“What happened?” Steele said, his voice echoing into nothingness. Mauser’s grip was like iron. Steele wanted to pull his hand away but couldn’t. A grave smile spread on Mauser’s lips, gradually baring bloody red teeth, his eyes pale and white. He nodded and disappeared.
Steele shot awake, gasping for air. His body was on fire as it shook to stay warm. Both ice and fire at the same time. His clothes dripped with sweat. Every muscle in his body was sore and his old sports injuries flared up the worst. He gingerly made his way back to the bathroom and ingested every fever reducer and pill that looked like it might be an antibiotic. He bent down under the faucet and guzzled water and lay back down. Thank God for wells. His head pounded out a rhythm with his heart, each thundering blow like Thor’s hammer striking the top of his skull.
The door latch clicked as it was slid open. He held his breath. It clicked softly as it closed. His mind was a heady fog. He lay in sweat-filled sheets unsure of reality. Another dream? Or was that real?
Steele peered in the dark, using his ears for any affirmation that what he heard was real. The back slider rolled on its single track. Wood scratched metal. Fuck.
He needed a way out. Moonlight glowed through the window. Only death awaited him outside. Fever, exposure, the infected would ensure his demise. Footsteps clopped closer to the bedroom door. Steele sprung up out of the bed and dashed for the closet. He squeezed the flimsy accordion door closed.
Seconds later, the door opened and was replaced by a beam of light. The flashlight scanned the room, searching for an intruder. Steele clutched his knife, his hand knuckling white. His blade was black, jutting out from his overhand grasp. A shotgun was pointed in a corner held by a single hand. Steele shifted his feet and his shoulder brushed a wire hanger. It swung loose and teetered back and forth, creaking.
The shotgun leveled at the closet, steady and flat.
Blade versus shotgun. No good. He gritted his teeth. Footsteps echoed over the floor. The man stopped. Both men knew the other was there. The man inhaled through his nose. The oxygen whistled in. Steele tensed his legs, ready to spring into action. Offset and close the distance. Must be fast. The lightweight door crashed open and Steele lunged into action.
JOSEPH
Southern Pennsylvania
Joseph’s radio clock emitted a soft green 2:00. He rotated his steering wheel with both hands as he took it to the side of the road. His small car rolled to a stop, the gravel crunching beneath his tires. He ducked his head to get a better view. A reflective green sign read PITTSBURGH 13 in white letters.
He eyed his dashboard. The gas gauge needle lay diagonal to the side. I need to find more fuel before I attempt whatever is left of Pittsburgh. He covered his mouth as he yawned. Some sleep couldn’t hurt either.
He snatched up his atlas. His finger bounced from south of Pittsburgh, tracking a route north and west. His finger traced all the way to the west coast of Michigan and stopped at a tiny circle representing a small costal town on Lake Michigan. A town that had the infamous distinction of housing the last known whereabouts of Patient Zero. If I can average twenty-five miles per hour, I can reach Grand Haven, Michigan in five days on the backroads. He exhaled deep. What will you do with him when you find him? Go to a nearby lab and begin tests? Perfect. Find a lab. Hunt for food. Fight the undead. Study the virus. Make the vaccine. Distribute to the remaining population. No problem. Definitely a one-man operation.
Joseph turned a knob on his dash. The lights went dark. He didn’t switch the car off. The engine idled a soft, muted hum. Weariness wore him down into sleep. He dozed in and out of consciousness.
A gray-skinned woman’s face pressed itself against the passenger window, jaw working open and closed. Black slime oozed between her teeth. Filth streaked down the window as her nails clawed the glass. He stared dimly, his mind draped in drowsiness. Nightmares or reality, there was no difference.
Thumping on the window gradually tugged him free of his twilight. She was joined by another infected, whose ribcage was partially exposed. White ribs folded over holding in the remains of a maroonish-gray lung.
What an awful dream, he thought. Within moments, the first two were joined by more, beating the car with broken hands, bent fingers, stumps where arms should have been. They beat the car like a drummer would a bass.
It’s real, his mind whispered. He jumped up in his seat. Cloudy white eyes glared at him. Their eyes lacked any substance, showing neither empathy, hatred, nor recognition that he was to do anything other than die. He watched for a moment, trying to understand them. The infected woman clanked her teeth into the glass. Pieces of brown enamel stuck to spittle dripping down the window. If the woman had a soul, it was no longer within her.
He pressed the pedal and gassed the car straight ahead. Bodies fell to the side as his wheels spun gravel and dirt alike. Miles dragged by. The undead reached for him in passing. They followed him down the road until he lost them in the night. Packs of infected swelled near trees and cars. More and more of them prohibited him from stopping again, so he drove on.
The die had been cast. He would have to run the Pittsburgh gauntlet without making sure everything was planned out, prepared or ready. Not being prepared gave him anxiety. If I get trapped in the city with no gas, I am dead for sure. I can’t change a tire. A horde will swallow me whole.
Joseph followed an entrance ramp onto a highway. Dormant traffic stood quiet. Lifeless taillights faced him. So many vehicles are headed toward the city. Why? He meandered through the vehicles. His car whined as the mirror caught on another car and snapped off.
“Damn it,” he said. He inched the car back the other way. The back end dug into the front end of another car and he cleared it.
Ahead of him, early morning sun shone from behind a mountain. Stunted greenish yellow trees climbed over the mountain, covering it like a multi-colored shroud. Darkness retreated downward near the tunnels, pressured by the growing sunlight.
The tunnels called to him, and forbid him from entering their domain at the same time. That must be the Fort Penn Tunnel. The tunnels themselves were carved straight into the rock, and the front entrance was layered with tan brick. A windowed control center faced outward, the windows lightless. It will lead me straight into downtown Pittsburgh. Metro area home to over two million. Mostly dead. The rest infected.
He tapped the gas pedal, and even when he saw the blockage he didn’t stop. Huge shipping containers towered to the top of the tunnel entrance. A smattering of faded red, blue, and green containers were stacked on top of one another with a base of earth and debris. He threw the car into park in front of the blockade.
Joseph pulled out his atlas. A lost skill in a world with the modern convenience of GPS and the Internet. There had to be another way to get through Pittsburgh. Joseph traced his thumb around the city. He would have to backtrack thirty or forty miles to go around the city. Shit. That added a good chunk of time to his journey. Time he didn’t have. Every moment he didn’t have Patient Zero, the chances for stopping the virus diminished.
Joseph nervously inched his glasses up his nose. He’d really screwed this up. What was I thinking, trying to go through the city? It had been quarantined, and now abandoned. He threw the car into reverse and checked his rearview mirror.
A tan Humvee stuck out into his lane on the left. Where did that Army truck come from? That wasn’t there before. He looked in his side mirror. Neither was the camouflage-clad man quickly approaching his door with a gun. The man stopped short.
“Put your hands on your head.”
Joseph put his hands on his head and turned to look at the man over his shoulder.
“Are you infected?” the soldier screamed. His gun hovered a foot from the back of Joseph’s head. The door ripped open. Joseph found himself facedown on the ground. The soldier frisked him and flipped him over.
“Please, let me go,” Joseph eked out. He covered his face. The soldier grabbed his hands and zip-tied them together. The
soldier patted him down and shoved his hands in Joseph’s pockets.
“Why are you here?” the soldier asked. Another soldier’s back was to them. Both men were young. The partner’s gun bounced from angle to angle as he checked for threats.
“Let’s hurry this up,” the other soldier said. He glanced nervously over his shoulder.
“Give me a minute, will ya?” Joseph’s captor said.
Joseph turned his head to the side so he could talk without eating the concrete. “Official business. I am trying to find a vaccine.” Hands dug into his shoulders and the soldier rolled him over onto his back.
The soldier was a plain kid with big ears. “Did you come from Colonel Rossman’s camp?” The soldier’s eyes darted around the area. His name tag read Henderson.
“I don’t know who that is.” Joseph said.
Henderson rammed a hand into Joseph’s pants pocket, fingers grasping around.
“I am on official government business. You must release me.”
“We all are, aren’t we, Pope,” Henderson quipped. He smiled at his partner.
“We sure are. I’ll check his car,” Pope said. He opened a back door and dug through Joseph’s meager cache.
“You must listen,” he started. “I am a doctor.” The soldiers stopped digging through his car. Henderson gave him a sidelong glance, his ill-fitting helmet sliding to the side of his head. His ear seemed to hold the helmet in place.
“A doctor, huh?” Henderson said.
Pope raised a lip at them both. “Colonel will want to see him.”
A burst of machine gun fire erupted from the Humvee’s mounted gun.
Henderson’s radio buzzed. “We got a lot of Zulus coming our way.”
“Not the first time we’ve heard the doctor story, but the colonel will set you straight one way or another. For your sake, you better be telling the truth.”
Joseph squirmed in his zip ties.
Gunfire reverberated off the front of the containers. Joseph had no choice but to let himself be pushed for the Humvee. Dead flesh paraded through the abandoned vehicles, every step bringing them closer. Joseph stole a final glance at his small car, all alone, missing its driver.
Henderson shoved him into the backseat of the Humvee. A soldier in tan boots shuffled his feet in the middle as he rotated his turret. Brass shells tinkled down inside the Humvee as the man fired.
“Hurry up,” Pope yelled from the driver’s side, slapping the door of the Humvee. Henderson hustled to the other side of the vehicle.
The fifty-cal lit up again and punched bullets with a blazing fury into the infected. Bodies jolted and jerked as they collapsed, and the Humvee lurched into motion.
KINNICK
Pentagon, Arlington, VA
Kinnick jogged down a dark stairwell of the Pentagon lit only by the greenish glow from the exit signs. It brought him back to his first experience with the Zulus. His heart rate sped up as the trauma played out in his mind. It was only by mere chance that Kinnick had made it inside the famous five-sided building. Luck and blood are the only reason I’m here.
Weeks prior, Kinnick had been sitting in his office in the Department of State’s headquarters known as the Woodrow Wilson building, mulling over rebel leader Colonel Kosoko’s personality profile. Unstable. Psychopathic behaviors. And he reveres his son.
Alarm bells started blaring, high-pitched dings echoing throughout his office. The alarms were accompanied by a white flashing light, as if the wall was taking his picture.
“Great, just what we need,” Kinnick said. His tone was harsher than he intended. It had been an extremely stressful few days as the Administration had attempted to rectify numerous situations under the radar.
He closed the report and flipped it onto his rich wooden desk. “Jackie, I don’t have time for this,” he shouted out at his personal aide. She peered at him worriedly over the wall of her cubicle. She was a timid mouse peering from her hole.
He ignored the alarms and picked up another report.
“You hear me?” he shouted again.
She nodded and ducked below her cubicle wall.
His mind was on auto-pilot now. He had been over these documents multiple times and still could not put all the pieces together. What is this guy doing so far from his home base? He can’t possibly think he would be successful in a coup. Unless the government is weaker than our analysts are reporting.
Pictures of Kinnick’s family were stuck on the wall, along with a series of photographs of him in a jumpsuit in front of C-130s. Smiling faces, looked down on him.
Over the sirens, he could hear his Deputy Officer, David Hollern’s voice.
He opened a vanilla folder holding the last report on his mission. He read it for the one hundredth time: “The CIA agents are unaccounted for. The embassy staff are on a flight bound for McCone International Airport with Counterterrorism agents providing security.”
I should be breathing a sigh of relief, not fucking losing my mind. Something was very wrong.
The fire alarm’s bright white flash clamored for his attention. It’s as if they know I have things I need to do.
He grabbed his sport coat from the back of his chair and threw it over his arm in preparation to leave the building. Deputy Officer Hollern ran into his office. His graying hair glistened and he breathed heavy as if he had been running a race.
“Jesus, David, what were you doing? Working out at lunch?” Kinnick said. David was a lieutenant colonel on a tour of duty at the State Department. Kinnick wanted to laugh at the man with his red cheeks, sweat running down his forehead.
“No, sir.” David breathed hard, trying to get enough oxygen.
“Isn’t the physical fitness test next quarter?” Kinnick said.
David raised a fatigued hand, cutting him off. “Thank God you’re here. There’s a group of people trying to get inside the building. We have been ordered to remove you and the other Under Secretaries, now.”
As his second reached for his sleeve, Kinnick dodged him, his smile turning sour. “This is no time for a joke. We have a lot on our plate right now.” Anger elevated in his chest.
“The DSS agents are in the hall,” David said quietly. He glanced back at the door.
“Seriously, we don’t have time for this. We can’t work while they try to push some bullshit fire drill on us.”
People stood in their cubicles. His staff’s eyes were drawn to him. The staff that had come in. A flu had stricken his office, either that or they were getting their leave in before the end of the summer. They watched the interaction and whispered to one another.
“Our careers are on the line,” Kinnick whispered to David.
“This is not a joke, Michael,” David breathed, his eyes shifting to the gathering crowd. Under his breath, he murmured, “The Secretary is already gone. The threat is real.”
Two tense-looking men in suits entered the office. DSS agents.
Providing protective details was one of the Diplomatic Security Service Agents official functions. The two agents did not look comfortable with their current assignment.
“I don’t expect them to know what’s at stake, but you do.” Kinnick pointed a finger at David. “But I’ll humor them.”
Trying to appear unworried, Kinnick walked briskly through his office. His staff scattered out of his way. They gathered their purses and briefcases in their hands. Jackie approached him. Worry set in her deep brown eyes hidden behind glasses. She held files close to her chest as if they would protect her from whatever was going on downstairs.
“What’s going on? Should we try to leave?” she said. She glanced at the door, her nerves showing. Kinnick regarded the door quickly and shook his head.
“No, no. Stay here until this blows over. My evacuation is only a precaution.”
She looked him in the eyes and bit her lip. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
“I will see you tomorrow,” he said in a fatherly tone. He gave her shoulder a squeez
e. That would be the last time he saw her.
David practically carried him out of the office.
“Hold on, damn it,” he chided, removing his arm from David’s grasp.
“Michael, please,” David hissed.
Kinnick bared his teeth at him. “The staff is watching. Show some self-control.”
David grimaced, peering over Kinnick’s shoulder. Then he smiled at the people watching.
Kinnick threw his sport coat on. “It’s not like the world is ending.” He walked with resolve into the hallway confident that this would all be over soon.
The DSS agents faces could have fooled him. The two men scanned either end of the hall. Their guns weren’t drawn, but Kinnick knew when men were on edge. These agents teetered on the precipice.
“Under Secretary Kinnick. We have to hurry.” The special agent C-clamped Kinnick’s arm to get him running, and Kinnick picked up his feet as they sped up. The two agents placed him between them and jogged down the hallway, coats flapping behind them. Kinnick had no choice but to follow suit and run.
The agent on the left spoke as they ran. “We are taking you to the 3rd Street exit. C Street is closed off.” Their dress shoes clicked off the floors and echoed down the hallway. They skipped steps as they hastened down flights of stairs.
The lead agent planted a shoe into the exit bar of the lobby door, and they burst into the huge entrance of the Department of State. Beautiful spiraled green, white, and gray marble covered the floors and crawled up the sides of a permanent check-in station. Turnstiles were placed evenly to either side of the station where employees would scan their work badges to gain access to the building. Along a walkway above the lobby, flags of every nation stood at attention. Journalists would report in front of them when broadcasting from inside the building. On their left, glass windows opened up to a large courtyard where employees would often eat lunch. A huge steel statue of the globe centered it.
The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 41
