Surviving The Dead | Book 9 | War Without End

by Cook, James N.

  Elizabeth’s face grew solemn. “When I was that age, I was learning about makeup and boys.”

  Sabrina shrugged. “I’ve never had much use for makeup. Boys aren’t so bad, though. At least from a recreational standpoint.”

  Elizabeth looked up at her and gave a quiet smile. At the same time, a bell rang at the north end of the plaza, signaling the opening of a coffee stand. Sabrina sighed in relief and nearly dragged Elizabeth toward it. The stand was a hand-drawn cart tended by a man and woman in their early twenties. A sign on the header read: FRESH COFFEE – LIMITED SUPPLY – CASH ONLY. White steam roiled up from pots of boiling water set atop a small stove of blackened iron. Sabrina felt the heat radiating from it and envied the man and woman as they greeted customers and smiled and filled wooden mugs with hot black liquid.

  Not a bad way to make a living, she thought. A warm fire, eager customers, and all the coffee you can drink.

  While she waited in line, she kept her eyes moving and scanned the area for threats. The first thing she noticed was the plainclothes STUs her father had assigned to them. The one in charge was tall, bearded, and had a bulge under his heavy coat where a submachine gun waited. There was another one a few yards behind her and a third halfway up the stairs of an office building, all of them diligently scanning the crowd.

  “I wish they would stop following us,” Elizabeth said, also looking at the STUs.

  “I’m sure they would love to; it’s five o’clock in the morning. We should all be in bed.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I should be doing exactly what I’m doing. God only knows the caseload on my desk right now. It’s time I got back to work.”

  Sabrina could have said something about the world not burning down in the time since the attack and how the stack of papers was not going anywhere, but held it in. She knew Elizabeth loved her job and did not mind escorting her to Main Justice. The detour through Memorial Plaza was solely for the acquisition of coffee. They were out at home, and Sabrina was getting edgy.

  “Just between you and me,” Sabrina said, “I’m glad for the backup. SRT might try again.”

  “Not here they wouldn’t,” Elizabeth said. “Too many witnesses.”

  “They attacked me while I was surrounded by federal agents,” Sabrina said flatly. “I don’t think they care about witnesses.”

  Elizabeth stepped closer, laid her head on Sabrina’s shoulder, and hugged her arm. “Fucking animals.”

  Sabrina ground her teeth and took a long, calming breath. Elizabeth noticed and let go.

  “That’s your gun arm, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Sabrina said. “Sorry.”

  “Your father hates it when I hang on his arm like that. Probably for the same reason.”

  “He’s a smart guy.”

  Elizabeth gave her a pitying look. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how different your sensibilities are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You grew up in the wastelands. I grew up on a farm in Tennessee decades before the Outbreak. I see the world through a different lens. You were just a child when the Outbreak hit. I can’t imagine what you went through.”

  Sabrina shifted her feet and scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, well, I grew up fast. And I had Manny. We did okay.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “You sound like your father.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  The line moved and they stepped closer to the stand. Steam billowed up from the kettle as the vendor poured hot brew. The earthy smell made Sabrina’s stomach churn and her mouth water. She remembered the stuff being popular before the Outbreak, and after trying it, she understood why. The burst of energy it gave her was like eating berries after starving a few days. Quick, strong, and invig-

  WHAM

  There were a few seconds of confusion. Her ears rang and she realized she was on the ground. Elizabeth was on top of her, fumbling and scrambling to stand up. Sabrina grabbed her arms and pushed her aside. When she made it to her feet, she looked around and saw a few dozen equally confused people screaming and running. The young couple with the coffee stand had abandoned their little business and were fleeing down an alleyway. The big pots had all overturned, spilling what must have been a small fortune in coffee on the ground. Sabrina had a strange second of unreasoning anger at the senseless waste and wanted to scream at the young couple to come back.

  “Miss Garrett!”

  Sabrina turned and saw the STUs running toward her. The submachine guns had come out, muzzles held in the low ready position. She turned back toward the source of the blast and tried to see through the haze of dust hanging in the air. Her pistol was in her hand, though she did not remember drawing it.

  “What the fuck was that?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” the STU replied. “We need to move.”

  Sabrina helped Elizabeth to her feet. “Can you walk?”

  Elizabeth coughed a few times, pushed her hair out of her face, and blinked her eyes. “Yes, I can walk.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Come on.”

  The STUs took position around them in a triangle formation. Being in motion broke Sabrina’s sense of dazed paralysis and she was able to think again. She grabbed the man in charge by the shoulder.

  “Hey, you, what’s your name?”

  “Sergeant Penn.”

  “Okay, Penn, you’re taking us to BSC Headquarters. Keep an eye out for a wagon. Take it at gunpoint if you have to. Let’s go.”

  She turned to leave, but Penn stepped in front of her. “Wait,” he said. “Your father put me in charge of this detail, and we’ll go where I say we go. I can’t guarantee your safety otherwise.”

  Sabrina bit down on her frustration and kept her tone even. “BSC headquarters is the safest place in the city.”

  “I know that,” Penn snapped.

  “Then what’s the problem? You got a better idea?”

  His jaw twitched, but after a few heartbeats, he said, “Fine. We’ll make for headquarters.”

  Penn gave a signal to his men and the five of them ran toward an intersection at the north side of the plaza. Once there, the Blackthorn running point motioned them into cover and swept the street ahead with his weapon. Seeing no threats, he waved everyone forward. The air was heavy with dust, limiting visibility to roughly ten feet. After twenty or so yards of running, a shape began to form ahead of them that resolved into a stunned looking man standing on the driver’s seat of a freight wagon. He had a hand over his eyes and was blinking in the direction of the explosion.

  “Hey,” Penn shouted, waving. “We need a ride out of here.”

  The man jumped. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Did you see that? What the hell was that? Was that a bomb?”

  “Sir, please,” Penn held up a hand. “We need-”

  Sabrina fired a shot over the man’s head into the brick wall behind him. The driver covered his head and ducked into the floorboard.

  “He said we need a ride, goddammit! Get this thing moving!”

  The STUs looked at her in surprise.

  “What?”

  Penn recovered first, his training overcoming his anger. “Come on, let’s go. Everybody in the wagon.”

  The driver looked up from the well of the seat and locked eyes with Sabrina. There was a moment of confusion, and then his face turned bright red and he surged to his feet. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  Sabrina lowered her weapon. “Yes, I am. Now drive.”

  The horses were half panicked. The driver sputtered uselessly at Sabrina for another second or two, then took the reins and got the animals under control. In short order the wagon was moving forward.

  “Turn right at the intersection,” Sabrina said. “Then right again on Fifth Street.”

  “Where are we going?” the driver asked, his knuckles white around the reins.

  “BSC Headquarters.”

  He shook hi
s head. “Nuh-uh. Forget it. My house is the other way, across town.”

  Sabrina put the gun on her knee and turned toward him. “Fine, I’ll drive. Feel free to jump out anytime.”

  The driver glared at her. He was a smallish fellow, gray haired and stooped, but his gaze held the stubborn defiance of a man who had seen much and was not easily intimidated.

  “The police are going to hear about this, kid. Robbing wagons gets you ten years of hard labor in this city.”

  Sabrina stared back angrily, then remembered she was training to be a federal agent and slowly let out a breath. This man was not her enemy. He was just another survivor trying to eke out a living in an uncaring and unforgiving place. The wagon she rode in was probably the old man’s only livelihood and had probably been purchased with the sum-total of his finances. He was not going to give it up without a fight. Sabrina respected that.

  “Fine,” she said. “How’s five hundred sound?”

  “What?”

  “Five hundred cash. That enough to calm you down?”

  The man blinked, thought about it, and slowly relaxed as skeptical hope replaced his anger. “Well, uh…yeah. I suppose five hundred would do.”

  “Good. Send an invoice to Sabrina Garrett at BSC headquarters. I have an expense account there. You’ll have a check by the end of the week.”

  The old man narrowed his eyes. “You a Blackthorn, kid?”

  “No, but my father is.”

  They reached the intersection and began to turn. The driver reined in the horses just enough to avoid tipping over the wagon. In the cargo area, the STUs stood at three points, weapons trained down the oncoming streets and alleyways. Elizabeth sat on a pile of canvas sacks, two fingers rubbing each side of her temples. Sabrina reached over and touched her on the shoulder.

  “Hey, you alright?”

  “I think so. Just a bad headache.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

  She looked in the direction of the blast as the wagon crossed the north side of the plaza. Most of the people from the square had run off, but a few remained, slowly approaching the ruin of a half-collapsed building. Looking closer, Sabrina noticed the rubble from the blast had spread outward from the building’s front in a radial pattern.

  That’s where the bomb went off, she thought. Street-facing wall is toast, but the others are still standing. Shaped charge, maybe? But that was an empty building. I’ve walked past it a hundred times, there’s nothing in there. No bodies, no collateral damage…it doesn’t make sense. Liz and I were over a hundred feet away, so it couldn’t have been for us. What the hell was the bomb for?

  At the same instant she asked herself the question, a section of rubble seemed to move on its own. A small knot of people who had been inching closer froze at the sight of it, mouths agape. The rubble shifted again, rising this time, bricks and dust falling away until they revealed the shape of huge, rounded shoulders and a lumpy boulder of a head. The shape shook itself, turned its face toward the cluster of onlookers, spread its arms wide, and let out a guttural, thundering roar. The noise was so loud Sabrina clapped her hands over her ears and grimaced in pain.

  “Shit!” one of the STUs shouted, wincing at the noise. “Anybody else seeing this?”

  Sabrina stared at the emerging nightmare and was immediately reminded of the creatures her father had described fighting in the Refugee District. She reached out with one hand, wrenched the driver around by his coat, and shook him hard.

  “Get us out of here!” she ordered. “Now!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Maru,

  East Platt Avenue, Midtown

  When he heard the explosions, Maru lowered his head and let out a whispered curse.

  “The fuck was that?” the Blackthorn guarding him said.

  “That,” Maru said, “is a whole heap of trouble.”

  The Blackthorn kicked him in the shoulder.

  “Shut the fuck up. Jake, can you see anything?”

  Maru turned his head and glared. It was dark in the back of the wagon, but his eyes had adjusted enough so he could see the outline of the Blackthorn. The man had turned away from him and was leaning through the curtained partition separating the back of the wagon from the driver’s seat.

  Now or never.

  His captors had bound him with thick plastic riot cuffs, but while searching him, they had missed the razor blade he kept tucked into a hidden slot in his leather belt. He had worked it loose during the ride and had been slowly, very slowly, cutting the restraints until he was more than halfway through them. Now with the Blackthorns’ attention elsewhere, he had the opportunity he needed.

  He took a deep breath, balled up his fists, and strained with everything he had. For a panicked instant Maru thought he was stuck, that he had not cut his restraints enough and would not be able to break them. But then there was a muted snap and his right arm broke free. The other cuff was still around his left wrist, but that would not stop him.

  The Blackthorn talking to the driver spared a quick glance back at him. Maru stayed where he was, kept his gaze on the floor, arms behind his back.

  “Do you think we should stop?” the driver asked.

  “Fuck no. Take us back to headquarters. We’re only a couple blocks away. We’ll deal with this asshole and then find Jennings. He’ll know what to do.”

  “You think he knows what Garrett is up to?”

  “How the fuck should I-”

  The man never finished his sentence. Maru rose up behind him, grabbed him by the helmet, and slammed his face into the driver’s seat. The man went rigid and tried to twist free, so Maru slammed him again. This time, he went limp.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Before the driver could get a hand on his weapon, Maru wrapped an arm around his throat and dragged him back into the cargo area. There was a brief struggle, but Maru was more than twice as strong as the other man and pinned him on his stomach while he laid on top of him and choked him unconscious. The entire process, from breaking his restraints to counting backwards from fifteen while choking the driver, took no more than thirty seconds.

  When he was sure the driver was out, Maru sat up and briefly wrestled with indecision. It would be easy to kill these two, but something, some instinct, told him not to. He remembered looking into the eyes of Gabriel Garrett, the cold, pitiless eyes of a professional killer, and decided that killing two of his men might well come back to haunt him someday.

  He touched a hand to the two Blackthorns’ throats. Both still had a pulse. The one he had knocked out would have a concussion but would most likely survive. The one he had choked out was already spasming, his body kickstarting the breathing process. The horses, detecting their lack of a driver, slowed to a halt. Maru climbed over the man he had choked out and let down the tailgate. Got out. Looked around. The street was deserted. Snow lay in thick piles on either side of the curbs, the air clear and stinging cold. A full moon shown in bright radiance in the sky above. Maru thought of running, but then had a better idea. He climbed back into the wagon, relieved one of the men of a Glock pistol and two spare magazines, and dragged out the unconscious Blackthorns. He left them laying in the street.

  That done, he sat down on the driver’s bench and clapped the reins a few times. The horses, not much caring who drove them, started walking again. Maru wanted to urge them to go faster but thought better of it. A slow wagon would draw little attention. A racing one with two panting horses and iron-bound wheels clattering over the pavement would have people looking out their windows. So he kept his voice low as he called to the horses and did not urge them to too quick of a pace. They pulled the wagon along East Platte Avenue, past the Blackthorns sprawling headquarters complex, and onto the exit for Highway 94. He took the exit and headed east.

  Toward the gate.

  Toward freedom.

  The guards at the gate looked nervous. They had heard the explosions, but no one seemed to know what was happening just yet. A soldier as
ked him where he was headed, and he told him he was going to the Outer Boroughs to pick up a shipment of horse feed. It was a common enough occurrence and did not seem to arouse any suspicion. The inspector barely glanced at his empty wagon before waving him through. Maru had not expected any trouble here. The Army and the city guard were mostly concerned with what came into the city, not what went out.

  Once outside the gate, he clapped the reins and shouted at the horses. Time was short now, and before he left this place for good, there was one more thing he had to take care of.

  He headed for the Outer Boroughs.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Eric,

  Red Barrel Tavern, Southtown

  “Oh shit,” the kid said. “Ohshitohshitohshit-”

  Gabriel slapped him again.

  “Calm the fuck down,” he said. “Tell me what just happened.”

  “It’s the monsters. I think they’re out now.”

  “The monsters. The big Grays, like the ones from the Refugee District?”

  The kid swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

  “Shit,” Hicks swore.

  Great Hawk and the others had climbed the staircase and joined us. The Hawk said, “How many?”

  The kid looked at him fearfully. “Three, I think. More at the other sites.”

  Gabe looked at Hicks, who unclipped his radio, removed the earpiece from the jack, and pressed the transmit key.

  “Overwatch, Lead. What do you see?”

  “A whole lot of dust,” I heard Muir’s voice say. “And a bunch of sleepy people stumbling out into the streets.”

  “Any sign of Draugr?”

  “Wait one.”

  I looked at Gabe, made an inquisitive face, and mouthed, Draugr? He gave a little shrug and turned his attention back to Hicks. At the same moment, Downs grabbed Hicks by the arm.

  “Sir, what are you doing?”

  Hicks turned a cold stare on him. He glanced down at the hand holding his arm, and then back up at Downs.

  “Nathan,” he said quietly. “Take your hand off my arm.”