Exodus

by Brian P. White

  Gilda looked up from a couch and smiled at him, stroking Paula’s head in her lap like a child while Sean slept on another couch. Near them, Didi watched Cody sleep on the pool table under a bunch of blankets. The A-Holes played a board game, both uncharacteristically quiet.

  Nick was still at work on his laptop, which made Isaac wonder where the man got all that power to keep it running.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked the Pashtun as he settled in over the man’s shoulder.

  “Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station,” the man replied, his laptop sporting a live aerial feed of a whole mess of zombies crowding a fence.

  “Where’s that?” He hoped it wasn’t nearby.

  Nick hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “The base of the mountain.”

  Isaac looked again. “That’s live?”

  Nick nodded, then clicked at his keyboard to bring up another window, which showed a green feed of the massive military convoy leading the bus into a tunnel behind the Air Force base. “That’s where they took your people.”

  Isaac almost refuted the claim, but in a way Nick’s phrase was true. He served this camp as a defender, so in a way they were his people; his bitchy, whiny, white people. He examined the live feed again. “So that’s why we never saw any face-munchers in town. Damn Army’s been rounding them up here. But why?”

  Alan’s face suddenly appeared beside Isaac’s arm as it looked more closely. “They don’t look all that rotten. I wonder where they’re getting them.”

  On Isaac’s other side was Aaron, also getting a closer peek. “Do you think they’re infecting people to use like guard dogs?”

  “From what? The Gamesman?”

  “Sounds plausible from what you’ve all told me about Denver,” Lavon said as she joined the crowd, her fine ass looking particularly sexy to him this morning. “I’m still tripping on that one. A whole city of black and not one thing better about it.”

  “Rule is rule,” Didi said while joining them. “I often find race another excuse to rally masses to you, like gender.”

  “Like you’re immune?” the Marine asked skeptically.

  “Do you see me commanding boneheads?”

  Lavon smirked as she glanced at the A-Twins, who started arguing over a move one of them made on their game.

  Didi nodded with a smirk. “Touché.”

  “So, now what?” Gilda asked. “How do we get our people out of NORAD through an Infantry Division, a Special Forces Group, and all those cadavers? No offense,” she added for Didi.

  “None taken,” Didi replied. “Frankly, I’ve been racking my brain all night.”

  “What about that Lieutenant?” Isaac asked. “You think he could get us in there?”

  Didi shook her head. “He clammed up. I tried showing him what I was and he flipped out, screaming that I was tearing something. I had to knock him out again.”

  Isaac didn’t know what to make of that, but thinking of the Lieutenant in the truck bed gave him an idea. “What about all those armored suckers in that motor pool? We can crash through the gate and bust in, guns blazing if we have to.”

  “Their Stinger missiles would cut us down in no time, if they don’t have tanks standing by,” Lavon told him, then faced Didi when she said, “but I can think of another way.”

  The zombie seemed to pick up on whatever the Marine was thinking, and it was clear she didn’t like it when she cursed and walked away.

  Isaac didn’t get it. “What?”

  *****

  The bright ceiling lights of the massive tunnel made all the tiny tiles along its domed walls shimmer like pearls, all of which stretched at least half a mile. Encased paintings lined all the lower walls, some of which may have come from a museum or two. Down the center of the concrete floor stretched two rows of ovoid planters with actual trees, each surrounded by stone benches, and various lined paths in different widths and colors. Dozens of people—maybe hundreds—walked, ran, ate, read, played, or whatever they pleased. Cops in dark blue uniforms stood guard, walked around, or chatted like neighbors. It was all bright, warm, and lively.

  “Wow,” Rachelle droned in awe like the first time her mother took her to Mt. Olympus, glad she got her sweater and jeans back clean instead of having all these people see her ass hanging out of that ugly hospital gown.

  Doctor Sitton smiled as she led Rachelle down a yellow-lined path. “I never get tired of seeing it. This chamber is the largest, so it’s the most popular. We call it the Arboretum.”

  “How many chambers are there?”

  “The Corps of Engineers had to make enough space to house over six hundred thousand people, who until then had to sleep in the surface tunnel for months. Dorms, offices, restaurants, recreational facilities; we have it all down here.”

  Nearby, some lady read a book to her child on the grass of a planter beneath two spreading oak trees. The kid—four or five years old—stared dreamily at the book while his mom cuddled him close, his cheek against hers. It warmed Rachelle’s heart … and made her a little sad.

  “Everyone looks happy,” she muttered.

  “They were all rather restless at first,” Doctor Sitton said while they walked. “There have been a couple of uprisings, but when everything settled, the mayor let them spruce up the place and it calmed a lot of nerves. Personally, I like the results.”

  Rachelle flinched. “Mayor? I thought the President was here?”

  “The President runs the national government and the facility, but the Colorado Springs mayor handles the people’s needs. It works surprisingly well, despite the occasional politics.”

  A kid on a skateboard whizzed by along a blue-lined path, while a few people walked their pets down a brown one. One guy carted a potted plant in a wheelbarrow down a green path. A couple in skimpy workout clothes ran down a big black path of Astroturf, a running track which skirted the edge of everything else while figure-eighting past every five or six planters. A red path ran right down the center of the tunnel, but nobody was on that.

  “This way, please,” the doctor said with a wave toward a milky glass double door to the right.

  Rachelle glanced at the soldier following them, the hulking guard name-taped HENNESSEY watching her like a hawk. She took a breath, faced the glass doors, and followed the doctor.

  A loud buzz echoed through the bay just as she stepped onto the threshold. Rachelle turned to watch everyone in the tunnel stop what they were doing.

  A few lines of soldiers—most in caps, some in green berets—ran together through the red path in an orderly fashion to the bigger of the two doors separating the Arboretum from the tunnel heading to the surface. One of the Green Berets broke off from the group, stabbed at some buttons on a small control panel on the wall with his gloved finger, and the bigger door opened. He ran after his group and closed the door behind him.

  A mild tone echoed through the pearly tunnel, and everyone went back to their lives.

  “What was that all about?” Rachelle had to ask.

  “Classified,” the doctor said, then waved at the double doors again. “Shall we?”

  Rachelle shuddered as she followed the doctor into a long, bright hallway. Several glass doors interrupted its sheen every forty feet or so on both sides. These doors were clearer, revealing a bunch of kids seated at computer desks.

  “Is this the school?” she asked.

  Doctor Sitton nodded. “That’s right. You’ll start after we process you.”

  “What am I, cheese or something?” Rachelle muttered.

  The doctor chuckled and covered her mouth apologetically. “It’s just some placement paperwork. Nothing sinister. I’ll show you.”

  The guard opened the door at the end of the tunnel for them, and the doctor led Rachelle in.

  They stepped into a large room with lots of people in suits typing away at little desks. The fluorescent lights along the false ceiling reminded her of the lobby outside a principal’s office, only much bigger. Nothing threatening
stood out right away, though there were at least five cops watching her from different places around the room.

  “Rachelle!” came from her right … from the last voice she expected to hear.

  “Leticia?” she uttered as Chuck’s adopted daughter ran straight at her with a big smile, hugging her tightly before she could say a word. She patted the kid’s back and backed up.

  “You made it,” came from another familiar voice, its skinny owner heading toward her from another part of the room. “Isn’t this place incredible?”

  Rachelle shook her head. “Belinda? What are you—”

  Belinda cut her off with a brief but big hug that made her grunt, the first sign of affection her two-year-senior had ever showed her. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Yeah,” Leticia added. “They gotta see this place. They got a mall and everything!”

  WHAT? Rachelle wanted to scream. She had heard the girls were taken, but were they being happy-drugged, too?

  “Ladies, please,” the doctor said while ushering the two girls away. “We don’t want to overwhelm her. Go finish up while I help her settle in.”

  Belinda practically bounced away to wherever she came from. Leticia left with a waves and a perkier grin than she had ever shown before.

  “Please, have a seat,” Doctor Sitton said while guiding Rachelle to an empty desk, where that huge guard waited. “Your case worker will be here, shortly.”

  Rachelle regarded the plastic chair, then the hovering Hennessey, whose chest bore three bent stripes in a stiff patch while the rest of his uniform compressed some big muscles. She sat down before he had to use them. “You’re not my … case worker?” she asked.

  Sitton Pretty smirked like she wanted to laugh again. “No. I’m just lending a hand. You put up quite a fight when you were brought in, so I wanted to make sure you were treated well.”

  In a small way, Rachelle appreciated that. “So, how does this processing thing work?”

  Doctor Sitton pushed her glasses up again. “Our processors will establish your math and literacy levels to place you in the appropriate grade. Then they’ll take you to the housing office to pair you up with new parents.”

  “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, I don’t—” Rachelle protested as she shot up to her feet, only to be shoved back down into her seat by the Camouflaged Hulk. “I don’t do parents.”

  The doctor shrugged. “I’m afraid you have no choice. All children must be properly—”

  “I ain’t just some kid, doc!”

  Doctor Sitton pasted on another patient grin. “That’s isn’t, and I believe you, but it’s time to let go of your old life and embrace the new chance you’re being given.”

  Rachelle shot up to her feet again, evading Hennessey’s grip as she blasted all her fury at the doctor. “You can’t force a new life on me, and I don’t care if this guy shoots me for saying it.”

  “He’s not going to—”

  “I want to leave.”

  Hennessey grabbed her arm and made her face him. “You’re not going anywhere, kid.”

  Rachelle grabbed one of his fingers, twisted it with a satisfying crunch, and popped him in the throat. She watched him sink to his knees like he was choking himself.

  All the cops around the room drew down on her, but they stayed where they were. All the nervous suits stared past her in wonder.

  Doctor Sitton looked at Rachelle like she had just watched a turtle fly up to the tiled ceiling. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “My mentor taught me,” Rachelle said proudly. “She busted me out of juvie before I starved to death, treated me like a person instead of a kid, and taught me how to survive and defend our camp. No one else ever gave me that kind of trust; not the boyfriend that got me locked up for what he stole, not my mom after she disowned me for it, and obviously not you if you’re going to keep treating me like a kid.”

  The doctor shook her head in disgust. “What kind of monster teaches a child to fight for her?”

  “The Death Doll,” Rachelle said proudly.

  Sitton Pretty flinched. “The … who? What?”

  Before she could answer, something squeezed her ankle. It turned out to be Hennessey, who glared up at her. “Did you say Death Doll?” he squeaked.

  She shook her leg loose. “Yeah. What of it?”

  He slowly faced the doctor and said something she couldn’t understand, like “tearing.”

  The doctor’s eyes widened at the guard, then at Rachelle like she was a ghost. “Get her processed. I have to tell the President.” Then she left the room in a big hurry, running down the hall in those high heels like there was no tomorrow.

  Hennessey unsnapped his holstered pistol as he slowly got up to his feet. “You don’t want to be treated like a kid? Fine. Either you sit down and cooperate with your processor, or I’m going to blow your fucking head off. You got me?”

  Rachelle quickly sat down.

  CHAPTER 24

  BREACH

  The massive arch loomed like the mountain above it, giving Didi an easy direction to limp. Without her color contacts, all she had to guide her past the tall, snowy mounds surrounding the gate was her glasses. Good thing she kept her pace slow, trying not to give herself away … or rip herself up. She eventually fell in with her mindless brethren as they grazed the parking lot. The gray blobs remained docile, none of them taking her for living without her makeup on.

  Still, she hated this plan. “I feel ridiculous," she muttered.

  “You're just blending in,” Cody joked through her new earpiece, a gift from Nick that remained shielded in his case of wares. “Being part of the group.”

  A couple of boneheads collided and growled at each other like two of the Three Stooges. Blend in with that? “Fuck. You.”

  “In a perfect world,” Cody said quietly.

  She grinned and suddenly had to tease him. “What was that?”

  The moment of silence made her want to laugh. Then he said, “You’re pretty much clear. We’ll let you know if someone shows up.”

  “Right,” she muttered, then subtly looked over the boneheads. “Anyone by the door?”

  “Just your friends,” Cody said, whose vision was way more reliable behind the sniper rifle they had found in Lavon’s armory than her own two rotting peepers, even with glasses. Of course, he’d better have good aim if he was going to be so fucking funny.

  Something else bugged her. “What do you suppose the—”

  A bonehead in a soiled janitor uniform growled at her.

  “What are you looking at?” she snapped.

  While put off at first, the zombie went about its aimless wandering.

  She shook her head and limped through the mob toward the fence. “What do you think the Army’s doing with all these bone-heads?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Something rumbled beyond the dead crowd, like a small earthquake. Didi froze in place.

  The giant tunnel doors slowly parted, drawing her little mob toward the fence. A bunch of yellow blobs appeared through the crowd. Something faintly screeched. The boneheads growled and pushed toward the noise. “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  “They’re opening the fence,” Cody said. “Six in HAZ-MAT suits, covered by two soldiers right inside the tunnel doors. You can bet there’ll be more in there somewhere. We should abort.”

  Tempting, but for the obvious. “I’m too close. They’d cut me down in a heartbeat.” She put her trust in God—and Cody—and followed the mob. “Wish me luck.”

  A muddled conversation filled her ear, but she couldn’t articulate any words. When it ended, Cody came back on. “Just take it steady. I’ve got your back.”

  She prayed that was true, but she stayed in the back of the group, hoping not to have to run.

  Her interim posse entered the massive metal doors, where small lights on the high ceiling revealed concrete platforms on both sides of the giant tunnel. Boots paced on metal grates above her; d
ark figures on catwalks she could barely see.

  The jumpsuits retreated up the platforms and shut the railing gates, yelling through their gas masks things from simple let’s-goes to crude insults. Six soldiers, all packing the same carbine rifles their robed scouts used, laughed along. One of them wore a green beret, who swore one of the boneheads looked like Mahatma Gandhi. The others had a good laugh over it. Dicks!

  The doors started to close, which prompted half her peers to follow the rumbling noise out. The jumpsuits insulted the mob louder to regain their attention.

  “Check it out,” the Green Beret said while pointing at her. “That one looks like Baby Dahl.”

  “Who?” another jumpsuit said.

  “Come on, man. Baby Dahl? She was only one of the biggest porn stars in the world. She married Nathan Mallory from the Lakers, remember?”

  Oh, they had to bring that up, she thought resentfully.

  “Yeah, and divorced him like three minutes later,” the first jumpsuit finished, which pissed her off, but she gave her anger to God and focused on her mission.

  “When did you get married?” Cody asked in her ear.

  She wanted to say they’d talk about it later—or never—but she didn’t even dare whisper. Then the door closed, and she was on her own.

  “Let’s keep her,” the Green Beret proposed, which disgusted her.

  “Forget it, Gordy,” said a third guy in a jumpsuit with a clipboard to the Green Beret. “You know they all have to go in for inspection.”

  “What’s the point, Doc?” Gordy the Green Beret argued. “Look at them. The test failed.”

  Test? she thought dreadfully, trying hard not to look at the doc or the dick.

  “We’ll see after we check them,” Doc said, “and that includes your porn star.”

  “You got a whole bunch,” the Green Beret argued. “Besides, if she melts, she melts.”

  Melts? Melts? Didi couldn’t quiver, but she was still mortified.