The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding

by Greene, Daniel

  He’d long ago pitted out his white doctor’s coat, sweat saturating through his clothes. Dr. Desai was worse. They’d been lugging bodies for what seemed like hours, and she’d been in her HAZMAT suit all day long. Damp black curls stuck to her forehead, her skin glistening with perspiration.

  Dr. Hollis’s round shape hovered near the edge of the loading dock. His excuse had been to check vaccine crates for shipping within the Golden Triangle, ensuring they were properly packaged and stored. Joseph didn’t know how long he could keep the ruse up of needing to be in the loading area. The guards had already rotated a shift since they’d started hauling out the bodies.

  He directed the gurney into the storage room. Thirteen bags lay along the wall. Both he and Desai got on either end of a bag, hoisting it off the others.

  “This one’s heavy,” Desai grunted. She strained under the weight.

  “Soon they’ll start to wake up.”

  They set the body down as gently as they could, repeating the process for each prisoner.

  “If I got the dosing right,” Desai said.

  Joseph reached for her. Their eyes locked together. “You did.”

  A grim smile passed her lips. “I did.”

  A deep voice startled them both. “What happened down there?” A soldier in ACUs leered at them.

  “You should stay back,” Dr. Desai said, holding out a hand.

  The guard didn’t seem fazed by her warning, only more intrigued with the reason why he, the gatekeeper of his domain would not need to stick his nose into someone else’s business. “Why?”

  “Infected,” Joseph said.

  “I haven’t heard any news of an outbreak.” His hand reached up to his radio at his collar. “Sarge, can you confirm an outbreak inside the complex?” He took a step inside. “Toby.” He waved to his partner and a second later his radio sounded off, “Affirm, Berger.”

  Joseph walked toward him trying to drive him back out. “We already went over this with the last guys, it’s not the Primus Necrovirus but an airborne MRSA. Very deadly. Very contagious. Just being in this room puts you at risk.”

  The soldier had a chiseled jaw and a small mouth that looked like it loved to give short strict orders. He studied Joseph, eyes shifting over his shoulder. “Why the fuck is that thing moving then?” Berger stuck out an arm that felt like iron and shoved Joseph to the side. His weapon reported in the small room. A line of impacts puffed the back wall leading down to the body’s head. The form collapsed back into the bag.

  Joseph sucked in his breath and held before he whispered. “Oh, God.”

  The soldier stepped aggressively toward the bags, his weapon trained on them. “We should put bullets in the rest of them to be sure.” He turned back to Joseph. “You sure about them not being Zulus? ’Cause that infected piece of shit was moving.”

  Joseph held up a nervous hand. “I can assure you. These are not infected with Primus Necrovirus.” He ducked his head. “Please! Do not shoot them.”

  “We need them intact for testing,” Desai shouted from outside the door.

  “Fuck that,” Berger said. His eyes grew wider. “They’re moving.” He pointed his carbine at the next body bag. Bang. The gunshot echoed from wall to wall reverberating on itself in the small room. The bag rippled with impact from his round. Joseph almost puked at the spray of gore splattering the wall.

  Another soldier charged into the room. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “These fucking bodies are moving.” Berger, wide-eyed, stared at Joseph. “What’s going on?”

  Joseph held out a hand. “They’re not infected.”

  Toby crouched down getting his face closer to the body. With his finger, he forced open an eyelid. “His eyes look normal.” He glanced back at Joseph. “It doesn’t look Zulu.”

  Berger turned his gun on Joseph. “They aren’t dead, are they? And they ain’t Zulu.”

  Joseph put up both his hands. Have to run with my lie. “You don’t understand. This is a very deadly disease. You shouldn’t be here without precautionary measures.”

  One of the prisoners sat up. Her voice came out slurred. “Don’t shoot.” Both guards pointed their guns at her.

  “They’re talking now?”

  “I know her. She’s one of those, those conspirators.” Toby turned back to Joseph.

  A second later, Toby rocketed into the air like he’d been hit by a train, his head whiplashing as he was launched off his feet. His head smacked the wall, and his body went limp. He collapsed on the row of bodies with a plastic crunch.

  Berger gawked at his comrade strewn sideways over the bodies, and Joseph lunged for his gun. The guard reacted fast and body checked Joseph with his carbine. The hard metal of the weapon took the wind out of him, and his back smacked the solid surface with a slap.

  Desai grabbed the guard around the neck and Hollis charged them, his hands clenched with the ferocity of a crazed silverback gorilla. His fists pummeled Berger’s face once, twice, three times until the soldier was knocked unconscious with blood pouring from his nose.

  “We don’t have time,” Hollis breathed, his neck stretching with each labored breath. He gave them a tired grin. “I told you I was a fabulous prop in the scrum.” He rolled to the side and used the wall to help himself up. “We have to leave now. Grab their ID cards.”

  Joseph removed the ID and a radio from Berger’s vest. “Docks, status? We heard gunfire, over.”

  “All clear, nothing to report.”

  “Berger, what happened?”

  “Uhh,” Joseph said before he clicked the button. He shoved the other soldier over and read his name tag. “Toby fired his gun by mistake. Everyone’s fine.”

  “Send him the fuck over here. Jesus Christ. You know how many fucking reports I gotta do for this kind of shit?”

  “He’s going to the bathroom.” Joseph tossed the radio on the ground.

  Prisoners were waking up and holding their heads.

  Byrnes wiped his forehead. “God, that’s a headache.” Joseph bent down and removed the carbines from the soldiers. He handed one to Byrnes.

  “You’re going to need this. They know we’re trying to escape.”

  “The guards saw one of the bags moving and thought they were infected,” Desai said hurried.

  Byrnes frown deepened. “Do we have a vehicle?”

  “There’s a van over here,” Hollis said. “It’s the best I can do.”

  Hollis peered out the door and walked out of the room. “It’s over there.” He pointed. “I’ll run interference.”

  The prisoners wrapped arms around one another in their groggy state, those that were more coherent carrying the others. Joseph led them across the docks to a white van parked near the wall. Hollis locked the door of the makeshift morgue and followed.

  They slid the van door open. “Hurry,” Joseph said. The prisoners crawled in. “We have to hurry.”

  Desai crawled out of her HAZMAT suit. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re getting out of here. Get in.”

  “How will we produce the vaccine?”

  “We will figure out a way, but they will kill us or worse.”

  Her dark eyes scrunched in worry, but she nodded and climbed inside.

  Joseph crawled into the driver’s seat and turned the engine on.

  “Hollis,” Joseph low-shouted out of the window trying to inconspicuous.

  The heavyset doctor began walking toward them and stopped. He turned. Soldiers marched within fifteen feet, their weapons pointed at him.

  “We should go,” Byrnes said from the passenger seat.

  Joseph threw the van into drive but kept his foot on the brake.

  A soldier lunged for Hollis, trying to apprehend him, but Hollis managed to get a hand on the weapon. The men struggled back and forth on the loading dock.

  “We should go,” Byrnes repeated. “There’s nothing we can do for him.”

  Joseph twisted the wheel and drove down the cave corrido
r.

  THE PASTOR

  Camp Forge, IA

  Orange fire burst from the farmhouse doorway, engulfing Tess’s form like a singular flame from a dragon’s mouth. She was standing one moment and simply disappeared into an inferno the next. Vanished and evaporated, she was turned into the nothingness of a brisk fiery breeze by the extreme heat and the holocaustal flames. The natural beauty of the entire thing took his breath away.

  Shockwaves rippled forth, and the earth shook beneath him. It was an earthquake brought on by man’s destructive ingenuity to destroy his enemies. The sound raptured, washing over the camp announcing the commencement of their takeover. He knew God looked down upon them and smiled.

  “May God take your troubled soul, Tess.” Debris rocketed into the air like fireworks of wood and siding. A door sailed airborne, flipping end over end. It finished its full rotation as it broke upon the second story of the barn across the yard. The orange explosion was topped off by opaque black smoke that billowed into the air, following close behind the fireball. His ears rang with the songs of angels.

  His followers crouched next to the side of a nearby cabin. Debris rained from the sky. He turned to Peter, both of their shoulders pressed against the logs. “And so it begins. God wills it.”

  The Chosen brothers and sisters nearby eyed him, awaiting their chance to strike the enemy. Peter stared expectantly, ready to go to work.

  “You may go, son. Vanquish our enemies. Raise the Kingdom of God on your shoulders.”

  Peter stood for a moment, hesitation in his step, then bowed his head. “A pleasure, Father.”

  Does this man still fear Steele? His servant’s hesitation would mean nothing this day for their victory would be overwhelming.

  Peter seemed to realize his weakness. Raising his voice to a shout, he shook his AK-47 high in the air. “Death to the unbelievers.”

  The pastor pointed to Matthew and his followers with his carpenter’s hammer. He waved them forward. The handsome man gave him a white-toothed grin and charged into the open, surrounding the Red Stripes’ barn. They kicked over the slain guards on their way by. A cluster of his men lifted the heavy beam to their shoulders and tossed it on the ground.

  Distant gunfire tapped his eardrum. That would be Luke killing the guards by the gate and seeing that the War Machines had an easy time gaining entry into the compound.

  Hungover men in camouflage ran from the other two barns. The bewildered men staggered as rounds exploded into their guts. Peter slowed to a walk, shooting some in the back. Their feet kicked up as they collapsed in red snow.

  His boots crunched as he continued his march through the center of the camp, a feeling of euphoric impunity cloaking him. His mind buzzed with endorphins at the fall of their corrupt overlords. He felt like Moses freeing his people from their Egyptian slave masters.

  Matthew’s men sprayed rounds into the barn holding the Red Stripes. Gunfire erupted from the Sable Pointers’ barn. The Chosen were met with screams for mercy from their enemies.

  A Sable Pointer staggered and fell face-first, body penetrated by bullets. We knew some would fight. His men surrounded the barn, moving with godly purpose. His followers were clear of mind and went to their deaths willingly while his enemies were hungover and exhausted from their lewd debauchery excuse of a wedding.

  Brothers Thomas and Anthony ran to him, hastily bowing their heads. “Father, the Iron Drakes are pinned in their cabins but are putting up a fight. We’ve lost a few of our men already.”

  “Use the tools that God has given you. Burn them with God’s fire, and do not let them escape. If they do not emerge, they’ll be purified with his holy flames or our righteous bullets.”

  Thomas bowed his head. “Your will shall be done.” The men ran off in the direction of the cabins.

  He watched in glee as the two men holding the barn door of the Sable Pointers were mowed down into a twisted pile of arms and legs, their insides blown from their bodies. The others pushed inside, trying to escape. The doors swung closed, sealing them off.

  Farther on his right, a cluster of soldiers sprinted for the river like they were making a prison break. Many were gunned down as they climbed the log and earthen wall, the wall they’d built to protect expediting their demise.

  The pastor continued his walk through the death camp. He made it to the wreckage of the farmhouse. The heart of his enemies’ lair. The house burned in yellow and orange flames that reached for heavens in praise. The back half of the house still stood but was alight. Time would bring it down. Pieces of blackened wood were strewn over the ground. He bent down and picked up a soot-covered silver bell. It tinkled as he held it. “Merry Christmas indeed.” He placed it in his pocket.

  Rough men in leather jackets with gears patches on them jogged into the camp. War Child marched front and center to the pastor. A nasty sneer spread across his lips beneath his tightly trimmed white beard. “Looks like you took care of most of them.” Nonchalantly, he flipped open a pack of cigarettes and tossed one into his mouth. He flicked a lighter. He inhaled while nodding. “The bomb planted on Tess did the trick. Saw the explosion from a mile away.”

  Black smoke encircled the base. “It went according to plan. We’ve purified many souls this day.” He searched the sky for his god. “May their souls suffer for an eternity. My followers tell me the Iron Drakes are putting up a stiff resistance.”

  “Ah, my boy Frank putting up a fight? Let me see if I can talk some sense into him. If not, I’m not really sorry about putting them in the ground.” War Child turned to his club. “Come on, Machines. The old Iron Drakes need a talkin’ to.” He waved his men onward toward the cabins.

  “This day truly is blessed.” The smoke dissipated into the air, and the pastor raised his hands high.

  AHMED

  Bailey Homestead, MO

  The Singleton men sat in a crude semicircle of chairs and couches, cradling their guns between their legs. The Bailey farmhouse had a spacious living room with a broad wood-burning fireplace in the center. A cluster of Bailey supporters and Bailey family stood on one side, arms folded unmoved across chests. It was a circle of mistrust, but a circle that wasn’t currently shooting each other into pieces.

  “I just don’t see how we can stand up to them. There must be over forty of ’em, and they have our girls hostage.” Sly shook his head thinking. “Macleod made it very clear that if we even looked at his club the wrong way, he would skin her alive. I can’t lose another child to this world.” He folded his arms over his chest and peered at Jim. “And I know he’d do the same to your Sadie.” He paused a second. “He’s got us by the balls and can geld us anytime he feels like it.”

  Even if the two families could come together on this, the predicament was overbearing. “Do you know where they’ve set up their base?” Ahmed asked.

  Sly eyed him for a moment and realized he didn’t know him. “You’re that Arab boy from the meeting. Where’d you come from?” Mistrust crept into his eyes.

  “I used to work with Macleod until he killed my friends and betrayed us.”

  “Not surprising knowing that prick job. Gina overheard some of his gang talking about a mine and quarry. Can’t be only one around here. The old MacDonald Limestone Mine.”

  Lee spoke, his arm wrapped around Gina. She was still shaken by all the events but had been spared and dumped with the children to the Bailey homestead, having been deemed too old and angry for captivity at the club’s expense. “Only one way in and one way out of there. They would see us coming a mile away and gut the girls before we even had a chance to rescue them.”

  “How do we get inside?” Sly said open-ended to the men.

  “If we can ambush a group of them, take their clothes and bikes, we can sneak in. Then it’s at least a rush to save them,” Ahmed said.

  Sly shook his head. “Too risky.”

  Jim’s face was growing flush with irritation. “We can’t just sit back and leave those girls to their whims.”
r />   “There has to be another angle we can take?” Ahmed said. He gestured at Sly. “You could turn Jim over as a prisoner.”

  “A lot of trust there, Ahmed,” Jim said with a warning glare.

  “He’d prolly just shoot him on the spot.” Sly scratched his stubbly face while he thought.

  Lee brought to mind a younger Albert Einstein getting shocked with a new theory. “I been there. We used to screw off in the mine after they closed it down. Elevator worked back then, but that was like thirty some years ago.”

  “Can we use it?” Ahmed asked.

  Sly’s look turned thoughtful. “He’s right. I been there too. Back in the day.”

  “If we can get the engine going, it might work.”

  Ahmed shared a glance with Jim. “If we can sneak inside, we wouldn’t need to rush the entrance.”

  “I like that,” Sly said.

  Brett Foxworth shook his curly-haired head. “Surely they would hear us coming.”

  “Then we will need a diversion.” Ahmed grew in confidence. They were finally getting somewhere. “What if we draw them out? Set up a fake ambush so they call for help. Then we send men down the elevator to rescue the girls.”

  “Could work,” Jim said.

  “Roadblock them close to the hideout. Make it easy to call for help. Then we hightail it on out of there. They got those motorcycles; it’ll be hard to give them the slip. Best we got is a truck.” Sly rubbed his chin in thought.

  “Go where a motorcycle can’t,” Ahmed said.

  Lee spoke up. “I’ve lived here a long time and I know these roads like the back of my hand. Andy and I can lose ’em.”

  Ahmed faced Jim. “You and me to the elevator?”

  Jim’s icy eyes sparkled like a frosty sunny morning. “Yeah, that sounds like the plan.”

  “And me. I can show you how to work it,” Sly said. “The rest of y’all are going to go with Lee. You’re going to ambush the Wolf Riders and then you’re gonna disappear except for Lee. Lee’s gonna ride them all over the county.”