by J. L. Bourne
Although they didn’t need the card for most facility functions, the card gave the team full access. Doc clicked on the security icon. A display of eight screens appeared on the desktop. Only five were operational. The screens marked SE, SILO, and ENTRY B were blacked out. The others appeared operational as he could see dark outlines of terrain and fence lines. Doc clicked the icon to change the operational cameras to night-vision mode and then to thermal mode. The camera labeled MAIN DOOR failed the thermal test but functioned under night vision without issue.
Billy glanced down at his watch. “Boss, sun is up in two hours. We’re gonna need comms.”
“Disco, make it happen, I’ll watch you here. Hawse, go with him. No one is alone outside the wire.”
• • •
As the designated communications officer, Disco was charged with humping the medium-sized pelican case from the drop zone all the way here. Before the undead walked, SOF teams used this particular system to establish a covert communications station deep behind enemy lines. When closed, it was a typical hard composite case. When opened, a small high-gain antenna was released via button mechanism and the low observable black solar charging panels were then exposed under the lid. The transmitter device connected via encrypted and cloaked 802.11n Wi-Fi signal to the laptop in the facility control room, wired to an existing surface antenna.
When properly deployed, the device was weatherproof, self-contained, and durable, and would provide secure two-way text and file-burst communication with the command node elements onboard the aircraft carrier. It was also resistant to RF interference as the transceiver hopped frequencies ten times per second. Designed to thwart savvy first-world hostile-signals intelligence collection, this type of security was overkill, meant for a more civilized and technologically advanced enemy.
Hawse brushed past Disco in the passageway and looked back over his shoulder, saying, “I’m on point.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Have fun with the salesmen at the door.”
“Shit, I forgot about that. I’ll pull, you shoot?”
“That works. They’ll have to walk past you to get to me.”
The men rounded the corner. Their boots clicked on the tile floor. The sound was gradually dampened by the increasing sounds of the undead thrashing against the steel door outside.
“This could be bad.”
“I know, point man.”
Hawse went over the plan with his trademark absurdity. “Okay, I’m gonna tie this line around the wheel. When I spin the wheel and pull, you start sprayin’.”
“Hawse, why don’t we go dark? Lights off, gogs on. They can’t see in the dark, idiot.”
“I was gonna say that. It goes without sayin’.”
“Whatever, let’s get this over with so we can get back inside. I don’t want to be up there in the dark one second longer than need be.”
The men doused the lights and pulled down their NODs. The darkness seemed to intensify the thrashing and howling sounds of the creatures. The undead noises competed against sounds of slapped mags, carbine press checks, nervous breathing, and heartbeats. Disco imagined what pure evil might walk beyond the heavy steel barrier at this moment. He prayed to himself it wouldn’t be enough to rip the door from its vault-like frame.
Hawse tied the line securely to the door.
“Ready?” Hawse yelled.
“Spin it!”
Hawse hit the wheel, disengaging the heavy door leading to the savage and unforgiving world beyond.
7
Three loud raps on the bulkhead broke the silence.
“Come in.”
A young enlisted man parted the curtain leading to Kil and Saien’s makeshift stateroom and entered. “Sir, the intelligence officer will see you now. Please follow me.”
“What about my friend here?” Kil said, gesturing at Saien.
“Sorry, sir, I was ordered to bring you to the N2, no one else.”
“He’s coming or I’m not going.”
Nervously, the petty officer agreed to let his superiors sort it out, and all three departed for the ship’s sensitive compartmented information facility, known to most onboard as simply the SCIF.
As they moved through the submarine, Kil took notice of the details. Passing an exercise area with treadmills and other machinery, he saw that all the equipment was mounted on rubber shocks. The same was true with the pipes that riddled the overhead. Nothing was permitted to rattle onboard, no erroneous sounds to give away their acoustic position to the Sino or Russian frenemies of days gone by.
Tapping Kil on the shoulder, Saien asked, “Where are the nukes?”
“No nukes here, Saien; this is a fast-attack boat. No idea where the nearest boomer might be or if there are even any left on patrol.”
Frame after frame passed by as they marched aft. After some snaking through very tight passageways they arrived at what the escorting petty officer dubbed as the green door.
The young man picked up the phone and waited a few seconds. It rang audibly through the handset; an answer came after three rings.
“Sir, I have them both at the green door and—”
The yelling from the obnoxiously loud handset blasted across the passageway.
“Yes, sir. He insists that they both—yes, sir.”
After replacing the handset the scorned petty officer said, “A SCIF escort will be here shortly, sir. Sorry to leave you here in the passageway but I’ll need to be on watch in two hours and I haven’t slept in twenty-four.”
“No problem, hit the rack and have a good watch,” Kil said, mostly to send the young man off on a positive note.
“Aye, aye, sir. Thanks.”
Just as the man left their field of view, Saien asked, “What’s aye, aye mean?”
“It means . . .”
The green door flew open and out of it sprang an older man wearing thick birth-control glasses, tennis shoes, and a blue set of coveralls with navy commander rank on his collar. His nametape said Monday.
I hate Mondays, Kil thought.
The man approached Kil nearly toe to toe and seemed to scan him with his massive convex lenses.
“What’s this I hear about you insisting your foreign national friend come with you into my SCIF for mission briefing?”
“Sir, Admiral Goettleman allowed me one partner from the USS George Washington for this mission. I chose Saien and if I’m going to potentially trust my life to him, I damn sure want him to know the score. Besides, I’m going to tell him what you tell me anyway, so what’s the difference?”
Monday chewed on that for a second. “I figured you’d say that. I was ordered by Captain Larsen to read you and your man into what we are up against. Knowing what you are about to be exposed to, I wanted to see if I could somehow persuade you to come here alone. It just goes against my grain having him inside the SCIF. I’m sure you understand.”
“Saien, would you mind stepping around the corner for a minute?”
“Sure, Kil. Don’t be long, I have a massage appointment.”
Kil laughed and then proceeded to use his best diplomatic candor to express his point to Monday. “Yeah, I understand, but you gotta understand, too. I’ve vetted him. True, he’s a foreigner, but he’s come through for me, and he’s the only one on this ship I trust at this point.”
“Okay, Commander. We’re square. I just want you to understand the sensitivity and the severity of what you are about to hear after we go through that door. The four operators you arrived with are also waiting inside and about to be briefed. It’s never pleasant to reveal information of this nature.”
Skeptically, Kil blurted, “How goddamn crazy can it be? The dead started walking last winter and now they try to eat anything that moves.”
Monday replied rhetorically, “How far down the rabbit hole can you fit?”
Saien returned to the hallway and stood alongside Kil.
Monday continued his sermon. “This shit is heavy. This is far beyond flying around in y
our little spy plane during the war, listening to enemy phone sex and making up SIGINT reports. Before I go on, I gotta ask you both one final question.”
Both Kil and Saien said almost simultaneously, “What?”
Licking his lips, eyes squinting behind his Hubble glasses, Monday began, “Once we go through that door and I tell you two what I’m about to tell you, I can’t un-tell you. Is that clear? We don’t have Men in Black mind erasers. It will affect you for the rest of your lives.”
“I’m ready,” said Kil.
“Me too,” muttered Saien, although not sounding as cavalier.
“Okay, gentlemen. Follow me.”
Monday turned to the green door leading into the SCIF and reached his hand into the cipher lock housing that covered the keys. Five button clicks resonated. After a brief pause the sound of magnetic locks releasing cued Monday to push the green door into another world of possibility. All three men walked through and from there things became more and more curious.
8
“Was that you?”
“Me what?
“Did you throw something?”
“No, what’s wrong with you?”
“Never mind, probably flies.”
“Not this far out, not this time of year.”
A chorus of giggles resonated from the passageway outside the ship’s combat control center.
“Those fucking kids. I want to throw them over the side. You wanna scare them straight or should I?” said one of the men sitting at his radar operator chair.
“It’s my turn, let me do it,” his colleague replied, grinning. Reaching into a cardboard box near his radar terminal, the sailor removed a gruesome Halloween mask, resembling the face of a corpse. He placed it over his head, adjusting the fit so that he could see through the mask’s small eye openings.
“Watch this!”
He stepped over to the open door and jumped through the threshold, roaring like a banshee. The small group of children screamed for their lives and began to scatter . . . all but one.
A swift front kick from the child to the radar operator’s groin brought the man crashing to the floor. The other radar operator broke out in hysterical laughter that was cut short as the child advanced, moving with a visible intent to kick the man’s head in with all his small might. Just in time, an older woman with curly red hair entered the space, drawn by the screams and the commotion.
“What is going on in here, Danny?” the woman asked with authority.
“Granny Dean, I thought he was a . . .”
The man slowly pulled off his mask and remained in the fetal position moaning in pain.
Embarrassed, the little boy said, “Sorry, mister, I didn’t know. Thought you were dead.”
The woman walked up to the man on the floor and helped him to his feet. “What is this about? Do you spend all your time scaring children or just while on duty?”
Struggling and still dazed by the pain the man replied, “Ma’am, I’m sorry. The kids were being loud and driving us crazy and I thought it’d be funny to . . .”
“Funny until someone accidentally shoots you in the head! Give me that thing, I’m going to throw it overboard this instant. Consider yourself lucky I don’t speak to the admiral about this.”
The man quickly handed over the mask. Dean snatched it from his hand like a striking snake.
“You better get used to the kids, too. I’m teaching class up the hall and they’ll be coming through here on the way to and from.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”
“While we’re on the subject of apologies, Danny, care to say anything?”
“Sorry for kicking you in the nu . . . I mean, between the legs. You scared me good.”
“Sorry, kid.”
“S’okay,” Danny said regretfully.
Dean boomed again with authority, “Danny, gather up the kids and get them back to class. One of the doctors will be teaching first aid in fifteen minutes.”
She didn’t have time to explain to Danny the difference between a hospital corpsman and a medical doctor.
“Okay, Granny. Just like hide and seek. Bet I can find Laura first!”
A little girl’s voice echoed, “No way!” from behind a fire hose down the passageway, and the chase was on.
Dean shot a disapproving look past the radar operators and followed Danny to the classroom.
“Youth is truly wasted on the young,” she said.
9
Disco tugged the rope tied securely to the door. Nothing happened.
“Hawse, the door opens outward. You’re gonna have to kick it.”
“All right, stand back, I’ll . . .”
The door began to rattle and creak on its heavy hinges. It opened slowly; white bony fingers rounded the dark steel edges like hermit crab claws protruding from a shell.
“Fuck, get ready, get on the radio!” Hawse said frantically.
While Disco relayed the situation to the control room he brought his carbine to his shoulder—one hand on the weapon, the other grabbing for another full magazine.
The door opened wider and wicked faces appeared in the darkness just beyond the cold steel door.
“I’m shooting,” Hawse proclaimed.
“Kill ’em.”
“They’re already dead!”
Hawse began blasting the undead, aiming above the eyes. Disco knew the plan as they’d practiced it before. Hawse intended to drop the creatures quickly to construct a makeshift barricade of bodies, blocking the things from opening the door wider.
“This ain’t fucking worth it, man!” Hawse screamed.
The report of the suppressed carbines temporarily deafened both of them, ringing their bells in the confines of the steel hallway. Suppressors don’t actually work like they do in movies. Hawse pulled the trigger in controlled fire until he ran out of rounds; instinctively Disco stepped in front of him and handed him his full mag. Hawse slapped the mag in and pulled another one from his pouch to hand to Disco when they had to change over again.
The system seemed to work well. Disco had cut his teeth on tactics like this, seeing action during Operation Enduring Freedom in the Philippines. Based out of Camp Greybeard on Jolo Island, he had advised (and assisted) in his share of gunfights against the Abu-Sayaf Group terrorist organization. Often they’d change mags like this after firing all twenty-eight rounds at ghosts in the jungle just outside the wire. These creatures were no Abu-Sayaf terrorist group, but they were just as deadly.
The team’s fear of running out of rifle ammunition was ever present. Without ammo to feed their carbines, they’d be limited to shorter-range pistol calibers. When that ran dry, they’d be forced to go hand to hand. Every man knew what that likely meant.
Disco counted fifteen rounds before the creatures no longer presented their rotting faces through the partially open door. They waited, guns at high ready, ears still ringing from confined shooting. Disco used up a few seconds of time on a tactical reload, topping off his gun with a fresh magazine.
They both nearly jumped out of their boots when Doc and Billy exploded into the room from behind with guns and knives drawn, ready to fight.
“Nice timing, assholes!” Hawse whined.
“You fuckers called us crying like a bunch of babies, so here we are. What’s the problem?”
“I think we got ’em all,” Disco said.
“It was pretty fucked up . . . I saw lots of fingers grip around that door,” Hawse said nervously. He jerked his weapon about the room as if the area were crawling with manhole-sized spiders.
“Okay, well since we’re all down here, lets get the comm gear set up. Billy, take your mirror and have a look out the door.”
A faint rustling noise came through the small gap from outside, causing all of them to grip their rifles a little tighter.
Billy reached into his pack and pulled out a small signal mirror, attaching it to the end of his suppressor with a thick rubber band. Walking slowly and quietly to the door, he
extended the mirror out into the blackness. His goggles were constantly and electronically adapting to the darkness. Through the small mirror he observed at least three dozen bodies scattered about outside. One creature still twitched on the ground. Billy had seen this happen more than once before.
“I don’t see nothin’, Doc. A twitcher a few meters out and lots of rotters piled up against the door. Gonna need a couple shoulders to push it open.”
“Okay, let’s put our backs into it. Billy, you stand behind us in case you missed one in the pile.”
“Roger.”
“Okay, on my mark . . . one, two, push.”
The door surged open a foot or so, moving the pile of rotting corpses enough for them to squeeze through, barely.
The four carefully spilled out the door into the dark night made bright by technology that Billy suddenly realized would probably never advance beyond its current state.
“Straggler,” whispered Billy, almost inaudibly. He brought his carbine up to high ready, mesmerized for a millisecond by the way the unholy thing stalked them.
It moved with hungry purpose, arms clenched, claws gripping. Billy noted that it lacked lips. Its stained teeth shined brightly with reflected and intensified moonlight. He smoothly squeezed the trigger. The magnified muzzle flash illuminated the bullet impact. Billy was so close he felt the earth thud under his feet when the creature hit the ground.
That was a big one, Billy thought.
“Thanks, man,” Hawse said a little too loudly. Hawse was closer to the creature than he was.
Billy gave a hang ten sign with his support hand, in a You’re welcome gesture. “Who’s got the comms?” he whispered.
“Fuck.”
Disco ran back to the door; Billy followed without being told. No one went anywhere alone—that was the most important rule. A few minutes passed before the men returned with the heavy communication equipment.