“What?”
“If you ask me something, and the answer is yes, I’ll tap once. If the answer is no, I’ll tap twice.”
Tanner knocked on the metal bannister with a quick “shave and a haircut, bump, bump.”
“What was that?” she called.
“Me telling you to knock it off and get ready.”
“Right!” A brief pause. “I mean…” She tapped the rail once.
He shook his head and moved back to the window for another quick peek. Nothing had changed. The two men remained in front of the control panel. The operator was writing something on a clipboard that hung below the meter, and the guard stood behind him shifting his feet around, obviously impatient to get a move on.
Tanner squatted slightly until he was barely able to see through the window. He gave the door a good hard rap with his fist, like someone might if they had forgotten their keys.
The two men spun in his direction. The operator looked confused and the guard concerned.
Tanner continued to watch from the corner of the window. With the stairwell being darker than the room, he thought it unlikely that they could see him.
After a moment, the man with the gun motioned for the operator to lead the way. With the barrel of the rifle pressed tightly against his back, he did as he was told and carefully approached the door.
Tanner hid his shotgun against the bottom of the first stair before moving out into the center of the stairwell.
“They’re coming!” he whispered up to Samantha.
She tapped her rifle against the railing.
Tanner lowered himself facedown onto the ground, splaying his legs and arms out to the side so that they could easily be seen. He didn’t want to give the guard a reason to be any more nervous than he already was.
Playing possum was a tried-and-true ambush tactic. Get the enemy to look in one direction while someone else sneaks up from the other. A man as big as Tanner was hard to hide. But put him on the floor, and he was hard not to watch with both eyes.
Twenty seconds passed, and Tanner began to worry that his plan might not work. Finally, he heard the click of a latch. The hallway door inched open, and the operator’s head poked through.
“Hello? Is someone out there?”
“What do you see?” a harsh voice barked from behind him.
“Someone’s unconscious, or dead, on the floor.”
“Is he alone?”
The operator looked left and right.
“Yes.”
The door opened, and the operator stumbled out, thanks to a shove from behind. The guard followed after him, a Sig Sauer MPX gripped tightly in both hands. The man had the stock on the short-barreled rifle fully collapsed, holding it down at his waist like one might an Uzi submachine gun.
Both men advanced into the stairwell.
“Check him,” the guard ordered.
The operator squatted down and touched Tanner’s neck with trembling hands.
“He’s still warm.”
“Do you feel a pulse?”
He felt around. “I—I don’t know. Maybe.”
The guard came closer, pushing the man out of the way. He pressed the muzzle of the rifle to Tanner’s back as he knelt down to check for a pulse.
“He’s alive, all right. Do you know who—”
“Freeze!” a young voice called from above.
Instinctively, the guard wheeled around, swinging the MPX up. When he did, Tanner rolled over, grabbed the rifle’s stock, and clocked the guard with a solid right cross to the jaw. There was a loud crunch, and the man toppled sideways.
Samantha slowly descended the stairs with her rifle trained on the fallen guard. The operator stood pressed up against the wall, staring at her gun, his face pale.
“Is he out?” she asked.
Tanner sat up and dropped the heel of his boot onto the man’s face. Blood spilled from his nose, but he made no move to defend himself.
“Looks like it.”
She winced. “A simple nudge would have worked.”
Tanner picked up the MPX as he got to his feet.
“Sorry, darlin’, not my style.”
The operator was a short middle-aged man with a bald head and twenty extra pounds around the middle. He looked from Tanner to Samantha.
“Who are you people?”
Rather than answer, Tanner took a moment to pat down the fallen guard. He was rewarded with a spare thirty-round magazine and a two-way radio. He took the magazine and handed the radio to Samantha.
“Who are you?” the man repeated.
“I’m Samantha,” she said, nodding her head. “And that’s Tanner.”
The man stared at the guard’s bloody face, and his voice began to shake.
“They’ll punish us for this.”
“What’s your name?” asked Tanner.
“Me? I’m—I’m Duncan.”
“Okay, Duncan,” he said, resting a meaty hand on the man’s shoulder, “I need for you to keep it together long enough to answer a few questions. Think you can do that?”
He nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Is this guy one of the Watchmen?”
Duncan’s eyes widened. “You know them?”
“We met a few on the road,” explained Samantha.
Duncan eyed the fallen man. “They came in and took over the whole plant a couple of days ago. Killed three of our guards in the process. No real reason for it either. Just so we’d know they meant business.” He closed his eyes for a moment, before continuing. “Yesterday, they cut out poor Bill’s tongue just for using the radio. Took him out in the courtyard and made everyone watch.” He shuddered. “It was the most awful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What do they want with the plant?” asked Tanner.
“They’re trying to bring it back online. Can you believe that?”
He shrugged. “Is that a bad idea?”
“Of course it’s a bad idea! If they manage to get the reactors back up, everything we’ve worked to accomplish will be for nothing. This whole place could turn into another Fukushima or Chernobyl.”
“If it’s so dangerous, why are they doing it?” said Samantha.
“Their leader, a man named Hardin, is convinced that the plants were taken offline as part of some government conspiracy. He says that he and his men are taking our country back from its oppressors. I think he believes that if he can get power flowing to the nearby communities, he can build some kind of city-state. The problem is, he doesn’t understand that if he restarts the reactors, we might never be able to control them.”
“Anyone explain that to him?” asked Tanner.
“Of course. We all did. But he didn’t believe us. He said if we didn’t do as he said, he’d kill us.” Duncan squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to push an image from his mind.
Tanner gripped the man’s shoulder hard enough to force him to reopen them.
“How many of you are there?”
Duncan took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
“Eighteen operators, plus our families. Sixty-three in total.”
“You’ve got families living here at the plant?” Samantha asked, picking up Tanner’s shotgun and handing it to him.
Duncan nodded. “Our wives and children were allowed to come here when emergency protocols were enacted.”
“What protocols?” said Tanner.
“When the electrical grid began to falter, they took the plants offline and established a core group of operators to stay onsite to ensure the safety of the nuclear materials. Once the plan was enacted, our families were shuttled to the compound with whatever they could pack into the government vans. After that, no one was allowed in or out.”
“What about food? Water?”
“They brought in hundreds of pallets of military rations. We probably have enough to last twenty years. As for water, we already had millions of gallons onsite for cooling purposes.”
Tanner rubbed his chin, thinking. “You’re saying this plant essentially
became a post-apocalyptic bunker.”
“Not just this plant—all nuclear plants.”
“And you’re supposed to stay here and keep things safe?”
“Our mission is to tend to the nuclear materials until they can be safely stored in dry caskets. We’re also supposed to communicate with other facilities to ensure that they’re doing the same.”
“And when everything’s safe? Then what?”
He shrugged. “We’re free to leave, although I can’t imagine where we’d go. From what I understand, most of the world is in worse shape than we are.”
Tanner thought of his and Samantha’s travels. Duncan was more right than he knew. By and large, the world had gone to pot, and it wasn’t going to recover anytime soon.
“Honestly,” continued Duncan, “I think most of us planned to stay here forever. It’s sort of become our home.”
Tanner nudged the fallen Watchman with his boot.
“Until these yahoos showed up.”
Duncan’s face grew long. “Yes.”
“How many of them are there?”
“I don’t know an exact count. Maybe sixty or seventy.”
The radio in Samantha’s hand squawked, and all three stared at it.
Travis, come in. Over.
Duncan’s eyes grew wide. “They know something’s wrong.”
“Relax.” Tanner turned to Samantha and held out his hand. “Let me see if I can fool them.”
She handed him the radio. “Talk nice. That way they’ll never know it’s you.”
“Because I’m incapable of being nice?”
She shrugged. “It’s not your fault. I don’t think you were put here to be nice.”
Tanner keyed the mic and tried to speak in a voice that sounded like the guard’s.
“Go ahead.”
How much longer you gonna be?
“Twenty minutes.”
There was a pause, and for a moment, Tanner thought he had blown it.
All right, but hurry it up. We got chow to get ready.
The radio went silent, and he handed it back to Samantha.
“I just bought us twenty minutes,” he said, turning to Duncan. “Let’s see if we can put it to good use.”
“How?”
Tanner held out the MPX short-barreled rifle.
“You think you can use this?”
“I don’t want to.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted to. I asked if you could.”
Duncan stared at the weapon, wringing his hands.
Tanner pushed it up against his fat belly.
“I don’t fight for a man who isn’t willing to fight for himself. You’re five seconds away from Sam and me marching out of here and going home.”
Duncan reluctantly took the weapon.
Tanner pointed out the gun’s controls.
“Safety. Trigger. Magazine ejector. Got it?”
“I—I think so.”
“Good. Now let’s go save your family.”
Chapter 12
It didn’t take long for a handful of security officers to rush through the open door of the meat-processing building. As luck would have it, French was leading the pack.
“What the hell did you do?” he said, staring down at Cash’s blood-soaked body.
Mason kept it simple. “He tried to kill me.” He paused, giving French and the other men a moment to take in the scene. “As you can see, I chose not to cooperate.”
French gingerly stepped around the growing pool of blood and glanced at Bowie.
The dog licked the fur around his bloodstained mouth.
“Jesus, you let your dog eat on him.”
“No, but it would have been fitting, given his crimes. I assume you know what’s going on here.”
French glanced at the freezer but said nothing.
“Locke’s going to have to answer for what’s inside there.”
“We have our own laws. Your badge doesn’t mean anything here.”
“I disagree. I’m a Deputy Marshal working on behalf of the only rightful government in the country. That gives me authority here and anywhere else I need it.”
Still mesmerized by Cash’s corpse, French said, “I hate to be the one to tell you, but Locke will probably have you fed to the pigs for this.”
The same thought had passed through Mason’s mind. He kept his voice calm and confident, hoping to hide his underlying weak position.
“If I go missing, the New Colony’s security forces will roll in here in a big way. And Locke’s pitiful defenses aren’t going to last ten seconds when they do.”
French didn’t argue the point. Likely, even he heard the bluff for what it was.
Mason tried another tack. “This is going to get out. You might as well be on the right side of things when it does.”
French bit at his lip, clearly torn between what was right and what was prudent to his own survival.
“Surrender your sidearm, and I’ll take you to see Locke. You can make your case to him.”
Mason knew that what came next would likely determine who lived and who died. It was a gamble of the highest order.
“No. I’ll keep my weapon.”
French raised an eyebrow. “You do realize I can order these men to shoot you and take it off your body.”
Mason squared himself, letting his hand rest on the Supergrade.
“You asked me earlier if I was any good with this thing. Something tells me you’re not going to like the answer.”
French stepped back to stand next his men, which while making him feel safer, was tactically the worst mistake he could have made.
“You really think you can outgun all five of us?”
“I figure it’ll be a tossup to see which of us has the steadiest nerves.” Mason leveled his gaze. “Who do you think that is?”
French’s lips twitched in a nervous uncertain smile.
“You got balls. I’ll give you that.” He looked over at another of the security officers. “Go wake Locke. Tell him what happened and find out what we he wants us to do.”
The man wheeled around and hurried out of the building.
French turned back to Mason. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Mason said nothing, but he found himself wondering exactly the same thing.
It took less than ten minutes for the security officer to return, out of breath and damp with sweat.
“Locke said to bring the marshal to his office,” the man puffed. “He also said not to harm him.”
Mason let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. While he had been fully prepared to draw on the men if it had come to that, such life-or-death tension tended to tighten a man’s muscles, whether he noticed it or not.
French nodded to Mason. “All right, you heard the man. Let’s go see Locke.”
Mason followed the security detail through the open door, Bowie walking beside him and French taking up the rear. They crossed the compound, eventually coming upon a sprawling ranch-style brick building that had at one time been Smithfield Foods’ corporate office.
Just before Mason went through the door, French leaned forward and said, “If he reaches into his desk drawer, it’s not to write you a check.”
Mason offered a quick nod and entered the building.
The guards led him down a short corridor, toward an open office door. Before they reached it, Locke stepped out.
“Gentlemen, was this really necessary? Come in, Marshal. I’m afraid my men may have overreacted a bit.”
Mason followed Locke into the office and was surprised to find Brooke leaning against his desk. She raised her eyes to meet his but said nothing. From the tightness of her lips and flushed cheeks, it appeared that she and Locke had been arguing.
“Brooke and I were having a little talk,” Locke said, returning to sit behind his desk. “She assures me that if you shot Cash, it was out of self-defense. Isn’t that right, dear?”
“That’s right,” she
said, her voice still coming down from whatever disagreement they had been having.
Locke turned back to Mason. “Do you know what I call it when a man kills another man in self-defense?” He paused. “Survival of the fittest.” He offered a smile, and when Mason didn’t reciprocate, said, “You did what you had to, and that’s that. I don’t see that we have a problem here.”
“You’re wrong about that last part,” Mason said, stepping around so that his back was no longer exposed to the hallway.
“Oh? How so?”
“I saw what was in the freezer. I know what you’re doing here.”
“Ah, yes, about that—”
“You’re butchering the infected and using them in your food bars.” He turned to Brooke and shook his head in disbelief. “Tell me you didn’t know.”
She looked down at her hands, saying nothing. For his part, Locke leaned back in his chair and studied Mason.
“I could go on about how the infected aren’t really human, or how we’re doing the world a favor by ridding this planet of their kind. But I suspect neither would sway your opinion on the matter, am I right?”
“You are.”
“So I’ll extend to you the same courtesy of being honest that you showed me earlier. The truth is we use them as food because we simply have no other choice. We’ve exhausted our supply of hogs to the point that if we kill any more this year, we’ll lose critical mass. And if that happens, the whole enterprise collapses and people starve.”
“You think that gives you the right to slaughter people?”
“You need to understand that this wasn’t my first choice. Heavens, no. We tried hunting deer and, as you saw, even resorted to killing feral dogs. The deer required skilled hunters, which we’re terribly short on, and the dogs proved to be a lot of work for relatively little product.”
Locke shook his head. “We found ourselves with an awful dilemma. The survival of the entire New Colony, maybe even mankind as a whole, depended on our providing food that we didn’t have. Let me tell you, that’s a hell of a responsibility to shoulder.”
Mason said nothing.
“So, we came up with a plan. We decided to wipe out the most violent of the infected, recycling them to save the rest of mankind. Sort of turning bad into good, if you will.”
Mason started to speak, but Locke held up his hand, as if asking for a moment longer.
Dark Days Page 15
