by Ellis, Tripp
CHAPTER 28
STEELE CREPT THROUGH the empty basement. He could still feel the heat of dozens of bodies that once packed the small space. They couldn’t have left all that long ago.
A noise startled him. He spun around with his weapon ready to fire.
Sarah emerged from the shadows. Her face was somber, and her eyes were red and puffy from waves of tears. “Have you seen Xavier?”
Steele shook his head.
She was still holding out hope that he would return.
“Where are the others?”
“Parker didn’t think it would be safe here anymore. They moved to the shop.”
Steele took a breath, relieved. He thought Parker had left him. It was nice to find out she hadn’t. At least, not yet. “Where is the shop?”
“It’s about a mile from here on 42nd and Thackston Avenue. Can’t miss it—Silva Automotive. Xavier thought it best if we had a fallout location in case this one was discovered. It doesn’t have much in the way of supplies, but it’s better than nothing.” Sarah’s eyes fell to the floor. “I thought I’d stay here in case Xavier returned.”
The door suddenly swung open, and Delroy pushed through. He hobbled in carrying Xavier over his shoulder. He set Xavier down on the ground and Sarah rushed to him.
Delroy was exhausted, heaving for breath. He had carried a 175 pound man almost 7 miles. A staggering challenge for a healthy soldier. An almost impossible feat for one who had his quadriceps bisected by a piece of shrapnel. But there he was.
Sarah huddled over Xavier’s body. He was in bad shape and had the faintest of pulses.
Delroy had administered basic first aid in the field. He had used what the grunts called GS gel to occlude the wounds. An expandable biopolymer foam that was fantastic at plugging gunshot wounds and stopping bleeding. The wounded tissue would then leech regenerative compounds from the polymer, speeding recovery. It was keeping Xavier alive, but he needed to get to a trauma facility immediately.
“He lost a lot of blood, but I managed to stabilize him,” Delroy said. “But he needs a med-pod, or some nano-medics.”
The med-pods used nano-bots to repair vital tissue and organs via remote. The pods were marvels of modern medicine. There were more than enough of them back on base to handle the casualty rate of the containment operation. But getting a civilian from the quarantine zone into one would be next to impossible.
“We need to move out,” Steele said. “Sarah, get your things.”
Sarah rushed to gather her bug-out bag.
Delroy stepped to Steele and spoke softly. “I’m not sure he’s going to survive much more travel.”
“He’s certainly not going to survive here.”
Delroy agreed.
“We need to catch up with Parker before we get left behind,” Steele said.
“You think she’d do that?” Delroy asked.
“Right now, I’m not sure if anyone knows we’re alive.”
Delroy nodded.
A moment later, Sarah returned with her gear.
“Do you have access to a vehicle?” Steele asked.
“No. They took the only two we had.”
“Delroy, do you think you can rustle one up?”
“I can always rustle one up.”
“You’ll need gas,” Sarah said. “We’ve siphoned every car in the area.”
Delroy grabbed a gas canister from the storage area and set out to find a car. He pushed through the basement door and staggered up the steps into the alleyway. But he froze in his tracks as several vehicles passed by. They were older, light armored vehicles. Some of Raddick’s men looking for revenge. Probably Raddick himself.
Delroy ducked back down to the basement. “Change of plans. Raddick’s trolling the area with LAVs. It’s your call, but I think we’d be better off on foot.”
Steele agreed. “A car would draw too much attention.”
“What about Xavier?” Sarah stammered, then swallowed hard. Her eyes were wide and her throat was dry.
“Don’t worry,” Steele said, sensing what she was nervous about. “We don’t leave our people behind.” Steele moved to Xavier, who was moving in and out of consciousness. Steele picked him up and hefted him over his shoulder. “Lets move out.”
Delroy pushed open the door and held it for Steele. He climbed into the alleyway and jogged north. Sarah and Delroy followed. Steele could hear the sound of the diesel engines clattering in the night air. They were combing the streets block by block, looking for them.
Steele weaved his way to the south side of the freeway, stopping just shy of the feeder road. The freeway intersected the city and passed just north of downtown. Then continued east to the port.
It was open and exposed, and that didn’t make Steele comfortable. His eyes scanned left and right. It seemed clear, but he could hear the clattering diesel engines of the LAVs drawing near.
Steele dashed across the feeder road and scaled the concrete traffic barrier. He set Xavier on the concrete and crouched behind the K-rail barrier. Delroy and Sarah followed. Shortly after they were out of sight, an LAV turned from Walnut Street and roared down the feeder. Steele heard the breaks squeal to a halt, not more than 20 feet away.
The freeway was littered with abandoned vehicles. It was an eerie sight. There was just something surreal about an abandoned freeway.
Steele could see the reflection of the LAV in a nearby car window. The gunner was scanning the freeway. Steele hoped his own reflection wouldn’t be visible to the gunner. Or, at least, not obviously so.
There was a horde of lurkers staggering east on the freeway—straight toward Steele. Their movement had garnered the attention of Raddick’s men. The gunner was clearly eyeing the pack to make sure that’s all they were—infected.
Steele could hear the snarls of the infected growing louder as they drew near. He kept low behind the concrete barrier. This wasn’t the first time Steele had ever taken cover behind a K-rail. In Syria, a reinforced K-rail had sheltered him from some pretty intense fire. It had even stopped an RPG, so he knew it would withstand pretty heavy abuse. But he didn’t particularly want to go up against a .50 cal gunner.
Steele readied a grenade just in case. He was going to have to take action soon. The lurkers would be upon him in a few more steps.
Interstate highway standards dictate that inside shoulders should be at least 10 feet wide when there are 3 or more lanes. This shoulder’s concrete was grooved and littered with stones, bits of rubber, and trash. The minimum width of a highway lane is 12 feet—and there were five of them on each side. 120 feet doesn’t sound like a lot. But 120 feet of dodging parked cars and lurkers, with a .50 cal shooting at you, was a long way.
Steele only saw one LAV, but according to Delroy there were more. Even if they could take this one out, the other LAVs could be upon them in no time once a firefight started. More than one LAV would be too much to handle.
“What do you want to do, Chief?” Delroy asked.
Steele handed the grenade to Delroy. “After I fire, lob this at the LAV, then take out the lurkers.”
Delroy nodded. “Then what?”
“Run like hell.”
Steele grabbed a rock and hurled it through the air. It smacked into the hood of a Pontiac, clanking to the ground. The LAVs gunner snapped his head in the direction of the sound. That was Steele’s opportunity. He slung his weapon over the K-rail, took aim, and squeezed the trigger.
CRACK!
Almost instantly, the bullet ripped through the man’s eye socket. Bone shattered, and a fine mist of blood sprayed into the air. Before the man’s body hit the ground, Delroy had lofted the grenade into the air. It was tumbling toward the LAV.
The driver mashed the gas pedal, and the LAV lurched forward. But this wasn’t Delroy’s first rodeo. He led the vehicle just enough that the LAV rolled over the grenade as it exploded.
A blinding fireball erupted. Metal tore and blew apart. Black smoke billowed into the sky. Screams of t
he occupants filled the air as S9 gel burned through their flesh. The LAV was awash in flames.
Delroy spun around and rattled off several shots, dropping lurkers that were inches away.
Steele sprung to his feet and pulled Xavier over his shoulder. He weaved through the cars, hurdling the middle barrier. Then he dashed across the five westbound lanes to the other side, bounding over the last K-rail. Delroy and Sarah followed close behind.
They could hear the engines of the other LAVs responding to the commotion. Steele and his group scurried down the embankment. They raced across the frontage road, disappearing into the neighborhood on the north side.
North of the freeway was never a great neighborhood to begin with. Secondhand tire shops, junk parts, public housing, and liquor stores. Though, a bottle of whiskey sounded really good about now. Steele’s nerve pain was searing, and he was feeling jittery. But Earl’s Fine Liquors had been looted, and there wasn’t a bottle left on the shelf. Even if he had been able to find a bottle of whiskey, Steele never mixed alcohol and bullets. Besides, the pain made him agitated and mean. And that’s just how he liked it when in combat.
Steele moved passed Earl’s, darting into an alley behind a thrift store. He ran the alleyway north, passed a laundromat and a taqueria, up to 42nd Street.
From the alleyway, he saw the Rumbler parked in front of Silva Automotive on Thackston Avenue. A black Cadillac SUV was parked alongside it. He also saw a sniper on the roof. The last thing he needed was to step out and get shot by friendly fire.
“Don’t shoot,” Steele yelled. “It’s Major Steele.”
The sniper waved him on.
Steele made his way across the street. By the time he reached the shop, someone was opening the door for him.
Inside, the place was packed.
Steele set Xavier down. His face was pale and he was bleeding again. Steele grabbed his med-kit, then injected Xavier with a smart coagulant. It would help minimize internal bleeding.
“Is there anything I can do for him?” Sarah asked, kneeling beside Xavier.
“Just hold his hand, and keep talking to him,” Steele said.
Steele stood up and some grateful hostages thanked him for his daring rescue. He nodded and smiled, a little uncomfortable with the adulation.
There were about 40 refugees crammed in the small shop. Steele scowled at Finn, who was standing in the corner. He wanted to give Finn a piece of his mind. Better yet, a piece of his fist. Leaving that tunnel hatch open almost ended badly. But Steele contained his anger. He’d leave the little worm alone, for now.
“You need to hide those cars,” Steele said to Andrew. “They stick out like a sore thumb.”
Andrew nodded, and scurried off with Cole to pull the cars around back.
“Be careful,” Steele called after them. “Raddick’s men are out there somewhere.”
Chloe ran to him. He knelt down and she wrapped her little arms around his neck. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Steele lifted Chloe up, holding her on his hip.
“Me too,” Parker said, with an almost imperceptible smile. “I was just about to go back looking for you.”
“Were you?” Steele’s voice was skeptical.
“You don’t think I’d leave you behind, do you?”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Steele said.
“I’ll be honest,” said Parker. “It crossed mine too. But then I thought, what’s all that money really worth if you don’t have good people to enjoy it with?”
“Are you calling me good people?”
“I’ve met worse.” Her green eyes twinkled.
“You obviously haven’t met very many people.”
“I’ve been around the world, Major.” Parker smiled.
At heart, Steele was just a dumb grunt. But he was smart enough to know when a pretty girl was flirting with him.
Delroy rolled his eyes.
“So, what’s the plan, Major?” Chloe asked.
Steele chuckled and set her down. Then he placed his imaging disc on the counter by the checkout register. Delroy and Parker huddled around. Steele activated the display, made a few gestures, and pulled up the map of the city. But this wasn’t an ordinary map. It was a schematic of the sewer system below the city.
Steele pointed to a section on the map. “Here. Z-SOC’s back door. This passageway runs right underneath the containment wall. It’s gated and locked, but that shouldn’t be much of an issue.” His finger was trembling, so much so that Parker took notice. “The tunnel runs 60 miles to the processing station that empties into the bay,” he continued. “Once we pass the containment wall, we exit through one of the access points beyond the base perimeter.” Steele pointed to a few maintenance hatches along the route. “Those are completely unguarded.”
“I always knew this was a real shit job,” Parker said.
Chloe held out her palm. “You’ve got to put five dollars in the swear jar.”
“Five dollars?” Parker said, pretending to be shocked. “I don’t have five dollars on me.”
“Okay, you can pay me later. But it’s $10 with interest.”
Parker arched an eyebrow.
Chloe shrugged. “Hey, times are tough.”
Parker grinned and shook her head. Chloe was adorable, and drove a hard bargain.
Steele glanced around the shop. Lots of haggard and dirty faces. But they looked relatively healthy—apart from Xavier. “Everyone ought to be able to make it.”
“Can you?” Parker asked.
“I’m fine.”
But he wasn’t fine. Soon, his skin would grow cold and clammy. He’d break out into a sweat. His muscles would spasm. Then he’d go into convulsions and lose consciousness.
Parker frowned. She was worried. She’d never seen Steele like this.
“We’ve got a slight logistical problem,” Delroy said. “There are three bags of titrillium left. That’s 1200 pounds. Are we just going to hump that the whole way ourselves?”
“No, I’ve got a better idea,” Steele said.
CHAPTER 29
STEELE STUFFED HIS pack with as many titrillium bars as he could reasonably carry. Then he divvied up the rest to the refugees, with the understanding that they were transporting them only. These bars would come back to Steele when they reached their destination. It was the price of their freedom, and they all readily agreed.
Steele handed the bars, one by one, to the refugees. Andrew, Cole, Sarah, and on down the line. He wasn’t about to let Finn carry one. Steele passed him over. But Finn didn’t really seem to notice or care. He seemed dazed and slow to respond. His face was pale and had a sickly pallor. Steele didn't think much of it at the time. He chalked it up to exhaustion.
The greedy woman, who tried to take Chloe's gun, looked the same way—only a little worse. Her eyes were starting to glaze over, and had an almost milky haze to them. Nothing too overt. Just barely noticeable. Steele was too preoccupied to pay the symptoms much attention. But this woman had been in the stairwell gazing upwards during his rampage against the lurkers. She, more than likely, had microscopic particles of infected blood drop in her eyes. And she probably wasn’t the only one. It was only a matter of time before they turned.
Steele paused when he came to Gabriel, the man he had freed from Raddick’s prison. “You and I need to talk at some point.”
Gabriel nodded, knowingly.
Steele handed him a bar, and continued down the line. Raddick’s warning about the virus becoming airborne repeated in Steele’s mind. He wanted answers. It seemed Gabriel might have them.
Steele commandeered a few jackets. He zipped them up and pushed the sleeves inside the torso. Then he threaded two large broomsticks through the arms, making a temporary stretcher. It wasn’t perfect, but it would transport Xavier effectively and with less disruption to his wounds.
According to the map, the nearest junction to the mainline of the storm drain was on Canal Street. It would be large enough to walk through
. According to the municipal code, the diameter of the mainline had a minimum of 14 feet. But the tributaries that fed it would be smaller. A quick glance at the specifications in the database revealed a minimum 4 foot diameter. A person would be able to crawl through them, but it wouldn’t be practical for a group of forty. Especially when one of them was wounded.
Steele climbed up to the roof of the shop to get a better view of the area. Raddick and his men were still out there, somewhere. But Steele couldn’t see or hear the LAVs. The city was quiet. The sky was heavy and thick with clouds. Rain began to drizzle down again, and it looked like more was coming.
Steele climbed down and gathered the refugees. They loaded into the vehicles and drove three blocks over to Canal Street. Steele dashed to the middle of the intersection and lifted the manhole cover. The heavy lid ground against the concrete as he pulled it aside. Rungs, protruding from the concrete shaft, led down to the mainline. He could hear the flow of water rushing through the drain. The musty air wafted up from below.
Steele climbed the rungs and dropped down into the mainline. The running water was heavy from the recent downpour. But it was only about calf deep. Steele grinned—this tunnel would take them out of the containment zone.
As far as Steele knew, the only thing standing between him and freedom was a small, composite steel gate that Z-SOC had put in the mainline drains. There had been round after round of discussion about how to handle the storm drain situation. The first solution proposed was to send in the demolitions units and blow up the tunnels. That idea was scrapped in favor of concrete plugs. They could be drilled out if the tunnels ever needed to become functional again. Of course, sealing the storm drains would cause flooding in the city, but no one cared about that. That idea was scrapped as well. Gating them off with composite steel proved to be a simple, yet effective, solution.
Steele climbed back up and poked his head through the manhole. “Looks clear.” He pulled himself the rest of the way out, and helped the refugees descend into the tunnel. Xavier would have to be lowered down with a rope, but Steele had planned for that.
