Cade held a hand up in the SAS operator’s direction then went on, “Elevator will be a no go. So we clear the stairwell on the way up. The objective will be dead ahead from the top of the stairs. If the items are still there, we’ll need the Ranger chalk from Jedi One-Two for extra muscle. Once they are boots on the ground, have One-Three loiter, guns hot. We use their chalk as a QRF only as a last resort.”
“Copy that,” Ari said. Then he switched channels and relayed the impromptu plan to Nash at the TOC, and finished by bringing the other SOAR pilots into the loop.
Cade sized up his team. To a man they looked fatigued, but that was when alpha predators performed their best. And he knew when the time came, they would give him no less than one hundred and ten per cent.
Chapter 71
Two seconds after laying eyes on Oliver, Duncan knew Glenda’s youngest was dead. Though it looked as if he had tried to staunch the flow of blood from his crudely amputated leg by forcing the ragged stump into the muddy soil of the once grass-covered parking strip, it had been all for naught. Because of the way the stocks supported his weight—the job falling mostly on his wrists and neck—there was no way for him to fully extend downward and apply any kind of pressure to effectively staunch the bleeding. Then there was the gaping second mouth that had been cut into his neck. No surviving that. Where Oliver’s Adam’s apple should have been was a six-inch gash that went nearly ear-to-ear. And to add insult to the life-ending injury, Oliver’s tongue had been threaded through the horrific wound.
Columbian Neck Tie, thought Duncan, as he looked out across the lake. Same shit the Viet Cong perfected forty years ago.
He didn’t know how long he stood there staring with his boots fused to the blood-soaked soil. Finally, snapping him to the present, Lev and Daymon were at his side, the latter putting an arm around him and asking, “Are you going to be OK, boss?”
Duncan lifted his head and regarded the pair with eyes red-rimmed and glistening with fresh tears.
“Anything I can do?” asked Lev.
“Help me with Oliver.”
“We got it,” Daymon said.
“We found three U-Hauls full of food and supplies. Dregan is taking one,” Lev added. “We can make room for Foley and Oliver in the back of one of the others.”
Duncan nodded, then swung his gaze back out across the lake.
A trio of gunshots sounded from the direction of the destroyed gate. After the initial report, there had been a two-second lapse followed by two more shots delivered rapid-fire.
Looking over his shoulder, Duncan saw Tran standing over a pair of fallen rotters. Beretta held limply at his side, the man turned and delivered a solemn nod.
“You’re done being a pacifist, Tran,” muttered Duncan, as he turned to watch Lev and Daymon dismantle the hardware fastening the wooden top bar of the stocks over Oliver’s neck and wrists.
Across the cul-de-sac, near the smaller gate the half-dozen trucks and vans had escaped through, Jamie was engaging a lone walker, her tomahawk flashing through the air and settling inches deep into the thing’s bald pate.
Riding the wind, the hollow thunk reached Duncan’s ears a half-beat after his eyes registered a sight he thought he’d never see outside of a documentary about the Middle Ages.
Wondering when all of this fighting and killing and death was going to end, Duncan trudged back to his ruined Dodge. He collected his gear and motioned Tran over. Together, they followed the all-too-familiar blood trail to the house that had briefly caught fire but was now just spewing wispy curls of smoke from an upper window. The garage door was open and sitting on the floor cross-legged were Adrian, one of the plain-looking women, and a third woman they had found hiding in a bathroom of the house above them. The women’s wrists were zip-tied behind their backs and dirty shop rags protruded from each of their mouths.
From her spot on the oil-stained cement floor, Adrian looked up at Duncan and started hurling muffled epithets his way.
“Sticks and stones …” quipped Duncan in a tired-sounding voice.
Returning from the orange and white U-Haul parked beside the house, Daymon said, “Foley and Oliver are in back of the truck outside. Found a moving blanket to cover them with. Lev tied them down as best he could.”
Duncan said nothing. Continued to stare at the women.
Daymon said, “We found three men in the basement of Fatty Fatterson’s house. They were real malnourished and said the Pocatello prisoners beat them often and used them for slave labor. All of them were missing fingers. One had his arm amputated at the elbow. Now and again these bitches would hold some kind of bastardized religious rituals before hacking pieces off of them … to eat.”
Eyes bugged, Adrian spewed something unintelligible while straining against her bonds.
Duncan put his hand on the big woman’s shoulder and forced her to be still. Loosening his grip, he fixed his bloodshot eyes on Daymon, then flicked the gaze to Lev.
Lev said, “I bandaged the survivors best I could. Gave them food, water, and a truck and let them go.”
Duncan nodded.
Daymon said, “They weren’t just eating men.”
Duncan arched a brow.
“We found dog bones mixed in with the human remains out back. Oliver’s missing leg was still cooking on the grill.”
A half-dozen gunshots rang out from the rear gate. Then Jamie’s voice emanated from the radio to let everyone know she had put down three rotters and all was well.
Resuming the conversation, Daymon said, “I let the men go because I figured we didn’t need three more mouths to feed at the compound. It was all I could do to keep them from coming back to kill Mom.”
Duncan nodded. “Did you give them weapons?”
There was a pained moment of silence. Lev and Daymon met eyes.
Lev looked at the floor.
Finally, Daymon spoke up. “Nope,” he said, tucking a stray dread behind his ear.
“Good,” Duncan said matter-of-factly.
“What do we do with these three little piggies?” Daymon asked.
“Put them in the stocks. Leave them for the rotters to eat.”
Adrian listed to the side and hit the concrete with a solid thud. She lay there struggling against her bonds like a failed Houdini act.
Duncan tossed his gear into the U-Haul and returned and stood next to Tran, who had just arrived from the front gate.
“We’ll gladly take care of these three,” Lev said. “Least we can do for Foley and Oliver.”
Daymon locked eyes with Duncan. “Before we go, I have something I need to get off my chest.”
Duncan told Tran to sit tight. “Let’s walk,” he said to Daymon.
As the two men made their way out of the garage and around the corner to where the U-Haul was parked, Daymon came clean about his attempts at toughening Oliver up. Spilled about the two instances when he actually put the dead man’s life in danger. Then he told Duncan how he planned to atone for it.
Duncan looked behind him, then leaned against the garage.
“Foley’s blood is on my hands. I guess I let Dregan’s attitude rub off on me. I underestimated those hags. That’s a fact.” Duncan pushed off the wall and stood inches from Daymon, looking up into his eyes. “What you did isn’t the same. Oliver’s always been a loner. Glenda told me as much. So in my eyes, there’s no need for atonement.”
“When we get back to the compound, me and Heidi are leaving. I found a place for us outside of Woodruff.”
“You’re a big boy. Know that I don’t hold you responsible,” Duncan said, backing off a pace. “I still have to tell Glenda what went down.”
“All the better I’m leaving then.”
Duncan closed his eyes and rested his chin on his chest for a second. When he looked up, Daymon was gone. So he climbed behind the wheel of the U-Haul and radioed Taryn to tell her they were moving out in a few minutes and to be ready to go.
A moment later Tran climbed into the passen
ger seat, a hangdog look on his face.
“They weren’t humans,” Duncan said, heading him off at the pass. “At least not anymore. And fella, if you keep that Beretta you better be willing to use it against both the dead and the living.”
Tran said nothing. He kept his gaze locked outside the window as Duncan started the engine.
Waiting for the U-Haul’s rough idle to steady, Duncan called Lev over. “Burn the place,” he said. “To the ground. Then knock the side fence down so the dead can see Adrian and her evil friends.”
Lev nodded and strode over to help Daymon with the prisoners.
Sitting in silence, Duncan let the engine warm up for a couple of minutes. When he finally pulled away toward the gate, he saw the stocks newly filled with the three women, the leader of the group, Adrian, acting as the meaty center of the soon-to-be rotter sandwich.
Maneuvering the ungainly box truck around the destroyed gate, Duncan picked up the Motorola and radioed Ray to say he was coming to pick him up. Then, as the U-Haul’s tires hit the smooth pavement, he glanced in the side mirror and saw the licks of fire and black smoke that told him Daymon and Lev were taking care of business.
Chapter 72
After skimming the mast-styled flag poles in front of the dried-up fountain directly across Pennsylvania Avenue from Target Bravo, Jedi One-One was wheels down for a scant three seconds before the turbines spooled back up and she was lifting off minus the Delta team.
By the time Cade and his team were away from the rotor cone and sweeping their weapons toward the center of the expansive United States Navy Memorial, the near-silent stealth helo was climbing away to the west over their heads, the tricycle-style landing gear already retracting into its smooth underbelly.
“Schriever, Jedi One-One,” Ari called over the comms. “Anvil Team is boots on at Target Bravo.”
“Copy that, Flight Lead. Stand by for SITREP,” came a female voice from the TOC.
Hearing the exchange between Ari and the TOC at Schriever, Cade rose and led the team off in the same direction the helicopter was retreating. Weaving between the jam of cars choking Pennsylvania Avenue with his M4 leading the way had looked to be less of a challenge from the air. On the ground, he and the team were forced to step up on bumpers and scramble over grimy hoods and trunks to get across the westbound lanes.
Once Cade made it to the yard-wide expanse of concrete separating Pennsylvania Avenue’s westbound lanes from the eastbound, he paused and regarded the rest of the team coming up on his six. Satisfied with their progress, he walked his gaze north across the tops of the traffic snarl. On the far side of the Naval Memorial, dozens of Zs attracted by the black helicopter were making their way across the plaza. He watched Griff and Cross slide across the trunk of a dirt-streaked Mercedes one right after the other and take a knee, each training the deadly end of their suppressed weapon a different direction down the narrow cement island splitting Pennsylvania Avenue lengthwise.
In the rear of a nearby city bus something dead was clawing at the clouded windows. Ignoring the monster’s interest in him, Cross said, “That landing zone isn’t going to work for exfil.”
Cade nodded, his eyes tracking Axe as the SAS operator clomped across a Crown Victoria’s flat hood and hurdled the rear end of a Yellow Cab. “I think I’d rather wade through three lanes of shamblies than go bonnet, boot, bonnet, boot like that again.”
“Be grateful for the jam,” Cade said to Axe. He gestured toward the LZ. “It’s all that’s keeping them from us.”
Axe rose and made a slow turn to the north. Seeing the excited throng, he whistled and said, “I stand corrected.”
“Let’s move,” Cade said, striking out between a narrow gap separating a Prius cab from the city-bus-cum-tomb whose shadow they’d been crouched in.
The going got a little easier as the team crossed the fifth and sixth eastbound lanes. Leading them across the sidewalk and angling for a triangle of tall grass on the northwest corner of Pennsylvania and 14th Street, Cade heard Nash break in over the comms to tell Ari about developments in their search for the PLA team. But before any details were exchanged, Nash said something to the effect that the satellite footage would speak for itself and then signed off.
Encouraged by what the cryptic snippet of conversation alluded to, Cade led the team charging south down the sidewalk with the entrance to the looming target building in his sights.
As he neared the recessed doors leading to the marble structure’s lower level, Cade found his path along the litter-strewn sidewalk blocked when a lone shambler emerged from between a pair of static cars to his right. Slowing his gait, he leveled the carbine to take aim, but was confronted by two more child-sized first turns spilling through the same opening. After putting a Danner to the lead undead kid’s chest, Cade sidestepped the pair as they fell and fired two rounds into the first shambler’s balding skull. Seeing the thing’s forehead implode from the double tap, he went to a knee in front of the alcove shielding the building’s entrance and motioned for Griff and Cross to engage the kid walkers. Next, he caught Axe’s eye as the operator was coming to a halt on their six and mouthed, “Cover me.” He turned from the action and removed the lock gun from a cargo pocket.
After a quick visual sweep of the ten-by-twenty entry, which was thankfully occupied by only ankle-high drifts of orange and red fallen leaves and a yellowed Washington Post front page emblazoned with the headline Super Flu Outbreak Hits China, Cade kneeled before the steel door and worked the pick gun into the first lock.
Immediately following a flurry of suppressed gunshots, Cross called, “Get us inside, Wyatt. We’re drawing a crowd.”
After popping the first lock, Cade moved to the upper deadbolt, which took him just a handful of seconds to thwart.
Having alternated between watching Cade’s progress and scanning 14th Street for more unwanted visitors, Axe saw the second lock fall and in his headset heard Cade call for Cross and Griff to disengage and rally at the entrance.
Motioning Axe forward, Cade said, “Cover me while I go in.”
“Roger,” Axe said, raising his M4 from its low ready position.
Slowly easing the door inward, Cade one-eyed it around the corner and saw a wide run of white marble stairs going up and a set of brushed stainless-steel elevator doors to his right. Casting a glance at the floor, he noted the fine coating of untracked dust. “Clear,” he called, rising up and shouldering the door open.
Once everyone was inside and the door was secured, it was evident their NVGs wouldn’t be needed. A diffuse light was spilling down the stairwell, painting the foyer a soft golden color.
Taking point, Cade scaled the stairs one at a time, keeping wide left and his M4 trained on the turn as he approached it.
Three more turns and a landing crossing later they found themselves in an equally dusty and identical foyer. On the wall in front of them was a sign directing them to the Rotunda Room.
Seeing the sign, Cross raised a brow and pointed it out to Griff and Axe, both a few steps to his rear.
Continuing on through the doorway, Cade noted that the air in the building’s interior was cool and musty. With the computer-controlled HVAC units that usually scrubbed the air and kept the humidity in check not running, it didn’t surprise him that the elements were already taking a toll on the building and its contents.
As Cade entered the rotunda, he was blown away by its sheer scale and complexity of design. Underfoot, the marble floor was decorated with dozens of large circles inlaid with red marble. Each of the circles were bordered with black marble. A fine sheen of dust coated everything under the dome. Motes danced in the light shafts bisecting the room from the front dais to the retired grand entry.
At the fore of the great room opposite the entry was a quartet of columns, the smaller two honed from black marble similar to that used on the floor, while the larger outside columns were the same red marble as the circles on the floor. Between the columns stood a pair of United State
s flags. Roughly thirty feet above the dais, supported by the smaller two columns, was a white marble arch. Intricate inlays of black marble and carved dentil details were used liberally in the grand arch’s design. And bookending the columns and arch—rising from just below the base of the columns and ending where the dome began—were beautifully painted murals, one depicting men in powdered wigs and shawls attending the formal reading of the Declaration of Independence and the other showing the nation’s forefathers observing the presentation of the United States Constitution.
After sweeping his gaze from left to right and determining that he and his team were alone, Cade padded across the room and stopped beneath the arch, peering down at the first of five glass cases. Inside was a leaf of worn, yellow-brown paper. He read the words We the people and instantly felt an electric current race along his spine.
Cade turned and directed Cross and Griff across the room to where natural light was spilling in from a huge multi-paned window and casting a grid-like pattern across a series of cases rising up from a marble dais. “Start there,” he said, pointing at the cases. “And put them next to those.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. Those he was alluding to were a pair of bronze doors taking up nearly a third of the rotunda’s south-facing wall.
Working the screwdriver’s star-shaped tip into the flush fastener on the argon-filled panel he was hunched over, Cade looked sidelong at Axe. “Are you okay with this?”
“Earl Grey under the bridge,” Axe replied. “But that’s ancient history. I know I would have been a Minuteman had I been alive back then.”
“You and me both, brother,” Cade said, drawing out the fastener. Moving to the next corner, he called up Ari and detailed how they were going to get the priceless artifacts aboard Jedi One-Two.
***
Ten minutes after entering the National Archives building, the team had secured the documents the President had requested, breached the largely unused double doors on the Rotunda Room’s south side and were handing the glass-encased artifacts through the doors to the waiting hands of the Rangers from One-Two. Having just delivered the chalk to the stairs fronting the Archive building’s south side, the stealth Chinook was now waiting a stone’s throw away on Constitution Avenue, performing what was essentially a pinnacle maneuver, nose up at a fifteen-degree angle with the back wheels perched atop a pair of yellow taxi cabs, their roofs buckling a bit under its weight. One-Two’s wide rear ramp was down and barely minutes after disgorging the Ranger chalk she was already receiving the first of five glass cases containing individual pages of the Bill of Rights.
District: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse Page 43
