The Julian Year

by Gregory Lamberson

  One hundred yards later, she stopped outside the administrative offices. “Hold it.”

  The others turned to her.

  “I want to see something.” Stepping through the frame of the shattered glass door, she walked between the cubicles, just as she had only an hour or so earlier. She swept the alien terrain with her head flashlight. Dust covered everything, including a pair of legs sticking out from underneath a desk. Rachel gazed down at the lumpy form.

  Drew joined her. “What is it?”

  Crouching, Rachel dug into the dust, seized the back of the figure’s neck, and raised its head. Then she wiped the dust from Sherry Ann’s face. Clumped dust clung to her open eyes, rendering them off-white.

  “This is the idiot responsible for all this.” Rachel set Sherry Ann’s head down, then grabbed her arm and smacked dust from her hand, which released an empty pill packet. “I guess she couldn’t handle the guilt. She took the easy way out.”

  “A lot of people must have.”

  Moving past him, Rachel returned to the track.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” Morgart said.

  “Yeah.” Sherry Ann’s suicide didn’t make her feel any better.

  Drew caught up to them. “What do you think, Captain? Should we—?”

  A deafening explosion cut him off and the ground shook, spilling them into the dust.

  Lying facedown and clutching her M16A, Rachel raised her head in time to see a metal disc eight feet in diameter and several feet thick roll across the track, strike the mountain, rebound, and go into a slow, earth-shattering spin, like a quarter on a hard surface. A tunnel of light escaped from the circular threshold behind it.

  The vault door, she thought, remembering her entrance into NYS2 eight months earlier.

  Smoke from the explosion shot into the sanctuary in a stream that followed the vault door’s trajectory, then blew outward from the force of the door’s spin. The door gained momentum, spinning faster, each turn growing louder until Rachel’s ears hurt. Countless uniformed soldiers brandishing machine guns flooded into the space, their glowing red eyes cutting swaths through the smoke.

  Fifty-five

  The sight of those red eyes caused Rachel to cringe. So much time had passed since she had last glimpsed them. At least a dozen of the human-looking creatures had filed into NYS2, and their number quickly doubled.

  Machine-gun fire erupted to her right, and she felt grateful that someone besides her knew how to take action. Moving her M16A into position, she squeezed the trigger. No sooner had she started firing than the weapons of the others in her company issued muzzle flashes.

  The eleven men and women pinned the MacNeils down, causing them to fire their weapons and go into convulsions while still on their feet, crimson bursting from their chests. With the first two dozen possessed people vanquished, another dozen took their place.

  “Reloading!” Drew said beside her.

  Rachel got up on one knee and fished into her pocket for a fresh magazine.

  “Reloading!” Morgart said.

  Rachel ejected the spent clip and slapped the fresh one into the M16A. “Reloading!”

  Another dozen Regan MacNeils flooded into the sanctuary.

  Drew opened fire, and a moment later so did Rachel, then Morgart. With so many machine guns firing at once, Rachel appreciated that her gas mask covered her ears and prevented her from inhaling gun smoke. The weapon in her hand caused her entire upper body to vibrate, and she wondered if the fillings in her teeth would fall out. Before them, MacNeils continued to twist, bleed, and die.

  Rachel realized that Morgart had stopped firing, and when she turned to him she saw him lying facedown in a pool of blood.

  Ten little Indians.

  “I need to go,” she said to Drew, who was also kneeling on one leg. “I have to reach that school before any of them do.”

  Frowning, Drew returned his focus to killing possessed soldiers. Then he ran out of ammo. “Reloading!”

  Rachel killed three of their enemies. “Reloading!”

  Drew resumed firing and she soon joined him.

  “Cover me,” he said. Then he ran behind her.

  Rachel laid down a blanket of cover fire, so she didn’t know that Drew had circled around the others in their party until she saw him running along the ruined church space to their left. The MacNeils emerging through the opening ahead didn’t see him and suffered violent deaths.

  Standing outside the round vault opening, Drew unhooked a hand grenade from his vest, pulled the pin, and tossed the grenade through the round opening. Rachel continued to take out fiends even as the grenade exploded, blowing body parts across the track and drenching the dust with blood that caused it to clump. The concussive blast chopped one enemy soldier in half, and shrapnel downed the rest.

  Rachel leapt to her feet and ran forward, passing Drew. Turning at the opening, she widened her eyes. So much gore dripped from the ceiling of the smoke-filled interior that she couldn’t even guess how many possessed soldiers had been obliterated. Through the opening at the other side of the vault, she discerned shadowy shapes descending the stairway Carmudy had brought her down, their red orbs glowing like beacons. The sight of them twisted her stomach, filling her with hatred, and she unleashed a volley of gunfire that reduced six of them to corpse status.

  More took their place and she slew them as well. She saw the problem: she had put herself in a position she couldn’t abandon, and if she tried to or if she ran out of ammo and had to reload, the freaks would take her down.

  Drew stepped beside her with his M16A raised, shoved her out of the way, and dropped his gun into firing position. “Go get those kids out of here!”

  As Drew opened fire, Rachel realized Morgart wasn’t the only member of their team who had been killed: only five people besides Drew and herself continued to fire their weapons.

  “Go on!” Drew said.

  Rachel hesitated.

  Then gunfire tore through Drew’s face and body, driving him back until he stumbled over the bodies of dead MacNeils.

  Gaping at his bloody corpse, she knew she had to make a choice: abandon her comrades, who were doomed anyway, so she could at least try to save the children, or stay behind and fight to the end with the people wearing SWAT uniforms.

  Footsteps echoed inside the vault.

  Rachel had to take up Drew’s position or run in the opposite direction; if she remained where she stood, she would be killed by the other survivors’ gunfire.

  Survivors . . .

  She turned and ran as gunfire erupted behind her.

  Two hundred twenty yards, she thought. Halfway around the track.

  She didn’t even know if she could get into the school if she reached it.

  I’ll get in, even if I have to move this mountain.

  Running, she spotted an arm covered in dust extending from beneath the mountain. Her feet ached inside the combat boots, and the sound of her breathing filled the mask, filled her head, and she wanted it to stop. As she rounded the track, she saw the entrance to the school and her heart swelled.

  She came to an abrupt stop and slammed into the wall beside the front door, the wall that she had helped Martin build. As she tried the doorknob, she wondered what had happened to Martin. The knob did not turn, so she pounded on the door. “Betty, open up! Betty! Ashanti!”

  Turning the M16A sideways, Rachel hammered at the knob with the gun’s butt, knocking the knob to the floor. Then she kicked the door open and hurried into the dark school. She swept her head flashlight over empty tables and chairs, then ran into the next room, which also proved empty. She searched all the rooms and found no one. Her heart beat faster. The kids had escaped!

  The gunfire outside stopped.

  They’re coming.

  Rachel entered the playroom and made a beeline for the closet door. Behind her, the front door slammed against a wall, and she heard dozens of footsteps in the hallway. She stepped inside the closet and closed
the door. Then she removed the secret panel and walked into the hall behind it. She pulled the panel back into place and ran down the hall to the metal ladder toward the dingy red light above.

  When she reached the top, she sighed and moved out of view of anyone who should open the panel behind her. The flashlights had been taken from their places on the wall. Tipping her head back, she saw no sign of flashlight beams. Raising one hand above her head, she felt fresh air on her fingertips. The shafts were not ventilated through the vents but from air aboveground. She tore the gas mask from her head, grateful to be free of its heat, and stuffed it into her life kit.

  She heard a click at the same time that light filled her eyes, blinding her.

  “Rachel?”

  Shielding her eyes with her hand, Rachel recognized the muffled voice. “Damn, Betty, get that out of my face.”

  Still wearing her mask, Betty stepped closer. “Where’s Ron? Did you see him out there?”

  Rachel pulled off Betty’s gas mask. “No. He was part of the crowd that ran out of assembly. None of them made it. I’m sorry.”

  Betty’s face crumbled and she broke into sobs.

  “Where are the kids?”

  Betty pointed behind her. “I sent all the little ones up the ladder. The older kids ran out into the concourse.”

  Twenty-four kids, Rachel calculated. She heard voices—deep and masculine, not childlike—somewhere behind her. “We have to go now.”

  Betty shook her head. “I’m not going without Ron.”

  “You thought your life was worth saving before you met Ron, and you were pretty shallow then, pardon my honesty. If it was worth saving then, it’s sure worth saving now.”

  Convulsing, Betty cried harder.

  Rachel slapped her. “And if your life isn’t worth saving, those kids’ lives are.” She gave Betty a shove. “I need your help. They need your help. Get moving.”

  Rachel couldn’t make out Betty’s expression, but her colleague ran into the darkness ahead and she followed her. At least Betty’s flashlight allowed them to see where they were going.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, Betty turned and shined her flashlight on the ladder.

  “You first,” Rachel said. “But turn that off. We don’t want to make it any easier for them to see us than it already is with those eyes of theirs.”

  Betty turned off the flashlight and climbed the ladder. Rachel followed her and they climbed to the third landing. On the fourth landing, she reached for the ladder.

  “Rachel?” a muffled voice said.

  Ashanti. Rachel leaned into the darkness. “Where are you?”

  “Right here.”

  Rachel discerned a solid shape in the darkness. A small figure jumped into her arms. Rachel pulled off Ashanti’s gas mask and kissed her forehead.

  Betty climbed down the ladder and stood beside them.

  “Thank God you’re okay,” Rachel said. “Are you alone?”

  “No,” a boy said. “There are a lot more of us.”

  Betty shined her flashlight on the boy as he removed his gas mask.

  “Everyone else is still climbing,” Barry said.

  Barry, thank God, Rachel thought. “Who else? Take off your masks. It’s okay.”

  The other children revealed themselves: school-age children younger than Barry. Rachel knew only a few of them: Chuck, Ricky, Sara, Rosie, and Calista.

  “Why aren’t you still climbing like the others?” Betty said.

  “They got scared,” Barry said. “They didn’t want to go any higher without you.”

  “So you waited behind with them?” Rachel said.

  “I had to.”

  Good boy. “Listen to me, all of you. Miss Betty’s here, and she’s going all the way to the top with us.” Rachel looked at Betty. “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You all have to keep going. I don’t care how tired you get; you can’t give up. This is life or death and we want life. You’re almost halfway there.” She took off her head flashlight and adjusted it to fit Barry’s crown. Then she took the .22 from her life kit and handed it to Betty. “I’m depending on you to get these kids all the way to the top. Do you understand?”

  Betty nodded. “What about you?”

  “If you make it and I don’t, use that gun only if you need to. It carries ten rounds. Make sure you turn off the safety on the side, okay? It won’t shoot otherwise.”

  “Yes.”

  “Get climbing now,” Rachel said to the kids.

  The children obeyed her.

  “Don’t even try using that gun on the ladder. You won’t hit anything, and the recoil will knock you off.” Rachel handed Betty two spare magazines for the handgun. “If you get stuck in an impossible situation, you may have to make a difficult decision.”

  Betty stared at her in horror.

  “You’ll find a drainage ditch outside, hopefully no snow. Stay low so they won’t see you, and keep the kids quiet. Go to the woods and the mountains, but don’t go too high: snow will come soon.”

  “I understand. When will we see you again?” Betty said.

  “Hopefully in fifteen minutes.” Rachel pushed Ashanti onto the ladder and watched her merge into darkness. She and Betty stared at each other, then they embraced.

  Betty shoved Rachel back. “Look out!”

  Rachel turned and saw a pair of red eyes glowing in the darkness close to the edge; a freak stood on the ladder gazing at them. She unslung her M16A and triggered a blast that reduced the MacNeil’s face to red mush and blew him backward. Then she ran to the edge and looked down the sight of her gun at another MacNeil. She fired and watched the red eyes fade to black as the freak fell to the landing below.

  Farther down, on the ground floor, she saw three more pairs of eyes. Raising the M16A’s stock to her shoulder, she fired at them, moving the gun from side to side. The muzzle flashes caused the freaks to resemble pirouetting disco dancers until they dropped dead. Three more MacNeils replaced the disco dancers, and Rachel fired at them, dropping them before they could fire at her, the muzzle flashes causing spots to flare in her eyes.

  Rachel only saw a freak climb over the ledge below her because of his eyes. Swinging the M16A in his direction, she strafed the ledge and annihilated his face and he dropped from view. She swung the M16A back toward the corridor as three pairs of red eyes emerged in the darkness and wiped out the next trio of MacNeils to get through.

  She had to provide better cover for the kids, but the freaks had her at a disadvantage: they saw in the dark and she didn’t. All she saw were their glowing red eyes and some faint silhouettes. She needed to gain an advantage over them.

  Slinging the M16A over her shoulder again, she slid over the edge, her back fully exposed, pressed her boots against the sides of the ladder, and slid down it three times as fast as she could have climbed down. Her boots slapped concrete, and she unslung her weapon and crawled to the edge. She had killed nine of the fiends, and all of them had seen her on the third landing; they had every reason to believe she was climbing up. Looking over her shoulder, she saw no sign of Betty and the kids in the darkness.

  Tossing the M16A over her shoulder again, Rachel slid down the next ladder, the sound of her boots hitting the concrete echoing. After freeing her weapon and crawling to the next edge, she narrowed her eyes at the doorway below. If any MacNeils lurked there, they wore sunglasses.

  She rolled onto her side, then unzipped the front of her jumpsuit, reached inside it, slipped her hand into her pocket, and brought out a small plastic object: the carrying case for the night vision contact lenses President Rhodes had given her. Holding the case close to her face, she wondered how the hell she was going to put the lenses in her eyes in the dark when she had never worn contacts before.

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor below. She sat up too fast, and the plastic case slipped from her fingers. Her body turned rigid as she heard the case strike the concrete edge, then the metal ladder, and
after what seemed like an eternity, the floor below.

  Fifty-six

  Rachel flailed her arm in the darkness, caught the edge of the ladder, and rolled off the edge of the landing. She meant to swing onto the ladder, but instead she crashed against it, relinquished her grip, and dropped to the floor below.

  To her right, she saw several pairs of eyes. She took her M16A and fired a continuous burst, illuminating the freaks even as she mowed them down.

  There goes my edge, she thought.

  Crawling, she searched the floor for the contacts case, patting the concrete with her palms. She heard footsteps again, many more this time.

  They know right where I am.

  She moved faster in small circles.

  Come on! Come on!

  One pinky brushed against the case and knocked it away. A frightened gasp escaped her throat, and she crawled in the direction she heard it slide. Pinpricks of red light appeared in the distance. She closed her fingers around the case.

  Now what?

  With trembling fingers, she pried the case open.

  Oh, shit. Oh, Christ, hurry.

  The red lights grew brighter, like oncoming headlights.

  Holding the case in the palm of her left hand, Rachel dipped her middle finger into one compartment, her fingertip touching fluid. The contact seemed to come to her, clinging to the tip of her finger. Tilting her head back, she brought the finger close to her right eye, blinked several times, and touched her eyeball.

  The world turned bright green—half of it, anyway. Closing her left eye, she spotted dozens of possessed soldiers running in her direction, and she saw them in great detail despite the surreal lighting.

  She debated what to do: engage them in a firefight now or put the other contact in and then shoot them?

  Rachel set the case down, rose with her M16A, and squeezed the trigger.

  The gun clicked.

  Fuck!

  Ejecting the spent magazine, she took one from a pocket, slapped it into the gun, and opened fire, twisting from side to side. The MacNeils staggered, bled, and collapsed.

  Crouching again, Rachel exhaled. If she had taken the time to insert the other contact and then discovered her M16A was out of ammo, she would have been finished for sure. She located the case, stuck her finger into the other compartment, and inserted the second contact with relative ease. Now she saw everything in green with the proper depth of field, including a dozen metal barrels labeled kerosene along the opposite wall.