Exodus

by Brian P. White

  “Even though that book calls you an unclean thing?” the President challenged her with no hint of an attitude, which coupled with his knowledge of verse kind of impressed her.

  She playfully shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  He briefly chuckled before he drooped. “It’s too bad that book didn’t tell us how to survive a zombie plague.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “It might, sir, if you know where to look, like in the books of Matthew and Luke. I’m a Luke woman, myself; I find him more relatable.”

  He regarded her with a humorous grin. “I must’ve missed something there.”

  She grinned as she leaned closer to him. “In Luke Nine-Sixty, Christ Himself told His disciples to, ‘Let the dead bury the dead, while you go and preach the Kingdom of God.’”

  His eyes slowly filled with utter surprise as he fathomed what she had just suggested through verse. He shot up to his feet and stared her down, daring her to retract herself. When he finally found his voice, he blurted it out as if it would help him understand it better. “You want me to let you handle this?”

  “Show me a better option,” she dared him from her seat, not wanting the Secret Service to blow her head off.

  “I have several in silos across the country.”

  “And he has a bunker.”

  He huffed uncomfortably as he paced behind the chair, ignoring all the eyes following him. Then he stopped and faced her again. “I’m supposed to trust you? A TERAN who killed a number of my soldiers; good men and women?”

  “They hurt mine, like the woman your Major Washington shot willy-nilly yesterday. She’s recovering, by the way, thanks to my nurse.”

  The politician looked speechless.

  “Look,” she said as she slowly stood, which made a lot of troops nervous nonetheless, “I understand what’s going on here. If President Simpson made a bunch of mes, then you’ve got a major problem coming your way. If you can placate him long enough for me to get there, you’ll buy yourself and hundreds of thousands of—”

  “That bridge is already burned,” the President insisted. “He’s coming, and I don’t know—”

  The emergency lights flashed again, accompanied this time by a blaring alarm that had everyone glancing around in panic.

  “What did you do now?” the President hollered at Didi.

  She shook her head with her hands out innocently. “I didn’t—”

  Two of the four Secret Service agents grabbed the President and muscled him into the security office, the other two following backwards with guns aiming at everybody in sight.

  Most of the soldiers ran out of the lab, leaving two to guard the weapons from the Panel and its defenders before lots of gunfire filled the tunnel.

  Didi ran into the security office past the fleeing agents and found it empty. Nobody but the melting boneheads, but that emergency door gave her a good clue where the President went.

  She returned to the lab to find the two soldiers still guarding her weapons aiming at Rachelle and Isaac, warning them to stay back.

  Rachelle saw Didi. “Where did everybody go?”

  “Nick, what’s going on out there?”

  No response.

  She tried again and still got nothing. Everyone in the room looked worried, especially the guards fretfully glancing between her party and the doorway.

  “Who’s shootin’ who out there?” Isaac demanded, but the guards held their ground and aim.

  A quick return to the security office showed Didi what was going on. She cursed. And prayed.

  CHAPTER 34

  HELL BREAKS IN

  Isaac wasn’t sure if he had the worst luck or if it ran out like the damn President just did, but a gun battle in the tunnels while he stood here empty-handed was about to screw him either way. The Army was shooting at somebody, the camp running back into the lab confirmed it wasn’t a sudden mass execution, and these two fools weren’t letting him have his guns back.

  “Come on, man,” he tried to reason with the soldiers. “We gotta defend ourselves, too.”

  “Just stay put,” one of them snapped. “We’ve got everything under control.”

  A soldier dropped dead right onto the lab threshold with a big hole in his head.

  Isaac glared at the guards. “Yeah, I believe it.”

  “Who’s out there?” Rachelle asked in a panicky voice.

  “The Gamesman,” Didi said gravely from that office door.

  Isaac flinched. “What’s that crazy fucker packing? A hundred jexes against the Army?”

  The Death Doll jerked her head at the office and went back in.

  Isaac groaned as he followed her with Rachelle and the four Panel people. They joined Didi in front of the security screens over the desk and skimmed through them. The first bunch showed groups of soldiers shooting from behind different places, some of them moving quickly up the tunnel before either finding more cover or getting shot down. The second bunch congesting the entrance made him rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.

  “Looks like the whole fucking city,” he blurted as he watched the scraggly-dressed brothers and sisters from Denver flood the place with cheap-assed guns. More of them got shot down than troops, but they kept pushing further in. There had to be thousands!

  The screen aimed at the airfield outside showed the Gamesman, decked in white and striding past those tall mounds of snow with a bunch of jexes like he was about to enter his newest arena.

  “It’s going to be worse than a riot,” Isaac muttered.

  “And this one ain’t going way with a speech,” Hashim said behind him. “I doubt they’re going to care what we look like, either. What do we do? Trust the Army?”

  “Trust me,” the Death Doll said, then faced the desk. From there, she said the craziest thing Isaac had ever heard.

  *****

  Peter caught his breath as he re-entered the loudly chaotic command center, which at least had the power to see who threatened it. “What the hell is he thinking?”

  The officers in the room shot up to their feet at the sight of him and their general.

  Peter told them all to carry on and glared at the audacious image.

  “I knew we should’ve taken him out,” Gil grumbled.

  “Oh, well, hindsight can only kill us now, right?” Peter tried to joke.

  The general didn’t even offer the courtesy of pretending to laugh.

  “Status?”

  “Sir, the convoy’s pinned down, and about to be overrun,” Major Dam said grimly. “We’re stirring up every last body up there, but they’re still getting geared up after only just being released from their rooms.”

  Peter had to hand it to the Death Doll; luring his scout force outside and locking his soldiers into their electronically-sealed barracks rooms was a brilliant strategy, but it was costing him dearly now. It claimed it wanted to avoid hurting anybody, but its supposed intentions still screwed everyone under the mountain. “We should discuss readiness in the near—”

  Something rumbled, and a few camera screens blanked out.

  “What the hell was that?” Gil asked anyone.

  Major Dam hit a few buttons at his station and replayed what one of the cameras caught before it went offline: a missile streaking toward the first wave of troops emerging from the barracks side of the surface level military complex, which must’ve suffered the same fate as the camera.

  “Where did they get launchers?” Peter asked in shock.

  Gil watched the screens of other groups of invading Denverites. “Looks homemade. They must’ve had some bomb makers or vets we didn’t know about.” He pointed up at one screen where a group aimed more launchers at another tunnel leading into the complex. “Shit, they’re about to—”

  “Oh, Peter,” came through the com system, that singsong voice grating Peter’s nerves.

  He seethed at the sight of the outcast. “How did we not see them coming, or do I need to ask?” he groused, ultimately blaming the Dea
th Doll.

  Gil gritted his teeth. The others looked worried.

  That menace sang his name again, droning it on longer.

  Peter huffed and reached for the transmit switch on the mic when he noticed the feed of the lab, specifically that reanimate doing something completely insane. What is she up to now?

  *****

  The Gamesman delighted in the invasion he managed to put together. His subjects were not the dregs white people had called them, and his army was a mighty testament to those racist fools’ ignorance. It didn’t take much to rouse his city, either, which further proved his right to rule them and, for that matter, this mountain. The fools who left the door open didn’t deserve it.

  But, first things first.

  He raised his hand and the gunfire slowly ceased, though that was the Army’s fault. He knew his people obeyed him quickly.

  “Attention, citizens of Denver,” Peter’s modulated voice echoed through the tunnel, “you’re all in a government installation. You are not authorized to enter. You must leave at once.”

  He burst with so much laughter; he had to get a hold of himself. His closest jexes joined in.

  “Make no mistake. You’re dealing with the United States Army, and our troops have been authorized to use lethal—”

  “That’s cute,” he said to the nearest camera with a big smile, “except that the United States no longer exists.” He let that hang while his bloodthirsty followers stared down the closest potential threat, their hands eagerly shaking to use their new weapons again. He was tempted to let them.

  “Gamesman,” Peter said firmly, sounding awfully annoyed at using his current title. Wonder why. It was priceless. “You know how many troops I have under my command, and what they’re packing. If you don’t leave in the next five minutes, we will be forced to—”

  “Yeah, that’s all good, but I’m sure you can see that my men own enough of the tunnel to block your troops, and what they’re packing will wipe out anything that tries to set foot in here.”

  The silence loomed throughout the tunnel like a chilling wind, and everyone trembled from its biting tension. All it did for the Gamesman was confirm his inevitable victory.

  “What do you want?” the so-called President just had to ask.

  He scoffed. “Really? You know playing games with the Gamesman is a recipe for loss. I know the Death Doll is here. I want her back.”

  “You already had the Death Doll, and you lost her,” Peter reminded him. “She’s is in our custody now. If you think you can just—”

  He scoffed and waved off the proud windbag. “You’re wasting my time. You’re not the one I need to bargain with anyway.” He pointed forward and followed his jexes to the real negotiator.

  *****

  “Why I gotta keep going through this shit wit’ y’all?” Isaac whined.

  “Oh, admit it, you love us,” Didi joked as if nothing was wrong.

  The big man shook his head, but Rachelle shook all over. The entire city of Denver had just swooped into the mountain, killing a bunch of soldiers out there, and all she could do was stand here and wait. She really wanted to have faith as strong as her mentor, but this was the craziest thing she had ever allowed herself to do. “I’d feel safer if we could get our weapons back.”

  “There’s more than enough of us to take ‘em back,” Isaac noted. “We coulda—”

  “I’m not punishing those troops for doing their jobs,” Didi said firmly. “The Gamesman is the enemy right now.”

  “Are we sure the President isn’t?” Bob asked pointedly.

  Didi’s lips pursed while staring through the door. “No, but I’d like to think I’m getting somewhere with him. He isn’t launching right now, so that’s a plus in his column.”

  Bob didn’t seem to find that comforting. Neither did Rachelle.

  “I still say you should’ve killed his ass back in Denver,” the crazy redhead grumbled. “I’m trying to respect your whole mercy kick, here, but some people can’t be saved.”

  Didi’s eyes fell. “Sometimes, but I have to try. It’s all about faith for me.”

  “Well, faith or not, I still don’t see how this is supposed to work.”

  “He’s been pushing himself into his own mistakes,” Didi replied calmly. “He’ll do it again.”

  Rachelle studied her mentor’s focused gaze through the door, which would soon be filled with crazies about to mow them down. She observed the others—Cody and Heather still trading odd glances, Bob silently fuming, Hashim looking up like he was praying, Isaac pounding his fist like he wanted to beat somebody up, Jerri sulking for her babies and Craig trying to comfort her—and found not one shred of faith in this insane gamble. Not much to work with in here.

  But, then, Rachelle had always been her own woman, and that woman chose to believe in Didi. Somehow, this insanity was going to work.

  CHAPTER 35

  FACE OFF

  The Gamesman approached the opaque glass door and stopped in the threshold, marveling at all the scientific materials and gadgets in this bright laboratory … and smiling at all the cowering souls crouched under all the workbenches. Without that armored bus of theirs, they knew there was no escape, and he always loved the fearful looks in the eyes of every new subject. Too bad most of them were white, and he doubted an edict for more diversity would spare them from his jexes. Appeasing his muscle was simply the sad sacrifice of sovereignty.

  He followed one of his eager subjects into another doorway, entered the little security office with his jexes, and found his prize and some of her minions waiting for him in one of two Plexiglas cells. It was as if Peter had already gift wrapped her for him, though he could do without the melting masses in the other cell that weakly pawed at their glass wall.

  “You can’t seem to avoid a cage, can you?” he teased his champion.

  The Death Doll shrugged. “You think you can trust someone.”

  “Then you should be happy I’m here to spring you from this molehill. I never could trust anyone; not even as a child. If it wasn’t babysitters ignoring me, teachers looking the other way in the schoolyard, or employers rewarding their favorite schmoozers, it was any one of them lashing out when I stood up for myself. Peter was no different.”

  “You knew the President?” the cute little Latina asked with surprise.

  The Gamesman felt silly enough to impart a little history. “Oh, yeah. I knew him back when he was campaigning for the Senate. I was an up-and-coming City Councilman at the time. The mayor back then—what was his name?” He couldn’t remember for the life of anyone in this room. He shrugged it off. “Anyway, he threw Peter his full support; never mind he was being courted by a guy with more secrets than Nixon.”

  “How old are you?” the Death Doll teased, her expression mocking real curiosity.

  He just snorted at that.

  “What kind of secrets?” asked a pale white guy hanging on the arm of a gorgeous chick in a lab coat the Gamesman vaguely remembered seeing before.

  “As a man of my word, I won’t reveal them,” the Gamesman reminded them, “as long as he plays ball with me. But, he’s not why I’m here.”

  “I’m not fighting for you,” the Death Doll said resolutely.

  He shook his head. “I’d be offended if I cared about that. I’m actually more interested in looking ahead of the games … for as long as possible.”

  Nobody in that cell seemed to get his gist.

  “Found these, brother,” McQuain said as he entered with two sheathed swords.

  The Gamesman took the first blade and examined it. He found a clear space next to the desk and swung it around a little, accidentally cutting into the desk with no damage to the blade. Its shimmering integrity and light weight impressed him. The sleek dragon on the block was common for a katana, but the thing was styling nonetheless. No store-bought fake, this one; neither was its twin with the raging bull on its block. “Nice. Where did you get them?”

  “Long story,” the
Death Doll said curtly.

  He shrugged as he sheathed the blade and strapped them both to his back. “Too bad. It would’ve been nice to have a harrowing tale to tell about my new blades.”

  The Death Doll’s tight lips twisted, irritated. The young murderess looked outright butt-hurt. The clever redhead glared resentfully at the boss lady.

  “If you don’t want her to fight for you, what do you want?” asked the big brother who helped release the Death Doll, one who could’ve easily been a jex if he had come up in Denver.

  “What I want. Now, there’s an interesting question,” the Gamesman said as he rounded the desk and plopped into the black webbed chair, which wasn’t all that comfortable. Government standard, go figure. He put his feet up on the desk. “When I first hit Denver, my friends and I,” he gestured around his closest jexes, “just wanted to carve out our own little corner of the city to survive. You should’ve seen the gang wars that tore the place up well before we even got there. Still, we wiped them all out, sparing only the most opportune. All those guns we got from the local bunkers really helped a lot,” he added with a laugh.

  The Death Doll and her pet soldier glared at him with grave insult.

  “The people tried to stop us at first, but,” he shrugged, “even large numbers can be controlled with the right leverage.”

  “What? More death?” the pet soldier snapped. Typical soldier; can’t see past their orders.

  “Food,” the redhead said, which made him smile.

  “You are smart.”

  “You should’ve seen Little Rock.”