When it was all clear, he maneuvered past a dumpster. Then he set out along the cracked asphalt until he reached a manhole. He pried it open as quietly as possible.
The sour scent of rotting fruit escaped the tunnel.
He flipped his NVGs down, then slowly lowered himself inside.
The dark subterranean world came alive in a flood of green, white, and black. A current of fetid water flowed a couple inches deep in the middle of the tunnel.
Webbing stretched over the concrete walls of the tunnel. A net of vines bridged over the surface of the water.
Memories of being trapped in a tunnel like this surfaced in his mind.
The webbing crawling over him, probing at him, worming its way around him as if it were trying to pierce his flesh.
With a deep breath, he descended into the darkness, counting the steps and intersections to estimate his position under the apartment building. He headed toward where he presumed the CECO building would be.
The echoing chatter of a pair of Chimeras in the tunnel told him he was on the right path.
He stopped as the webbing suddenly pulsed, throbbing as if it was pumping blood through a giant creature. If he made a misstep now, it wouldn’t just be him strung up in this webbing. Fitz and Ace would share a fate worse than death as permanent captives of these Chimeras.
The chatter grew louder. It seemed to be coming from a lit up T-intersection.
Next to the corner of the intersection, Dohi flipped up his NVGs. He snuck a glance around the corner. Two Chimeras stood at the end of a twenty-yard stretch of tunnel in front of a steel door. Their reptilian eyes shimmered in the glow of lights hanging from the cracked ceiling.
Webbing protruded through ports in the wall around the door. The door appeared to be secured by a keycard slot next to the handle.
Dohi knew he couldn’t sneak up on the two guards.
Shooting them was an option, but even a suppressed shot would resound noisily in this enclosed space. Whoever was on the other side of that door might hear and lockdown the facility, spoiling his plans.
The only easy way in, Dohi figured, was drawing them away from their position and into his clutches.
He had come prepared and retreated deeper into the dark corridor off the T-intersection. From his pack, he drew a small penlight and a length of long black ethernet cable. He recalled the words of his grandfather as he set up the trap.
Distraction is your enemy on the hunt. But it is also your best tool. If you cannot catch your quarry unaware, catch them confused.
He used the ethernet cable to create a snare, placing the loop under the slow-moving water. Then he stuck the longer bones from the building into the netting.
Next to them, he flicked on the penlight and directed the small light over the bones.
The Chimeras’ eyes would be drawn to the penlight when they rounded the intersection, blinding them. Then he could take them out silently.
But before that, he had to draw them away. He wasn’t sure if he could get both to move, but he was certain he could draw at least one away.
He snuck to the other darkened side of the T-intersection. There he positioned himself in the shadows so that the corridor with the soldiers ran off to his left and the penlight was in view in front of him, just past where the Chimeras’ corridor intersected.
Shedding his pack, he took out a smaller bone, holding it between his hands.
The two beasts finally stopped talking, and he bent the small bone. The snap echoed down the corridor. He pulled out his knife and hatchet and crouched in the darkness.
For a moment, he heard nothing. Then, a few trenchant whispers. A knock on the steel door, and it creaked open.
Dohi’s heart hammered. He heard the voice of a third Chimera joining the other two.
That hadn’t been part of the plan.
Footsteps splashed through the water toward his trap.
The soldiers were close enough Dohi could hear them more clearly.
“Probably just a rat,” one said in a gravelly voice.
“I’ll split it with you,” said the other.
Dohi listened for the third soldier. He only had one chance, and this last-minute variable added to his plan might screw it up.
The splashing footsteps grew louder as Dohi waited. The first Chimera finally rounded the corner, leading with his rifle. His eyes immediately shot to the penlight and the bones.
The second Chimera appeared, eyes drawn to the light, too.
Keep going, Dohi thought. The first was almost to the snare, just another—
When he hit it, the Chimera didn’t notice. He started to move his foot until the snare tightened around his boot. He fell forward onto the walkway.
Dohi didn’t know where the third Chimera was, but he had no choice but to act now. He lunged from the shadows on the walkway. He wrapped a hand around the standing beast’s mouth and sliced through the mutant’s throat, letting him down slowly.
As the fallen Chimera pushed himself to his feet, Dohi jabbed his knife through its neck. Blood sloshed out of the beast’s mouth.
Footsteps splashed down the corridor as he twisted the blade.
Dohi turned with his hatchet in hand to face the final monster. He swooped around the corner and launched the weapon.
The blade hummed through the air and cracked into the forehead of the monstrous beast. It sprawled backward into the murky water with a splash.
Dohi hurried over, patted the beast down, and found a keycard.
For good measure, he dragged the body around the intersection with the other two, then stripped one of the creatures.
The filthy fatigues fit Dohi better than he expected. He pulled a mask off another dead guard and then set off for the door with the keycard.
The disguise wouldn’t pass muster if anyone actually got close and caught him, but he hoped it would be just enough to cause confusion or doubt, giving him the extra second he might need in any future encounters.
He reached the steel door and slid the card over the slot. A green light appeared, and the lock clicked back. Dohi slowly pushed open the door to the CECO facility.
He was in.
Now he had to find Fitz and Ace.
***
Timothy watched the water from behind the wheel of the sailboat, searching for the gray flesh of Variants cutting beneath the waves. The trip had gotten off to a rocky start. After seeing a pack of the beasts on the shore, they had been forced to slip into a cove where they had waited for two hours in dense cover before the monsters moved on.
Then the rain had picked up, soaking Timothy and Ruckley again as they struggled to relaunch the sailboat. Normally Timothy wouldn’t even consider sailing in a storm, but they hadn’t really had much of a choice—not with the thought of Mount Katahdin weighing heavily on his mind.
Eventually the storm had finally settled, and the waves had calmed. Their journey had gone more smoothly for the past hour.
Now Timothy kept the sailboat close enough to shore to keep an eye on the land, but far enough to be out of the immediate grasp of any threats.
Their luck, like the weather, could change at any moment, and he stayed vigilant, scanning for enemies.
Ruckley was doing the same. The infection from her wound didn’t seem to bother her now that the medicine had kicked in full-force, but the damage to her muscle made it hard for her to hold a rifle.
“Any idea how long until Boston?” she asked.
Timothy looked at a map he had in a clear plastic Ziploc bag, then searched the distant shore for landmarks that might line up with it.
“Maybe another few hours at this speed,” he said. They were hardly moving now that the wind had died and the gray clouds from the storm were finally parting.
Ruckley switched positions to the portside gunwale to look out to sea. He figured she was searching for swimming Variants. She raised a pair of binos to her eyes.
“I think I see something,” she said.
“What is it?”
“A ship. Looks like an old cruise liner…” she paused, not taking a breath. “Oh, shit…”
“What?”
She hurried over and handed him the binos.
When he took them, he saw what had her disturbed.
Smoke billowed off the starboard side of the ship. The storm had concealed it before, but now he could clearly see it.
He could even make out the small shapes of people on the top deck. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of them. These were some of the ships the government had used to help evacuate people from other outposts.
And they were in major trouble.
Life rafts were being lowered into the water, but there didn’t seem to be enough to hold everyone.
“That’s not the only ship,” she said, pointing.
Timothy scanned the water. Sure enough, there were two more farther away, both burning. He handed the binos back and started to turn the wheel to the port.
“What are you doing?” Ruckley asked.
“We have to help.”
“Help? How are we going to help?”
“We can take a few people on board. Surely they have a radio, too.”
“There’s nothing we can do for them,” Ruckley said. “And our mission hasn’t changed. We go to Boston, and we find a radio there, without risking our boat and our lives.”
Timothy stared at the ships, conflicted. There were thousands of innocent people out there and, if he was estimating generously, maybe enough life rafts for a quarter of them.
“If we go, we risk being overwhelmed,” Ruckley said. “And how will you pick the few people from the thousands to save?”
She looked at him, waiting for an answer.
He gave it by twisting the wheel back toward the shore.
She was right.
While thousands of refugees burned and drowned behind them, he stayed the course for Boston. This was war, and they were losing. Every choice from here on out would be difficult.
Anger replaced the hollow sense of horror at the senseless act that had led to all those deaths. This had to be the work of the collaborators. There was no doubt in his mind.
“Here,” Timothy said, handing Ruckley the map. “Maybe you’ll have better luck than me figuring out exactly where we are.”
She looked out at the shore as the sun dropped toward it.
In the final hour of sunlight, Ruckley figured out their location.
“If that’s what I think it is, we’re about five miles from Boston,” she said, pointing to a peninsula. “Better start taking us closer to shore.”
Timothy nodded. A cool sense of relief filled him as he guided the small boat back toward land. By the time they got within view of the houses along the shore, darkness was setting in, making it impossible to see.
Waves lapped at the hull as they bobbed blindly in the ocean.
There wasn’t a single light in the distance where Outpost Boston should be.
The moon emerged from behind the clouds, its reflections sparkling on the choppy water.
“Do you see anything?” Timothy said.
“Negative,” Ruckley replied.
His stomach started to twist. “We should see the lights from Outpost Boston by now.”
A cold wind blasted over them, and he shuddered.
He was starting to worry the outpost had been destroyed, but as they sailed closer, a faint glow sparked in the distance.
“There,” he said.
Ruckley stood, using her binoculars again.
“Is it Boston?” he asked.
She stared through the lenses, saying nothing.
“Sergeant,” he entreated, feeling afraid. “Is it Boston?”
Lowering the binos, she walked back to the wheel and grabbed it.
“Have a look yourself,” she said, handing him the binos.
He aimed them at the glow on the horizon. It flickered, orange and red. The light was definitely from Outpost Boston, but the glow wasn’t from electricity—it was from fires.
It was destroyed. They were too late.
Timothy didn’t want to believe it. He kept his eyes pressed to the lenses, hoping to see tracer rounds or hear the crack of gunfire. Anything to let him know the outpost soldiers were fighting back. That someone out there was still alive.
But as they closed in, he only saw flames and sporadic explosions.
Then he saw something swarming in the air, silhouetted by the bright tongues of fire.
“Bats,” he said.
It was then he realized what had happened to the ships. The collaborators had used their VX-99 infected bats to attack them.
Ruckley steered them toward the burning outpost.
“You up for this?” she asked.
“I’m not running.”
“Good, because there isn’t anywhere else to go.”
Timothy took the wheel on the final stretch. Ruckley stood at the bow, helping guide them into the harbor. Other boats in the docks burned. Flames danced over debris and floating patches of oil.
He navigated past the wreckage, careful to avoid embers swimming on updrafts of the air so they didn’t catch the sails. An empty pier ahead seemed like the ideal place to dock, and Timothy pointed to it.
“Take in the sails, then grab some rope,” he said.
Ruckley followed his instructions, grunting as she strained her damaged arm to lower the sails. She went to the bow as he turned them. They gently hit the side of the pier. She jumped out and tied them to the cleats on the dock.
After grabbing the meager amount of gear they had left, Timothy dismounted and followed her down the dock. An explosion boomed into the air a few blocks from the harbor, the fireball rolling upward into the sky.
Embers rained down as Timothy ran with Ruckley through the devastation. He inhaled smoke, then began coughing. Ruckley was coughing too as she looked for another route.
Finally, she pointed toward a yard filled with shipping containers. The smoke wafted overhead from the buildings on the other side.
Timothy ran through the maze of containers using the glow of the fires.
A howl sounded somewhere above the crackle of fire.
The shrill shriek didn’t stop them from pushing onward.
Ruckley led them around the containers until they reached a parking lot with a view of the razor wire-topped fences surrounding the outpost.
On the other side, cars burned on the streets and bodies lay sprawled in torn heaps. A group of three Variants hunched around a burned corpse, tearing pieces off like they were a pack of wolves.
One looked in Timothy’s direction, ropy meat hanging from between its teeth.
Ruckley pulled on his vest, and Timothy shrank back into the shadows.
“Can’t go that way,” came a low voice thick with an Irish accent behind them.
They both turned and Timothy leveled his rifle at a man with a mutton-chop beard. A baseball cap was pulled low over his face, shadowing his eyes.
He held a submachine gun hanging from a strap over his chest.
“You’re pointing those cannons in the wrong direction, friends,” he said.
Timothy kept his gun up, but Ruckley lowered her rifle.
Behind the man was a group of children and a few women peeking out of an open shipping container. The soldier waved them back inside.
A loud cracking sounded in the distance.
Timothy turned back to the outpost. A building nearly ten stories tall began to collapse. As it fell, a furious cloud of dust and embers erupted from its base. The resulting shockwave sent a wave of smoke rolling over the feasting beasts.
The creatures scattered, squawking as their popping joints carried them away.
Timothy and Ruckley dodged around the shipping container. The man with the submachine gun jumped inside with them, closing the door to seal out the rolling cloud of debris pounding against the container.
The metal sides trembled as Timothy scanned the inside of the long co
ntainer. There were ten people in here, huddled together, shaking with fear.
The Irish guy was the only soldier.
“We need a radio,” Ruckley said. “You got one?”
“Afraid not…” he leaned down to look at her name tape. “Sergeant Ruckley.”
“Why are you still here?” Ruckley asked.
“The last ship pulled away before we could get aboard,” the man replied.
“He came back for us,” said a woman.
Timothy pictured the ships burning out at sea. “It’s probably better you didn’t make the ships.”
“What do you mean?” the soldier asked.
“They didn’t make it very far,” Timothy replied.
The Irish man hung his head. “Goddamn bastard collaborators.”
“So what’s your plan now?” Ruckley asked.
“We hide. You?”
“We need a radio,” Timothy said. “Which means we’ve got to search the outpost.”
“You’ll die,” said the man. “Variants are everywhere. Only way to escape them is by sea. Getting into Boston on foot would be hell, unless you’ve got a set of wheels.”
“Did any survive the attack?” Timothy asked.
The Irishman stroked his whiskers, thinking. “I have a truck.”
“Where?” Timothy asked.
“Where’s your boat?”
“Not far,” Ruckley said. “But it’s just a small sailboat.”
The man seemed to brighten. “Why don’t you give up on that radio and take us all out of here on that boat?”
“No way,” Timothy said. “I’m not leaving until we get a radio.”
“Look, I need to get these people out of here. We can’t hide forever.” The guy reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “So how about this? I’ve got a truck. Might’ve survived, but I can’t guarantee it. I’ll trade it for the sailboat, if you want to take the chance.”
Timothy reached for the keys but the man held them back.
“I’m telling you that you’re going the wrong way,” the man said. “It’s suicide.”
“I’ve been told that before,” Timothy said, taking the keys.
— 20 —
“Holy fucking hell,” Parnell said.
Extinction Cycle Dark Age (Book 3): Extinction Ashes Page 23
