Discarded

by Mark A. Ciccone

  When the last of the patrol had rejoined them, Megan slid her hood back on. Greg and Leah did likewise; Cayden just stood, waiting. ‘Good work, all of you,’ the patrol leader said. Her voice softened, fractionally. ‘By the way… welcome home.’

  Chapter 14

  Forward Operating Base Yakima, Eastern WA State

  Colonel Flynn scowled at the map display. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘Not a single word, in the last hour. Patrick would’ve signalled by now, rads or not, and no matter how the operation turned out.’ He turned, aiming his glare at Hargrove. ‘There a reason why you’re still here, instead of holding up your end of this asinine plan?’

  ‘Trust me, Colonel, I want to be out there as badly as you do,’ Hargrove said. He kept his voice calm – soothing, even. He pointed to the map, which was focused on Eatonville. A wide streak of orange was imposed over the image, darkening intermittently to red in certain spots. ‘But until the fallout clears, or drops to acceptable levels, we can’t risk sending a search party. Your men have MOPPs and all other necessary gear, but the radiation counts out of the Sound are a guess on good days. If something is wrong with Patrick and Costa’s team, there’s no point throwing more men into the hot zone after them.’

  Flynn’s scowl deepened. He stomped away from the wall, looking out a nearby window. Outside, there were no personnel in sight. Thunder sounded, not far off, but no rain had fallen yet in the area. Per CZ procedure, the base was buttoned tight against any fallout that seeped across the Cascades: all patrol choppers and other vehicles stored, every building pressurised and pumping recycled air. There was little chance the active radioactivity would reach so far, but the precautions had kept contamination to a minimum since the base’s creation.

  The colonel studied the view, not speaking. When he faced Hargrove again, some of the temper had left his face. ‘Where’s your team holed up?’

  Hargrove zoomed out the map image. ‘Here: a little town called Packwood. It’s the best possible spot, given the terrain and expected drift. They can be in the air in seconds, once we hear or see sign of the team.’

  ‘There’s no fallout bound for that area?’ Flynn asked.

  ‘Not from what the ground sensors say, and those are generally more reliable than the satellite forecasts. The bulk is sifting to around Rainier, running in a stretch from Easton to Randle, and pockets to the southwest. They’re right on the edge and may pick up a light dusting at the worst, but they can deal with that.’

  Flynn nodded. ‘Tough bastards, then. Some point, you’ll have to tell me where you found them.’ Hargrove said nothing, only waited. The colonel sighed and looked to the window again. ‘Just have to hope David and his people are tougher.’

  ‘You worked together before?’ Hargrove asked, as he sensed he was supposed to.

  ‘South Korea, in ’36. I was an F-40 pilot; he was part of the Ranger contingent added at the last minute, when the North Koreans were about done massing north of the DMZ. Turns out we weren’t needed, not after those “covert ops” or whatever they were tearing up the DPRK from inside. Ran into each other in a bar in Seoul after de-mobbing, got to bragging about who would’ve racked up the most points if there had been any – one thing led to another pretty fast.’

  The colonel smiled, rubbing his jaw reminiscently. ‘Three years after that, we’re both sent to Luzon, to go eye-to-eye with the Chinese after the Hong Kong dirty bomb and the cyberattack in Shanghai. Turns out he did a tour as a de facto Peacekeeper in Pakistan, after Karachi got nuked in ’37 and that whole country went to the shits. Said he heard some damn weird stories in the refugee camps: all about “giant demons in black” stealing nukes, destroying weapons caches for the Islamists and other factions. Supposedly they knifed most of the leaders, too, which pushed the rest to the table.’

  ‘Really?’ Hargrove kept his face impassive. ‘He believe those stories?’

  ‘Not really – but he didn’t rule it out,’ Flynn said. ‘Said it was probably some gung-ho glory boys: the SEALs, or some burn-even-before-reading CIA crap. He joked that if they were real, they’d have their work cut out for them in China… after they caught up to the Rangers, of course.’

  The humour faded from the colonel’s face. ‘Three days later, I’m up in my fighter, eyeballing the PRC fleet hovering between the Philippines and that big artificial island base they built back in the teens. One of my squadron drifted too close to the picket line… and inside of two seconds, we were all dodging SAMs and long-range flak. We got away with no losses, and the Seventh Fleet launched a couple salvos, making the PRC pull back. With the occasional airstrikes and cruise missiles being traded over the next four days, I was sure World War III was bearing down fast. Wasn’t for the intel pinning the attacks in China on that Xinjiang group, we probably wouldn’t be talking now – along with God knows how many other people.’

  ‘No arguments here,’ Hargrove said, emphatically. The emotion wasn’t wholly fake. If war had broken out in the South China Sea, his infant operation would have gone up in smoke along with D.C.. Instead, both sides had stood down – and then started imploding from the first events of the Turmoil. The following twelve years had been plenty of time to finalise his team, put them to the test, and win the right backing. A hand closed into a fist beneath the table. If just one part of the whole process had gone off exactly right, without any hitches…

  He shelved the thought, focusing on Flynn’s words again. ‘Barely a month later, we’re both called home, to deal with insurgents and riots in our own backyard. Patrick went down to LA, and I was posted to Lackland AFB. Quiet duty, for the most part; the Army kept the lid on in Dallas-Fort Worth and other cities, and the cartels and border warlords never got outside Brownsville or El Paso. Thought at times I’d be able to serve out my term without squeezing the trigger. Even had plans laid out for a reunion: Patrick, a few others – and my brother Eddie, after he finished his tour at Fort Lewis, around the start of ’51.’

  Hargrove’s focus had been waning, in the face of the colonel’s chatter. All at once, it sharpened. ‘Fifty-one. So he was—’

  Flynn’s head went up, then down. ‘He was a pilot, same as me.’ The colonel’s eyes became a touch brighter. ‘Talked to him the day before the Bomb – professionally and personally. Turns out he was flying the same kind of patrols I was, keeping the skies clear above Sea-Tac and the other bases in the area.’ The brightness grew, from anger or pain. ‘He said it was dull, but worthwhile, although he wouldn’t have minded seeing something happen, so he could show off his skill.’

  The colonel pivoted away again, staring unseeing at the window. Wisely, Hargrove said nothing. Inside, he felt a touch of satisfaction. So there had been something off, with the delivery. Not that it helped much now, of course, but it didn’t hurt to know. Only goes to show what still happens way too often, when you do things remotely. He picked up his jacket. ‘If you don’t mind, Colonel, I think I’ll beg some coffee from the cafeteria here. My personal link to my team is still in place; if something comes in while I’m gone, I’ll be back in a heartbeat.’

  ‘Very well.’ Shaking himself a little, Flynn cleared his throat, and studied the map again. ‘Still no real change in the plume’s direction.’ His features turned thoughtful. ‘Maybe once night comes, the wind will drop enough for a recon flight. Ground would still be too hot, but we’d have the chance to get a fix on Patrick’s team. Long shot with the usual weather in this area, but—’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ Hargrove said, nodding. ‘I’ll send word to my people, have them ready to lift off the second they see any shifts.’ Hesitantly, he waved to the window. ‘Might be they’ll need backup; it’s a lot of a ground to cover, even with the fallout. My people can handle the rads to a degree, but I can’t order any of yours to—’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Flynn said firmly. ‘We’ve been camped out here long enough to know all the risks – and to never leave anyone out to face them. Any help that’s needed, we’re ready.’

&
nbsp; With a polite nod, Hargrove left the room. Starting down the hall, he pulsed, Report.

  Text appeared at once: Ranger landing site located. Two choppers– one destroyed, onedamaged beyond repair, based on closer observation.Evidence of localised EMP detonation, as with Predator shoot-down.Recon of area still limited, but signs point to targetsgaining ground transport from nearby ghost town, deeper within CZ. Tracker signal from comms device terminated at 1805; reason unknown, but suspect critical damage, resulting in loss of power. No indications as to Target’s ultimate destination. Count eight survivors– four Rangers, four flight crew. No evidence of any distress signals having passed through jamming measures. Standing guard over survivors now, and awaiting instructions.

  Hargrove hid a smile, even though he was alone. Patrick and his team had poked the nest, then. Odds were they’d been stung to death before even knowing where from. Speaking of… Status of colonel?

  A short pause. Then: Status unknown. No indication present at landing site.

  He stopped dead. None? No body? With all he’d seen and knew of the targets, it’d been reasonable to assume they wouldn’t leave survivors, the better to reduce their trail to whatever hideout or group backing them. They never had before, when working under legitimate orders; why should they have stopped after going underground?

  Confirmed. Suspect individualwasremoved by Golem strike force, based on remarks from survivors. Another pause. Remarks also indicate another individual present; description matches that of Agency liaison.

  Hargrove’s vision flared red. He took several deep breaths, flexing his hands over and over. He hadn’t anticipated this. The tracker had been a slim hope at best, but it had pointed him in the right direction, and there was no sign the targets had suspected it. But this – and now Costa? How he’d snuck out West to join the Ranger team, Hargrove had no idea – but evidently, he’d managed it. The Golems must have pegged him for a spook at first sight, and decided to grill him. Or he’d made some sort of deal to save his own ass, probably promising some sort of boon the targets and their bosses wanted from Langley. Whatever the reason, the bastard was headed straight for the heart of the Project. When he got there, and if he started poking around its ruins…

  Gradually, the anger died to a low burning in his chest. The chase was coming to a head any which way. Tonight’s events only forced him to move up the timetable. Understood, he pulsed. Conclude local area recon.

  Confirmed, came the reply. Orders regarding survivors?

  The survivors– Hargrove paused. A little smile came to his face. Maybe there was a silver lining in this screw-up – one that he could thank the targets for, no less. He’d considered it when Costa and Patrick had first left, but had held off on the decision, until he knew exactly what the situation demanded. Now he did. Execute Clean Sweep protocol. Return to Packwood once task completed, and resume monitoring of all frequencies and other energy spots within CZuntil 0700. Will inform Fairchild commander at that time, and organise next insertion– possibly into Seattle area. The tiniest pause. Also prep for water-based action. Locate likeliest spots for water transport prior to my arrival.

  He signed off without waiting for a reply. When he resumed walking, there was the slightest bounce in his step – more anticipation than any kind of pleasure. All wasn’t right with the world, or his plans, but he was coming out on top in the end. Of that, he had no doubt.

  *

  A soft alarm note pinged from the room’s console. The man seated before it jerked out of sleep. ‘Hmm?’ He sat upright. ‘What is it?’ he asked groggily.

  The holo-screen blinked on, showing a rough map of Puget Sound, and several scrolling data columns. A bright red dot appeared in the right corner of the map, inching toward the Sound.

  Rubbing at his eyes, the man peered at the screen – and stiffened. He spoke into the ether. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Richard,’ a voice replied – female, soft and melodious. ‘The transponder was detected five seconds ago, passing within the border of my scanning range. All queries to determine authenticity and security have returned one hundred per cent. Current progress and course indicate the drive will reach the area designated as the “Sanctuary” within one hour.’

  The man squinted at the map. ‘Is there any way of determining exactly who is carrying the drive? Or whether it’s being monitored by other parties?’

  ‘No, Richard – I’m sorry. Due to our mandated isolation, I am unable to access any drone or satellite surveillance networks in the vicinity. Queries show, however, that the biometric security measure was cleared approximately twelve hours ago, though the password shield remains unbroken. This would seem to indicate Subject G1 is in possession of the drive, and seeks to access its full contents.’

  Slowly, the man stood up. ‘My God,’ he whispered. Recovering, he pressed a control. The image winked out. ‘Continue monitoring the transponder signal, as well as all frequencies out of the Sanctuary. Also reconfirm all eyes and ears along the outer perimeter.’

  ‘Yes, Richard.’ There was a second’s silence. ‘All requested measures are in place. Is there anything else that you suggest be done?’

  ‘Yes. Please confirm all safeguards are in place here.’ He adjusted his worn, faded white coat, in a show of preparation—or resignation. ‘Looks like we’ll be having a family get-together, very soon.’

  Chapter 15

  Old Evergreen State College Campus (‘The Sanctuary’)

  A low buzzing reached Greg’s ears. He sat up at once, tapping at his sleeve to shut off the alarm: 7am. Then he lay back down, passing a hand over his face. After reaching the Sanctuary, twelve hours before, he’d been too tired to do anything but mouth a few hellos, and shake a few hands. In minutes, he’d headed straight to his room, still in the clinger – and that was the last he remembered.

  He kicked away the bedsheet and sat up again, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep. Even after nearly five years, the room was still drab and spartan. Once one of several modular units for student housing, it was now a shared spot for Leah and himself. The two separate beds that normally took up the room had been pushed together, secured with a few planks and nails. The walls were bare, except for a few tatters of ancient, torn-down posters. On the cheap, chipped wooden desk beside the bed rested a pen-sized holo-console drive, and several new printouts. A cursory glance showed them to be routine reports on the Sanctuary’s perimeter, stores, and links to the outlying posts. Looking out of the room’s one window, he could see sun-drenched ferns and bushes, dewy with the night’s rain.

  A shaft of light fell over the hallway floor: the main door opening. Instantly, he stuck a hand under his pillow, bringing out the pistol. Unsheathing his knife with the other, he moved next to the bedroom door with barely a rustle. Soft padding on the creaky floorboards, halting well before the door. A voice whispered, ‘Greg? You awake?’

  He relaxed. ‘Yeah, come in.’ Sheathing his weapons, he stepped out from the room, and saw Leah standing in the kitchen’s entryway. Her clinger gleamed in the overhead lights, patterned to mimic the rainforest-like setting outside. ‘How’d you sleep?’ she asked.

  ‘Not too bad.’ He stretched both arms, turning his head back and forth. ‘You?’

  ‘Same. I stayed up a little when we got here, in case something changed. Finally hit the sack around ten.’ Was there a hint of disappointment in her voice? If so, it was gone fast, replaced by her usual cool professionalism. ‘Jorge called me in about an hour ago. He wanted to go over the latest patrol reports with us once you were up; I left them on the desk.’

  He moved back into the room, picking up the thin stack of sheets. ‘Anything critical?’

  ‘Update on the population, for one: we’re at 300 even, as of two days ago. The rest of Megan’s patrol, they brought the numbers up: two from the Sahara, and one each from Colombia, Afghanistan and southern China. Didn’t get their names yet, but we’ll all know soon enough.’ Looking over his shoulder, she pointed at sev
eral passages. ‘Also got word on the fallout plume: came down as expected, and the few posts we’ve got in its path all hunkered down in the hardened shelters well in advance. Sensors were blinded by it and the storm for about an hour, but we had observers ready in the non-affected areas, and they saw nothing coming our way from the east, or anywhere else. Megan’s out with another patrol now, checking for tracks or other signs of any visitors. Haven’t heard from Hiroshi yet – Jorge mentioned he was out in the field, too, but couldn’t tell me exactly where.’ That was the fifth Council member, and their agreed-upon leader.

  ‘The two we brought in?’ Greg inquired.

  ‘Jorge’s taking care of that. He’s got them in the central area now, under guard. Once the whole Council’s back on campus, we can decide on what approach to take.’

  Greg nodded. ‘Cayden?’

  ‘He’s keeping watch over them.’ She hesitated. ‘He hasn’t said anything since we arrived. I checked in on him before coming here, but he was just sitting outside the room, this quiet look on his face. I tried to talk to him, but he just ignored me. Far as I know, he hasn’t left the building all night.’

  He didn’t stick around for the greetings, then, Greg pondered. We were all tired, includinghim– but he volunteered for guard duty right off the bat. Didn’t seem curious or suspicious about this place at all, either. Maybe he’s hanging back, observing the most obvious threat– our two ‘guests’ – while he evaluates us. Putting that thought aside, he refocused on Leah. ‘What about the canister?’