Eden's Exodus (Plague Wars Series Book 3)

by David VanDyke

  “Back in?” Hound Dog protested. “You’re shitting me.”

  Reaper put a finger in the man’s face as the rest began to follow her orders. “One, you do as I tell you, dickwad. Two, they actually don’t want to piss off Mendoles too much, or they would have simply killed us. Therefore, three, they threw us just enough of a bone that we don’t squawk, so we leave without trouble. Four, they won’t be expecting us to come back. We’re Edens, right?”

  “Okay, but why?” Hound Dog asked, picking up his AK and beginning the process of cleaning and checking it. “I’d like to cap those bastards as much as the next guy, but what’s the upside?”

  Reaper bared her teeth. “They have our real gear, I think, and we need it. Something just arrived and was sitting under a fresh tarp. They probably even intended to give it to us as arranged until one of them got greedy and decided he wanted our pretty toys.”

  Picking up an AK, she stripped it down and checked all its working parts. She pulled out a tiny tube of petroleum jelly from her purse, all that was allowed on the flight, and used it to lubricate the weapon. “Thank God for Russian ruggedness,” she said. “Anyone find anything disastrous?”

  “One broken firing pin, but we have spares,” Hawkeye said.

  Reaper could see he’d already rebuilt two weapons before she’d even finished hers. Checking her watch, she said, “Five mikes. Load up and carry all the mags you can. Hide anything we don’t need in one of these dumpsters. We go in under the cyclone fence at the end of this alley and head straight for the building we were in. Timbe and his four guys plus two more were all I saw, so with surprise, we should be able to take them down.”

  “We still might lose a couple, especially on the egress, boss,” Hawkeye said.

  “That’s where Shortfuse comes in. He’s going to either rig a detonator on a long wire, or we’ll shoot the demo. How big a boom are we gonna get?” Reaper asked.

  Shortfuse grunted. “Big. It’ll take down the building. There’s like forty kilos in there. We need to be at least a hundred meters away, preferably in cover.”

  “That may not be possible. I guess we’ll have to play it by ear.” Reaper looked around at the men and woman. “Ready?”

  All nodded.

  “All right. Assault together, full auto, shock and awe. Once inside and we’re halfway clear, Bravo team ports the gear while Alpha provides security. We steal one of the trucks and disable the rest, and blow the demo on the way out. Got it?”

  They nodded again.

  Reaper stood and slung her bag, watching the others do the same, and then hefted her AK-47. A dozen 30-round magazines clanked in her cargo pockets, an unwieldy load, but without web gear, it was the best she could do.

  Leading the rest down the alley, she came to the cyclone fence surrounding Busara’s compound. As she’d thought, it wasn’t staked down very well at the bottom, and she signaled Tarzan and Hound Dog to lift the heavy wire enough for the rest to roll under, one by one, their movements covered by several old broken-down trucks in the way.

  Once inside, she signaled Hawkeye and his people right as she took the left. After a three-count, they exploded from cover and spread out, weapons up.

  One guard saw them and froze in shock. Reaper cut him down with one burst, and then the rest of her line opened up. In a confusion of smoke and hammering noise, she saw two more men fall, red holes blossoming on their bodies. Then they were into the building.

  Gunfire greeted them, and Bunny spun around to fall onto the clean concrete. Everyone with Reaper opened up in a blaze of rifle fire, and ten weapons quickly silencing three more. She saw Timbe bolt out the door on the other side.

  “Someone help Bunny! Bravo, get our gear into a truck! Alpha, cover the entry points!” she yelled, recognizing the pile of cases on the floor. Clearly, Timbe had been looking through the goodies, but most of the boxes were still unopened.

  Reaper ran over to the door where Timbe had exited and pushed it open with her rifle barrel, keeping her body off to the side. It rang to a burst of bullets as someone, presumably the big thug, tried to mousetrap her.

  “Timbe!” she yelled. “Your men are all dead, and only one of mine is down. Nine to one! Be smart and back off, or I’ll have to kill you!” Another set of automatic fire was the only answer her opponent returned, so she backed up and checked to see how her instructions were being carried out.

  Bravo team had half the cases in a nice new Mercedes two-ton truck, and Flyboy was already buckled in and had it started up. C3PO helped a wounded Bunny into the passenger seat, but she was moving under her own power so the injury must be manageable.

  Near the crate of old demolitions, Shortfuse unwound a roll of wire, walking backward toward the truck. Once the rest of the gear had been loaded, he hopped onto the rear and continued to reel line onto the floor.

  “Into the truck! Flyboy, you punch this thing straight through the door. Timbe’s still out there so we need to get egress firing and the hell out of range as fast as we can.” Reaper pushed Bunny over to the middle of the cab, inserting a fresh magazine and aiming the AK out the passenger window.

  As soon as the other seven were in the back, Flyboy revved the big diesel and aimed the truck straight for the sheet-steel rolling door. They crashed through at thirty miles per hour and climbing, and immediately the team began firing at anything that moved.

  Bullets smacked the truck, and Reaper felt a blow to the side of her head. Lifting a hand, it came away bloody and she’d lost vision in her right eye, so she emptied her weapon in the general direction of the muzzle flashes she could see.

  And then the warehouse exploded behind them. Within a minute, they’d lost themselves in the crowded streets of Nairobi.

  Chapter 24

  Skull and Zinabu rode slowly down the steep hill into the valley. Vehicles and lines of tents spread along the ground out into the distance. The tents stopped abruptly at a line at the base of the mountain.

  “There’s a checkpoint ahead,” said Zinabu. “What do we do?”

  “Just be cool. Believe that you’re a soldier. You’ve been told to drive this truck of supplies in from Addis and you’ve had a long journey. All you want to do is drop off your load and have a cold Bud and some cheese fries.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Or whatever,” said Skull. “You get the idea, right?”

  “Okay, but what about you? You’re obviously a farenji.”

  “Man, you know that’s racist, right?” said Skull. “I’d really appreciate it if you stopped using such an insensitive and offensive term.”

  Zinabu pointed through the windshield. “The guard sees us. Quick, what is the plan with you?”

  Skull rolled over and put his head against the side of the truck, pulling the hood of his jacket up high. “I’m just going to take a little nap. It’s been a long journey.”

  “That’s it?” asked Zinabu. “Seems pretty weak. What if that doesn’t work?”

  Skull didn’t move from his sleep position. “Then I’ll have to deal with it in another way.”

  Zinabu decided not to ask more questions. He had already seen his traveling companion’s other ways. The guard at the checkpoint ahead made eye contact with Zinabu and he drove forward, trying to calm his racing heart.

  About twenty meters from the checkpoint the guard held up his hand for Zinabu to stop. Another guard sat in the shade, his fist on the counterweight of a long sapling pole that served as the road barrier.

  Zinabu stopped as the first guard walked forward. The soldier slung his rifle and climbed up on the sideboard of the vehicle, peering in.

  I’m just a tired soldier, thought Zinabu. I’m just a tired soldier. I’m just a tired soldier.

  The man stared at Zinabu with a bored look for several seconds before finally asking in Amharic. “Traveling orders?”

  “I’m just a tired soldier,” blurted Zinabu.

  “Hey, we’re all tired,” the soldier answered. “But I need to see your
orders.”

  Zinabu thought quickly. He didn’t have any orders. Maybe they were on one of the men they had killed, but neither he nor Skull had thought to look for anything. They had been in such a hurry.

  “I don’t have any,” said Zinabu.

  The soldier shook his head and sighed. “Come on. You know you can’t get in here without them.”

  Zinabu let the fear and nervousness show as frustration. He leaned toward the soldier. “All I know is, I was told to drive this truck of supplies down here and that’s what I’ve done. It’s been a long trip and I’m tired. If I can’t get in, then fine. I’ll turn this damn truck around and drive it back to Addis Ababa.”

  “Maybe that’s what you need to do,” said the soldier.

  “Fine,” said Zinabu, putting the gearshift in reverse. “I’ll need your name so I can tell my officer when I return. He’ll ask, of course.”

  The soldier didn’t answer.

  “Don’t you have a name?” asked Zinabu.

  Eventually, the soldier forced a smile. “I’m just messing with you. I’ll let it go this time, but next time I need to see papers.” He pointed at Skull. “What’s the deal with him?”

  “Drove all night,” said Zinabu. “The lieutenant said not to stop for sleep or rest. Told the two of us to switch off and get here quick.”

  The soldier tilted his head back to look along the side of the truck. “Must be something important. What cha carrying?”

  “Don’t know, and don’t care. We’re told not to nose around the cargo and I don’t. Last guy who did got thirty lashes with a car antenna. Not pretty.”

  “That’s nothing,” said the soldier, “I saw a soldier from C Company get a finger chopped off for saying something sympathetic about the Edens.”

  “Did it grow back?”

  The man looked at him with a blank face for a second before he burst into laughter. “That’s a good one.”

  A car horn behind them made the soldier look. Zinabu glanced in the rear view mirror and saw a sedan with a sign in the front window. The red placard had a gold lion over the Ethiopian flag.

  “Damn,” said the soldier. “Another VIP. They’ve been arriving the last few days.”

  “What for?”

  “Who knows?” the soldier answered, climbing down off the sideboard. “I’m guessing they want an audience for the climactic finish of those Edens.”

  The car honked again.

  “Go on,” said the soldier, waving them forward. “Remember next time about the orders.”

  Zinabu waved and drove the truck forward into the camp.

  Skull slowly turned over to face him, still keeping himself low. “Sounded like that went well. What did he say?”

  Zinabu told him.

  “Maybe you should consider a career in drama. What is it exactly that you do for a living? I mean, when you’re not doing this?”

  “I’m a graduate assistant at Tel Aviv University,” answered Zinabu. “Studying to be an engineer. Have to be back the week after next so I don’t miss any classes.”

  “Well, at least you’ll have something for your ‘What I Did on My Summer Vacation’ essay.”

  Zinabu grunted in response and kept his hands tightly on the steering wheel.

  Skull peeked through the dirty window around the edge of the door. This close, he could see trash and litter along the ground and weapons stacked in unguarded heaps. Some of the tents had fallen down and not been re-erected. Groups of soldiers sat in the shade and smoked or slept.

  “Look at that,” said Zinabu.

  Skull glanced up and saw a man hanged by the neck under a rough crossbeam. His hands were tied behind him and a hand scrawled sign was dangling from around his neck.

  “What does it say?” asked Skull.

  Zinabu swallowed. “It says ‘Mark of Hell’. An Eden.”

  As they rode past, Skull stared at the body closer and realized with a start that the man’s eyes were barely slitted open, looking out onto the world.

  “Did you see that?” asked Zinabu.

  “Yes,” answered Skull.

  “What do we do?”

  “Nothing. Just keep driving.”

  “But he’s just going to keep hanging there,” said Zinabu. “What will happen to him?”

  Skull had been wondering the same thing. “He’ll keep healing, but the lack of oxygen probably already has him close to slipping into a coma. Maybe the Eden virus will prevent that, but he’s likely using up all his fat reserves. In short, he’ll hang there until suffocation or starvation gets him. Or dehydration.”

  “It’s horrible. If they want to kill him, why not just do it.”

  “Because they want the soldiers to see the Edens as inhuman monsters. They’re horrified by a hanged man who is still alive. It’s much easier to hate what they fear.”

  They drove in silence for several minutes, making steady time through the camp.

  “This road leads right up onto the side of the mountain,” said Zinabu.

  “Good,” said Skull. “That’s where we want to go.”

  “We’re coming up on the outer perimeter. We’re getting more and more looks. It’s going to be hard to explain us delivering supplies from Addis Ababa as we go farther along.”

  “If we get stopped,” said Skull, “just act lost and ask for directions.” After he said this, he pulled a pistol from his back and carefully threaded the suppressor on the end. “Just in case, I’ll have my little friend ready.”

  “Killing really doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  “No. Is it supposed to?”

  “Yes,” answered Zinabu turning to look at him. “It should bother you very much.”

  Skull shrugged. “I think it did at one time, but that was long ago. Now it’s just a job, a simple act of necessity. I guess if I was a plumber I’d need a shrink, but in my line of work, killing without hesitation is an asset. If there is something wrong with that, it’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

  “How did you get this way? You are not a monster. I just don’t understand it.”

  “Well, if you ever figure it out, let me know. Right now I think we may have more pressing matters to attend to.”

  Zinabu saw a soldier step out in front of their vehicle and hold his hand up.

  Bringing the truck to a stop, Zinabu smiled and looked down from the cab at the soldier. The soldier did not smile back.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in Amharic.

  “Which way is the supply drop-off point?” asked Zinabu.

  “There isn’t one anymore,” the man answered.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s gone. Damn Edens blew it up. Been short of everything since then.”

  Zinabu was uncertain what to say next. “Then where am I supposed to drop these supplies? I just brought them from Addis Ababa.”

  “If you have supplies, drop them here. We need them as bad as anyone else in this cursed camp. Go on, get out of the truck and we’ll get you unloaded.”

  Zinabu hesitated, keeping his hand on the door handle.

  “Don’t get out of the truck,” said Skull softly.

  Zinabu dropped his hand from the handle. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. My commander gave me very clear instructions.”

  “Well, I don’t know your commander,” said the soldier, “but ours don’t know the difference between breakfast and their own feces. Let’s leave the damn officers out of this and handle it ourselves.”

  “Maybe I should just go back and ask someone else,” said Zinabu, putting his hand on the gear shift.

  “Easy now,” said the soldier pointing his rifle at Zinabu. “Why you have to be that way? Why do you care who gets the supplies? You just drop them off and drive on back to Addis Ababa for a big meal and a good night’s sleep in your soft bed. Get out of that cab and help me unload or I’m going to blow your sorry head off.”

  Zinabu gazed down the barrel of the rifle. He saw the man’s face ha
rden and his finger tighten on the trigger. “I think it’s time for your way, Alan,” he said in English

  Skull leaned over Zinabu. The soldier only had a split second to register surprise before Skull shot him twice with the suppressed weapon.

  “Time to go. Hurry!” said Skull. Zinabu jammed the truck into gear and floored it.

  As they picked up speed and passed through the Ethiopian outer defenses, soldiers yelled at them and tried to flag them down. They crashed through a wooden barricade and onto a bridge spanning a large dry streambed. Then they were across and climbing up the mountain. Bullets struck the rear of the vehicle with loud clangs.

  Skull began to see flashes ahead of them. He could pick out individual Eden fighting positions.

  “They’re shooting at us!” screamed Zinabu over the whine of the engine and bullets ricocheting off the side of the vehicle.

  “Look at it from their point of view,” yelled Skull, ducking low. “It’s not like we told them we were coming.”

  “Was this how you planned to link up with the Edens?”

  “Exactly like this,” yelled Skull as the windshield shattered.

  Chapter 25

  Twenty miles north of Nairobi, Reaper and her team pulled over into a clearing beneath some trees. It allowed them to get out of sight for a while. A dozen other trucks were parked there, the drivers sleeping, eating or smoking and talking. They eyed the mostly white crew of the Mercedes, but didn’t approach when Flyboy parked well away from them.

  “What now?” asked Hawkeye.

  Reaper forced herself not to prod the bandage covering her right eye. “Eat, drink, take five. Livewire, get me an uplink.”

  The commo man quickly had the compact secure satphone out. Once he’d fiddled with it, he handed it to her and she punched in a number. Then she waited, and waited some more. Finally, it connected.

  “Yes,” said Spooky’s voice.

  “It’s me,” said Reaper. “We had some trouble. Mendoles’ boy Busara double-crossed us as soon as he extracted the drugs. Tried to keep all our high-end gear and pass off a bunch of old crap on us, saying he was changing the deal.”