Look at the world, how it has developed, how it has changed. The course needs to be corrected, and we’re here to do it. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
The man had lost his mind.
“We all must make sacrifices if we’re to attain our ultimate goal,” Michael said.
“Which is?”
“World domination, of course. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“We trapped the virus behind the walls of a single city. What makes you think we can’t do it again if we had to?”
“No one can build a wall that large.”
Just how was he supposed to get the information he needed out of this guy?
“Tell me where Hawk is,” he said.
“He’s tucked away safe and sound inside the city.”
“Austin? He’s in Austin? We searched it. He’s not there.”
“Did you search everywhere?” A dangerous glint in his eye. “You need not fear for your friend. He will emerge stronger and more powerful than ever before. If he survives the procedure.”
A cruel smile bent his features. He had a large puckered scar curled about one cheek that drew his lip into a sneer.
“We’re developing all kinds of weapons to get you to talk,” Tommy said. “Don’t think you can hold out forever.”
“I’ll never reach the base.” He sounded almost sad.
“Why won’t you?”
“The base isn’t where I die. I’m curious. Do you fear death?”
“Not any longer.”
“You should. To die without a just cause is the worst kind there is. I serve a greater purpose and give my life willingly. Would you?”
“I’ve given my life for many causes.”
“You have no idea what you’re up against.”
“We caught you, didn’t we?” Tommy said. “You’re not so tough. We tracked you down, figured out your plan, and stopped you.”
Michael’s eyes glinted. “I am merely a vessel, a slave to the mind behind everything.”
Tommy felt a shiver run up his spine. Through the whole ordeal, from when he’d first entered Austin and dealt with the people in the underground sewer, he’d gotten the feeling there was another, a leader above the others, someone else pulling the strings.
“He’s all-seeing, all-powerful,” Michael said. “You’ll never catch him. Not ever. He’s too smart.”
“Tommy?” Emin said. “We’re getting a transmission.”
A monitor slid down from the ceiling. The image flicked on. Samantha. She was hard at work in her research facility, her team busy behind her. Emin hit the button to mute Michael.
“Hey,” Samantha said with a grin. “All hail the conquering hero.”
“A small victory,” Tommy said. “He hasn’t told us anything useful yet.”
“He will with time.”
“How’s the cure coming along?”
“It’s not. It’s turni
ng out a lot tougher than we thought it would be. Every time we try something new, the virus adapts.”
“Tommy,” Emin said. She sidled up to him and said: “I need to speak with you.”
He could tell by the look in her eye that something was wrong. Tommy turned back to the monitor and smiled at Samantha.
“Can you give me a sec?” he said. “Something just came up.”
“Sure.”
Tommy moved to one side, out of view of the monitor.
“What is it?” he said.
“Do you remember that man I told you about?” Emin said. “The man I saw in the coffee shop who began all this?”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, I just saw him.”
Tommy’s eyes flicked to Michael in the glass box.
“You said it wasn’t him,” he said.
“Not him.” There was real terror in Emin’s voice. “The man in the video. In the room with Samantha.”
Tommy turned to look at the monitor. Still out of view, he could see Samantha looking at some documents and handing them back to her assistant. Behind her, working at various tables, were young and middle-aged men.
“Which one?” he said.
“The one on the left,” Emin said. “With the white hair.”
As the man worked, his eyes flicked up and glanced in the direction of the camera.
He knows we’re watching him. And if he’s as smart as Michael says he is, he knows Emin is on our team. Which means. . .
He knows we can see him. Or was it a slip-up? A mistake? Why would he risk exposing himself like this?
“Are you sure?” Tommy said.
Death Squad (Book 2): Zombie State Page 13
