Dead Islands

by Tim Moon

  “Drop whatever’s in your hands!” one of them yelled.

  Ben dropped his stuff and looked over to see a soldier staring back at him with his rifle raised. Another soldier was at the edge of the room, all Ben could see of him was half of the soldier’s head and the rifle barrel aimed at his head.

  “Hello, sir. I’m Sergeant Riggs — U.S. Army. We’re here to help you,” said the soldier at the edge of the room.

  “What the fuck happened to your face, man?” the other soldier said.

  “Shut it, Jones,” Sergeant Riggs said, stepping out from behind the wall and lowering his rifle.

  Ben just stared at them, smiling. He lowered his arms slowly. “You have no idea how good it is to see you guys.”

  Sergeant Riggs looked at him. Ben felt like the sergeant was waiting for information.

  “My name’s Ben. I’ve been hiding here with my friends. We have, um, five in our group, including me,” Ben said, nervously. “I was just getting some ice for my face. Is it okay if I do that really quick?”

  “No, we should move. If any of those things are here they’ve definitely heard us,” Riggs said, shooting a look at Jones. The soldier looked embarrassed but didn’t say anything. “Besides you won’t need it where we’re going.”

  “Okay.” Ben started to reach down for the bucket and the plunger, but stopped. With soldiers and guns around, he wouldn’t be adding anything to the equation with a goddamn plunger. So he left them on the floor.

  “Jones, you and Markham watch this end of the hallway,” Riggs said.

  “Sure thing, Sergeant.”

  “Watch your trigger finger, Jones.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  The two guys that Riggs had pointed to walked back toward the stairwell and stood with their rifles at the ready.

  Ben led the soldiers down the hall to the room with two in front of him, two behind, and Sergeant Riggs next to him. Ben wasn’t sure if he should feel like a VIP or a prisoner. Either way, he was grateful for their presence.

  Everyone stopped. Ben nearly ran into the soldier in front of him, but Riggs put his arm out, slowing his momentum.

  “What’s that?” a soldier asked, glancing back at Ben and gesturing toward Eric’s body with his rifle barrel.

  “Um, I guess you could say we had a casualty.”

  “Is that why your face is all jacked up?” Sergeant Riggs asked.

  Ben nodded, embarrassed.

  “Right here,” Ben said, pointing to the door next to Eric’s body. He slipped his keycard out to open the door.

  Riggs made a few hand gestures to two of the soldiers who nodded. They walked to the end of the hallway to guard the other stairwell. Now both ends of the hall were secured.

  Sergeant Riggs nodded at Ben. He unlocked the door and Riggs pushed the door open and held it wide.

  “Hey guys, we’ve got company,” Ben said with a smile.

  Oliver looked strangely excited once he saw that soldiers were here. He peered around Ben and the Sergeant trying to look into the hallway.

  “Well get in here and shut the door,” Charlotte said.

  “It’s cool, they have guys watching the stairs,” Ben said, as the remaining soldiers filed into the room. “This here is Sergeant Riggs.”

  Anuhea stood and nodded at the Sergeant, “Hello.”

  “Thank God. Now we can get out of here,” Ty said, excitedly. He stood up with a smile.

  “Hello, everyone. As you know we’ve got a serious outbreak happening. We’re collecting survivors and bringing them to the quarantine center for evacuation,” Riggs said, looking at each of them. “If you folks would please pack up your essentials — medicine, mobility devices, et cetera — we’ll move out in ten minutes. No food, drinks, or extra clothing is necessary. The quarantine center has everything you’ll need.”

  With that announcement, Sergeant Riggs gave a quick nod as if the matter was settled and walked over to the window. One of the other two soldiers in the room followed him, and they began chatting in hushed tones. The other soldier stood by the door.

  “Well, this is a nice turn of events,” Ben said, smiling. “We’re finally headed somewhere safe.”

  Ty high-fived him. Charlotte gave him a quick hug. Anuhea grabbed the first aid kit and downed a bottle of water. Oliver continued staring at the soldiers in awe.

  Less than ten minutes later, everyone was ready and the group was escorted down the stairwell and out of the hotel. As they exited the hotel, Ben took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled. They were loaded into several humvees that sat in front of the hotel. Moment later, with soldiers manning the humvees’ machine gun turrets, and began the ride to the quarantine center.

  EPILOGUE

  October 10, 2015

  Washington, D.C.

  0810 Hours

  AGENT DARYL JACKSON sat at a long table and flipped through their target’s dossier for the hundredth time. His gaze jumped from detail to detail, but it had all become a blur.

  Jackson glanced up at his partner, Agent Jessica Stonewall, who, along with the tech guy, was keeping an eye on a bank of eight security camera monitors. Jackson looked back down at a photo of the target, taking in every detail of his face. This guy was a traitor, but he looked more like a nerd than a trouble maker. He looked like one of those guys that spends too much time playing computer games, not someone looking to sell out his country.

  Steve Edwardson was an employee of Black Tide, a military contracting company. He worked in the Bio-Tech Division of Black Tide doing top secret research. Nerd stuff.

  Agent Jackson held evidence suggesting that Edwardson had leaked information, and was planning to leak more — including documents, about top secret projects to an internet based whistle-blower site called Eyes of Truth. Worse than that, in Jackson’s mind, was Edwardson’s contact with Russian handlers. Recent surveillance photos showed him attending a meeting with the Russians, and the last thing America needed was another person selling out to them. News stations had a long running commentary about how unstable global politics had become since Russia’s incursion into Crimea last year, and their covert activity to topple the government in Ukraine.

  Jackson glanced at his watch. There were still 20 minutes to go. Time crawled toward the appointed meeting time at a glacial pace. He always got antsy leading up to a big bust. As usual, Stonewall was cool as a polar bear. She chatted with the tech guy, Greg, or whatever his name was.

  The importance of this bust weighed heavily on Agent Jackson. It was his first lead on a major assignment. He was even tasked with a full team, including two mobile SUV units, to help secure the meeting. They couldn’t let any of the subjects escape custody.

  Chances like this didn’t come along very often, especially for relatively new agents like them. Jackson and Stonewall each had only four years with the bureau. Considering Jackson had only been assigned to the Counterespionage Division for a year of that, he was lucky that the agency hadn’t passed the case off to one of the more senior guys.

  “Stonewall, is everyone in place? It’s almost go time,” Jackson said.

  Agent Stonewall turned to glance at Agent Jackson. “Yeah, we’re good. The undercover agents have blended in. Mobile units are in place and ready to roll should anyone give us the slip.” She took a drink of coffee and turned to face him. Her shoulder length almond hair swayed with the movement. “Don’t worry, Jackson. We’re going to bag these guys.”

  “We should gear up.” Jackson cleared his throat and nodded at the gear. He stood and walked over to a table holding their body armor and other gear. He strapped the vest on over his t-shirt. Stonewall joined him.

  The tech guy turned and said, “Edwardson’s almost to the coffee shop. He’s on foot, no tails.”

  “Thanks, Greg,” Stonewall said. Then, looking at Jackson, she said, “He’s early.”

  “All eyes, this is Eagle-One, target is approaching the meeting zone. Keep your head on a swivel and wait for my go,” Jackson s
aid over the radio as he grabbed the rest of his gear and headed for the door.

  The two FBI agents strode out of hotel room and toward the stairwell. They would keep watch from a first floor meeting room that hotel management had set aside for their use. From there they would be able to observe the meeting and be ready to spring the trap. As they descended the stairwell, their ear pieces snapped alive. “Eagle-One, this is Rover-Two. Primary has sat down. Awaiting Secondary, over.”

  “Copy that, Rover-Two,” Jackson said over the radio. Secondary was the target from the website, an unknown intermediary whose detention could lead to the uncovering of multiple sources like Edwardson.

  Looking out the window of the meeting room they had just entered, Stonewall smiled. “You know, it kind of cracks me up that two people can cause such a stir.”

  “Head in the game, Stonewall,” Jackson said with a frown.

  People outside moved like a rising tide, filling the sidewalks as they sought out midday nourishment. The plaza had a small open square with a fountain surrounded by a variety of restaurants, coffee shops, a couple of pubs, and various other stores and was popular among the local office workers.

  The rising foot traffic partially obscured Stonewall and Jackson’s view of Edwardson’s table in the coffee shop. As uneasy as that made him, Jackson knew that the undercover agents in the shop would keep things contained.

  Seats in the coffee shop quickly became a hot commodity. They could just make out Edwardson turning away a young lady who looked intent on borrowing the empty chair at his table.

  Then, out of the crowd of caffeine addicts, a business woman reached into her purse and pulled something out, setting it in front of Edwardson before she sat down at the table. Light brown hair framed her face, and her eyes were hidden by oversize sunglasses.

  “Did you see that?” Jackson asked.

  “She passed him something, but I couldn’t see what it was.” Stonewall looked around the area. It seemed like the crowds were growing. “It’s getting awfully crowded, Jackson.”

  “I hear ya. Let’s do this,” Jackson said. He picked up his radio and pressed the call button with his thumb, never taking his eyes off of Edwardson. “All eyes, this is Eagle-One. Let’s lock it down. I say again — lock it down.”

  Stonewall nudged Jackson with her elbow, pointing to their left. “You seeing this?”

  In the street, between the agents and the coffee shop, a man in a blue hospital gown stained with blood walked in front of a car. Tires squealed as the driver slammed on the brakes. The man’s body flipped onto the hood, slid across — leaving a streak of blood and tumbled off into the street. When the car stopped, the driver stepped out.

  Slowly, the man on the ground rose to his feet. Ignoring the driver, he continued walking, this time with a serious limp, toward the people on the sidewalk.

  More people in hospital gowns appeared, shuffling down the street. Two of them walked up behind the driver, who still stood dumbfounded that the guy he’d hit had simply walked away. Together, the two people ripped into the driver. He screamed in agony, briefly.

  People pointed and looked. Several people in the courtyard screamed.

  Dozens of people began to scatter. Jackson shot a confused look at his partner. Stonewall shrugged.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Agent Jackson said into his radio. He couldn’t figure out how this was happening.

  “Eagle-One, this is Rover-Two. I’ve lost contact. There is some kind of disruption down here.”

  “Goddamn it, I can see the disruption,” Jackson said, slamming his fist against the window sill. Then over the radio he said, “Reacquire the targets, now.”

  ***

  October 10, 2015

  Ohio Drive SW, Washington, D.C.

  0827 Hours

  JACKSON JAMMED HIS foot on the gas, and the black SUV surged forward as he wove his way closer to the suspect’s silver car.

  Furious at how his first major bust was going down, Jackson was determined to stop the speeding car. Whatever had happened near the cafe, his instincts told him it all had something to do with the people he was following.

  Stonewall radioed their location to the other vehicles. She also requested air support so they wouldn’t lose the car. Streets in D.C. could be tricky. It was not an ideal place for a car chase; there were too many tourists, too many people watching.

  Trees whizzed by in a blur as they sped down the road.

  Jones’ voice came over the radio. “Eagle-One, this is Mobile-Two. I’m on your six, over.”

  Jackson was glad that at least one of the two mobile units had finally caught up with them.

  “Where the hell is Mobile-One? I can’t reach them,” Jackson said into his radio.

  “Last I saw, they were still boxed in at the location,” said Jones. “I can’t reach them either.”

  “Unbelievable,” Stonewall muttered to herself as she shook her head. “Should we get D.C. police to setup a roadblock?” she asked Jackson.

  “Call it in so they’re ready. But we need to get them penned in on a one-way first.”

  Jackson swerved around a civilian car, the engine roaring as he fought to close the distance.

  A noise, like a screaming engine, rose in the background and carried over the noise of their SUV’s own engine. Before Stonewall could radio in the request to D.C. police, Mobile-Two came back on the radio.

  “Eagle-One, check your four o’clock. You won’t believe this shit,” Jones said, his voice rattled with shock.

  Stonewall turned and gasped.

  A passenger jet was coming in fast, flying parallel to the road. It was less than one hundred feet off the ground and dropping fast.

  “What is it?” Jackson asked.

  “It’s a damn passenger plane,” Stonewall said.

  Jackson chanced a look out of the rear passenger window but couldn’t see anything. He turned his attention back to the road. Right now, Jackson only cared about catching up to the silver car that was weaving through traffic ahead of him.

  As their SUV came around a corner and raced down Independence Avenue, the passenger plane dipped in elevation and dropped into Jackson’s peripheral vision. When they began to cross Kutz bridge over the tidal basin near the Jefferson Memorial, the airplane turned sharply for the road. Its wing tip caught the water and an awful screeching sound echoed across the water.

  “Watch out!” Stonewall screamed, cringing in her seat.

  Metal tore as the wing dipped deeper, eventually shearing off and skipping across the water. The plane’s nose slammed down hard. The tail section rose, and the plane slowly flipped end over end and crashed upside down into the bridge behind them.

  An explosion rocked the SUV, the blast wave shattering all the windows and peppering them with debris. A huge fireball rose above the airplane wreckage. Something slammed into their vehicle from behind, causing Jackson to swerve wildly. He struggled to control the vehicle and continue the chase, but there was a loud bang and the front of the SUV crumpled. Vibrations from the impact rattled the two agents. They weren’t moving anymore.

  Jackson struggled to breathe. Smoke filled the air, conspiring with his seatbelt to choke him. Jackson fumbled but eventually unbuckled his belt, making it easier to breathe. He tried to wave smoke out of his face, but it was futile.

  “Stonewall, you okay?” Jackson reached over and shook her shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

  She looked a little dazed but nodded. Stonewall reached down and unbuckled her seatbelt.

  Jackson shoved his door open and stepped out of the SUV.

  Eventually, the smoke began to clear enough for Jackson to see what the hell had happened. To his surprise a massive piece of metal, almost the size of his desk, had been embedded in the rear passenger seat. The hood was caved in around something, possibly a concrete post. Smoke and steam rose from the crumpled hood of the SUV.

  No other cars were left on their side of the bridge. With no sign of the sil
ver car, Jackson turned around to see the wreckage. Less than ten feet of the bridge remained behind them, the rest had been crushed under the airplane.

  “Holy shit, Stonewall, what the fuck happened?” Jackson said.

  She stood by the SUV, holding her side, staring at the mangled heap that used to be an airplane. Thick smoke billowed out of the mess. Flames still licked at the sides of the aircraft.

  Jackson realized that Rover-Two had been right behind them. The loss of their colleague, his friend, made him feel sick to his stomach.

  “Call it in,” Jackson said, softly.

  Stonewall shook her head. “Already tried. The radio’s dead.”

  Thank You

  Thank you for reading Dead Islands. Find out what happens next in Dead Horde, book two of the Necrose Series, coming soon.

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