by Ellis, Tripp
The anxious crowd started to push their way through like a herd of cattle. Parker grabbed ahold of Chloe and pulled her aside. She didn’t want her to get crushed by the increasingly restless mob.
The greedy woman inched closer to the steps, gazing upward. Blood oozed its way down through the grates. A mist of microscopic blood particles rained down. The woman flinched slightly as a speck fell into her eye. She paid it no attention, absentmindedly wiping her lower lid. Others had flowed into the stairwell, each staring upwards, mouths agape. There was no telling how many got infected that very moment.
Steele was a professor—and his class was on the proper dissection of infected. He was taking these lurkers to school. They flowed down the stairwell like a mountain stream. And climbing the stairs was often like scaling Everest or K2—one step forward, two steps back. The sheer number of them proved challenging, no matter how skillful Steele was.
Steele carved into a lurker—the gnarled body toppled to the stairs. The thing’s head wasn’t fully severed and the creature still retained some control of its arm. Flailing and flopping as Steele ascended another step, the lurker grabbed Steele’s ankle at just the right moment to set him off balance.
Steele stumbled to his knee. The horde pushed forward like an offensive line. Steele toppled back to the switchback landing. In a flash, several infected were piled on top of him. Gnawing and chomping.
CHAPTER 25
YELLOW STAINED TEETH gnashed at him. Their foul breath made Steele’s face pucker. He used his titanium composite forearm as a shield. One of the lurkers chipped a tooth biting down on it. Steele growled and flung the bone bags off of him, kicking and punching.
He grabbed his 9mm and rattled off a few rounds, dropping his tacklers for good. Steele emptied the rest of the magazine into the mob. Nineteen rounds total. Nineteen lurkers down. Dropping that many, that fast, gave Steele time to catch his breath and regroup. It was time to quit screwing around. Steele dropped the empty magazine, and clicked in a full one. Then he holstered the weapon and switched to the assault rifle.
Subsonic rounds zipped through the air. Heads burst, painting the walls with blood. Steele worked his way up the staircase with textbook precision. Round after round tore through bone and brain. In less than 30 seconds, Steele was switching out the RK’s magazine. Thirty lurkers neutralized. Another magazine. Another thirty down.
Steele finally reached the top of the shaft. The air was thick with the haze of swirling smoke, and the pungent smell of gunpowder. From the blast door, Steele saw a few stragglers midway down the exit tunnel. A few well-placed rounds took care of them. He spun back to the railing and called down the shaft. “Clear!”
The hostages rushed up the staircase, climbing over the mounds of fallen infected. Bodies still twitched, and hands grasped at ankles. Severed heads lay strewn about, gnawing at the air. The heads were like bombs that hit the ground and never detonated—but still dangerous.
Parker and Chloe brought up the rear to avoid the stampede. “Keep clear of their mouth’s,” Parker said.
Chloe nodded.
Steele called down to Parker. “You okay?”
“Yup. Be there in a jiffy.”
Steele moved to the blast doors. The escape tunnel still looked clear. “Follow me,” he said to the crowd that had gathered atop the landing. “The tunnel runs about 150 yards. From there we’ll head west, then south to the scrap yard. Stay tight, keep your heads down, and keep quiet.”
Steele crept into the tunnel with his rifle ready. The tunnel was lit up, his tactical goggles switched to night vision. He raced through the passageway stepping over the lurkers he had shot. Their bodies were still writhing and undulating. Did these things ever really die, he wondered?
At the end of the tunnel, the sloped door was still wide open. Steele cautiously poked his head through and scanned the field. Flames towered high in the sky from the compound. The IED must have ignited a few vehicles or fuel stores. The flames burned bright, billowing black smoke into the night sky. He could smell the faint scent of gasoline.
There were no guards in the guard towers. It seemed everyone’s attention was focused on dealing with the explosion. There were, undoubtedly, casualties that needed attention. Casualties would draw lurkers. The entire south wall was exposed and left the compound vulnerable. It would need to be defended.
Steele dipped back down into the tunnel. After a few moments, Parker made it through and shouldered her way to Steele. She had Chloe in tow. From there, Steele led them back to the scrapyard.
Cole and Andrew were waiting for them. Their eyes wide, frantically searching the crowd of hostages. Their faces lit up with joy as they found the familiar faces of their wives. Steele watched as the two men rushed to their better halves, embracing them. There were tears and kisses. Faces aglow with the comfort of being whole again. It was the kind of thing that made you feel good about what you had done. Seeing those kinds of reunions always made the cost worth it. It could soften even the hardest of hearts.
“Where’s Xavier and Delroy?” Steele asked.
Andrew shrugged, his face somber. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t think they made it,” Cole stammered. His voice was pensive. “I mean, they took pretty heavy fire. I couldn’t see directly. But they haven’t turned up here.”
Steele’s face tightened. He motioned to the refugees. “Get them back to Xavier’s,” he said to Parker.
“Where are you going?” Chloe asked.
Steele knelt down beside her. “I’ve gotta make sure the rest of our team gets back safely.”
“I’m going to go with you.”
Steele smiled. “You are going to go with Parker. And you two better keep out of trouble.”
Chloe frowned.
Steele dug into his pack and pulled out the tattered tiger, Mr. Carlisle.
Her eyes glowed and she hugged the doll. Then she hugged Steele. She was overflowing with joy.
“Come on, little bit,” Parker said, taking Chloe’s hand.
Parker nodded to Steele. Her green eyes were usually fierce and focused. But for an instant, they softened and betrayed a hint of concern. “Come back, Chief.”
Steele nodded.
Nobody ever liked to say good luck. It was almost considered bad luck. And it always came off sounding sarcastic. Telling someone stay safe was almost like telling them to go get shot. No one needed a reminder of how messed up any combat situation could be. But what were you supposed to say to someone when it could be the last time you might ever see them? Come back seemed reasonable enough. Direct and to the point. And Steele knew what she meant by it.
Raddick’s compound was in shambles, and they were certainly pissed off. They would be like a swarm of angry wasps whose hive had gotten knocked down by mischievous boys. Going anywhere near the compound now would be twice as dangerous. And if they caught you, they would certainly take out their frustrations in the most painful of ways.
Parker climbed into the Toyama Rumbler with Chloe. The rest of the refugees packed into the bed until it was brimming over. The ass end sunk low. It was surprising, but somehow they all fit. Parker fired up the engine and pulled out of the scrapyard, disappearing into the night.
Steele watched them go. The thought crossed his mind that Parker might go back, take the titrillium, and leave him in the zone. But he dismissed it.
He saw Chloe hang her head out of the window, looking back at him. His heart melted just a tiny bit. Somehow, the kid had broken through that hardened shell of a man. Somehow that kid gave him something to care about. Something to live for. So what if Parker would take the titrillium—as long as she kept that kid safe, she could have it.
Steele smiled for a moment. Then he turned his heart back to stone and headed for Raddick’s camp to find Xavier and Delroy.
CHAPTER 26
A SECONDARY EXPLOSION rocked the compound. Barrels of fuel, stored above ground, exploded. Flames rocketed into the air. Steele stood at the corn
er of Vermont and Norfolk, peering around the corner. The street in front of the compound was cratered and littered with debris. Bits of concrete, rubble, and rebar. Twisted shards of sheet metal and engine parts. Chunks of rubber and shattered glass. A fragment of the Vantage’s name plate was at Steele’s feet—200 yards away from the explosion. Twisted and charred, the only remaining letters were: TAG.
There was a flurry of activity around the compound. Frantic voices echoed into the night air. The occasional crack of gunfire rang out—defending against the ever growing mass of lurkers marching against them.
Steele used the tactical goggles’ optical zoom to get a better look. Amidst the debris, he saw pools of blood on the south side of the street. The blood smeared and trailed off into the alleyway. It was obvious that a body had been moved. Someone had pulled an injured man to safety, and away from the compound. Steele wondered who had been hit, Delroy or Xavier? Or both?
Steele dashed across Norfolk Avenue. He hid behind the corner building. He threw his back against the brick wall, then peered around toward the compound. No one had seemed to take notice of him.
Steele guessed that Xavier had been wounded. The odds favored it. Xavier had a more dangerous job, and less combat experience. He figured Delroy’s first priority would’ve been to get the wounded out of harm’s way. Then find a safe area and stabilize the injuries.
South of the compound, there were a slew of warehouses, machine shops, and industrial type buildings. Steele figured Delroy would take cover in one of those buildings. At least until things calmed down, and he could move safely back to the rendezvous point.
A thermal imaging scan might help Steele find Delroy and Xavier. The only problem was that the Special Forces Combat Uniform was equipped with thermal masking technology. It produced a reduced heat signature. It was one of the things that made the special forces very hard to detect. As long as Xavier was alive, Steele might be able to pick up his thermal signature. But if he had bled out, he’d be as cold as the ground around him.
Steele took off south on Vermont Street and circled his way back around. He was heading for the alleyway with the blood trail. But he was taking the long way around for obvious reasons. He used the tactical goggles to scan every building, and warehouse, in his path for thermal anomalies. But nothing showed up.
It took half an hour to work his way around. Steele found himself crouching by the dumpster in the alleyway south of the compound. He was kneeling beside a pool of blood. It was clear Delroy and Xavier had been here. Blood smeared and trailed off farther to the south, then disappeared.
Steele had covered a lot of ground and didn’t pick up a hint of thermal variation. It was possible they weren’t even in the area anymore. Maybe they crossed paths in the night unknowingly. Maybe Delroy was waiting at the scrapyard.
Delroy certainly wasn’t a brain surgeon, but he knew how to handle himself in a combat situation. Steele wondered if Delroy found a way to cloak Xavier’s heat signature.
None of that really mattered at the moment. What mattered was the bullet rocketing towards Steele’s skull. He heard the supersonic crack of the bullet about the time it hit him. That was the last thing he remembered.
He woke up with a hell of a headache. No telling how much time had passed. But he wasn’t in the alleyway anymore.
His helmet was beside him. The fabric cover had the slightest indication of a tear. But the bullet hadn’t even penetrated the fabric. It was tough stuff. Steele ran his finger over the depression in the helmet that the bullet had made. A bulletproof helmet, bulletproof fabric cover, and a titanium composite skull seemed to have kept him alive.
Steele knew a few soldiers who had survived direct hits to the helmet. He also knew a few who had died from the concussion alone. The helmets were effective against lower caliber rounds. And depending upon the angle and distance, larger rounds. But a .50 cal would have split the helmet in two and ripped right through his brain. Steele figured this must have been a 5.56mm round.
He found himself confined in one of the very cells that he had rescued the hostages from. Cell A-21. A drab rectangle with a fold-down plank for a bed, stainless steel sink and toilet, and a solid metal door. All of his weapons had been taken. His 9mm and his RK could be easily replaced, but that blade was special to him. It was custom-made and perfectly balanced. A gift from Jeff Curran—an old Army buddy. And Steele wanted it back.
Jeff was that guy who was always the life of the party. Always buying rounds for his buddies—when he had money. When he didn’t, you took care of him cause you knew it would come back around. He was the kind of guy who loved a war zone. Loved the insanity of it all. And just knew he was going to make it out alive.
Steele had saved Jeff’s life during his second tour in Syria. A CAV pilot screwed up an insertion and put them deep in enemy territory. Surrounded and outgunned, the unit took heavy casualties. Jeff was one of those casualties. Things quickly went from bad to worse. Steele called in close air support and tried to get his men out of there. He made three trips back to get the wounded out. Steele was badly injured as well, with a shrapnel wound to his leg.
Steele received the medal of honor—one of the few active duty recipients. Jeff died the next year when his outpost was overrun by insurgents. Steele could replace the sword, but he couldn’t replace the sentiment behind the gift.
Dwelling on the past wasn’t going to do Steele any good. He had more pressing matters at hand. Like getting out of this cell.
It was maybe an hour before anyone came to check on him. And when someone did, it was Raddick himself. He glanced through the window. Steele had climbed off the floor and was sitting on the bunk, which wasn’t much of an improvement.
Raddick slid open the food slot. The metal on metal sound echoed throughout the cell block. He knelt down and peered through the thin opening. “I assume I have you to thank for my troubles?”
Steele said nothing.
Raddick’s big aviator sunglasses filled the slot. “The damage you’ve caused is irreparable.”
“You shot down two CAVs,” Steele said. “Z-SOC is coming for you. Soon, you’ll be in a world of hurt.”
“Ain’t none of that gonna matter before long.”
“How so?”
“The thing you call civilization is hanging on by a ragged thread.”
“The infection is contained.”
“Is that what you think?” Raddick chuckled. “For how long?” His words hung there for a long moment. “The whole thing is going down like the Titanic. It’s people like me that are gonna survive. It’s people like me that are gonna rebuild.”
“Is that what you call kidnapping women and children?” Steele asked with contempt. “Rebuilding?”
“I am no different than Noah or any other biblical figure.”
“Biblical figure?”
“The good Lord has finally struck down the sinners and evil doers. He has brought this curse upon us to cleanse the land. And I have heard His call to shepherd in a new flock.”
“And he said all of this to you personally?”
“Don’t mock me, boy.” Raddick scowled at him. His eyes blazed with fury.
Steele’s eyes narrowed, sizing Raddick up. Was this all an act, or did he really believe he was some sort of chosen disciple? A new messiah?
“You took a sniper round to the head. Not many walk away from that,” Raddick said. “I believe that there are no mistakes. That everything happens for a reason. God has a plan for you, my son. There is a reason that you are still alive. Despite my better efforts to have you killed.”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“What you call luck, I call divine intervention. You know, forgiveness is part of being godly. I’m willing to forgive you. On one condition.”
“What condition is that?”
“You tell me where you’ve taken my flock.”
“I really don’t know,” Steele said. “I’m having a hard time remembering anything before waking up here.
Head injury, you know.” Steele grinned.
Raddick’s face tightened. “You better hope that memory comes back, or things are going to get real uncomfortable for you.” He held up a prescription bottle of Steele’s medication. Raddick read from the label. “Take every 4 to 6 hours as needed for pain.” He sighed with mock sympathy. “This is pretty heavy duty stuff. Bad integration with the prosthetics, eh?”
Steele said nothing.
“You know, the withdrawal from these things can be worse than the pain that started you off on them in the first place. Seizures, convulsing, nausea—even death. I tell you, it’s a racket. They sell you pills to make you feel better, but then you can’t live without them,” Raddick shrugged. “Is it really such a bad thing that their world is collapsing?”
There was a long silence. Steele knew without the meds he was in for some trouble. And he had no love for the mega corporations that seemed to control every aspect of daily life. They had completely corrupted the political system. But Raddick’s new world wasn’t the solution.
“You seem so sure the rest of the world is going down,” Steele said.
“How can it not? It’s only a matter of time. The infection is still in phase one. Phase two is coming.”
“What’s phase two?”
“When it becomes airborne.” Raddick’s words hung in the air.
“What makes you think it’s going to go airborne?” Steele asked.
“Why don’t you ask the man you freed?” Raddick replied. “Gabriel. He knows a lot more about it than I do.”
“How’s that?”
“Cause Gabriel designed the damn thing.” Raddick’s face was tense. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Keep in mind that my hospitality, and my congenial nature, is coming to an end. Where is my flock?”
Steele shrugged.
“So be it. The next time I see you, our conversation is not going to be so friendly. You think about that while I’m gone.” Raddick slammed the food slot shut. His heavy boots stomped down the hall.
