The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Greene, Daniel

  The sky darkened as the sun lost the battle for the sky. Perfect. All I need is some rain to finish off how I feel. He gave a cautious glance at Ahmed standing nearby with a pack on his back. Ahmed had volunteered to take Mauser’s place. Steele was immediately against the idea, but they needed a third person for the mission, and since Mauser was out, Steele could not deny Ahmed a chance to get eaten alive. After all, it was a suicide mission and at least Ahmed wouldn’t get to be with Gwen after Steele was killed.

  Steele walked alongside Mauser in silence. Mauser’s crutches creaked with each lunge. They stopped near the mobile lounge.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Steele said.

  “Yeah, you will.”

  “You’ll keep Gwen out of trouble?” Steele kicked at the ground a bit.

  “As much as anyone can.”

  Steele smiled at that. They both knew Gwen was stubborn.

  “Stay vigilant out there.”

  “You too, brother.”

  They clasped hands. The age-old symbol of trust, brotherhood, and respect between men. Firm yet not over the top. Never trust a man who tried to strong arm a handshake. Strong yet understanding. A gentlemen’s bond used by warriors, politicians, and criminals alike.

  He helped Mauser up into the people mover, handing up his crutches.

  “Steele,” Mauser said from atop the mover.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Steele gave him a mock salute and trudged his way back to where Ahmed waited. His pack weighed him down every step of the way. A Humvee rolled up next to the men.

  Colonel Jackson appraised them from inside. His expression smug. Donning a combat helmet, he looked ready for war. He met Steele’s eyes. They were two bulls locking horns. Except Jackson had the high ground and Steele was no more than a calf. He had what Steele wanted, therefore he had Steele by the balls. Jackson broke eye contact with Steele, not out of deference, but from comfort in his position. Colonel Jackson’s eyes moved up to the mobile lounge. His lips spread in a thin smile.

  Steele’s heart jumped. Colonel Jackson had promised her well-being if he completed the mission. He had no choice. Steele’s jaw clenched.

  Colonel Jackson looked back at Steele. “Good luck, Agent Steele. For all of our sakes. Good luck.” He waved his arm in a crisp forward movement, his hand the shape of a knife.

  “Convoy, move out,” he shouted.

  Steele gave a long look at Gwen. She stared down at him from the window of the mobile lounge. Realization washed over her face. I don’t want to hurt you. He hefted his pack over his shoulder, feeling the weight of supplies and ordnance dig into his neck and back. He glanced up at her again. Please forgive me, it’s the only way. Her mouth remained flat, but her bottom lip quivered. Her fist punched the glass over and over.

  He mouthed “I love you,” and turned and walked for the Duquesne Incline. Every major bridge into and out of Pittsburgh needed to be destroyed. Operation Anaconda was underway.

  KINNICK

  Mount Eden Emergency Operations Facility Bunker, VA

  Tactical lights combed the corridor. Emergency lighting unleashed an eerie glow in the bunker hallway. Kinnick was scrunched between Sergeant Lewis, the point man, and Master Sergeant Hunter. Their footsteps echoed loudly off the sterile white walls. They were only a hundred yards from the laboratory before everything went to hell.

  “Ahhh puta,” Esparza spit forth. Kinnick whipped his tactical light backward. The white light revealed a surprised Esparza. He dropped to his knees and his hands leapt to his neck. Dark red blood gurgled from a giant hole that his hands couldn’t plug. More flashlights whipped backward.

  “What the fuck?” Bowman shouted. He wrestled with Fannin in the rear, holding his gun low, not ready to fire on his own man. Fannin drove Bowman into the wall, pinning him and his rifle between them. Fannin chewed into the Marine’s face and arms. Pieces of skin and muscles were pulled free by his teeth and jaws. Kinnick was slower than dirt to get his gun up on Fannin, and Master Sergeant Hunter stepped between them.

  Master Sergeant Hunter leapt at the two. He extended his arm, Beretta 9mm inches from Fannin’s face. The explosion deafened everyone. Fannin’s head rocked to the side and he collapsed. Too loud, Kinnick thought. More of those things would be upon them soon, and now they were down two men. Maybe three.

  Kinnick scanned the hallway behind him. Nobody yet. Bowman breathed heavy, a ragged rattle coming in spurts. He’d been bitten.

  Kinnick crouched near him. They never had the chance to get to know one another, having only worked together for about three hours. The man stared into Kinnick’s eyes, no words able to come forth.

  “It’s gonna be okay, brother,” Kinnick said softly. He took the man’s hand. Bowman was going to die. All Kinnick knew was that this man was a Marine. A Devil Dog. Bowman went to war where his country asked him to go, with men he called brothers, to fight its own citizens. He didn’t ask questions, he only answered them. Now, he lay dying at Kinnick’s feet. No medical treatment known to man could save him as his life blood leaked from his body.

  Bowman closed his eyes and began to shake. Kinnick released the man’s hand and stood.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Sergeant Lewis said. The large man stared down on Bowman like he was a wounded deer, needing to be put out of its misery.

  Master Sergeant Hunter was bent over next to Esparza. Frothy blood flowed from Esparza’s lips. Kinnick could hear Hunter whispering to the man. He placed a small crucifix in Esparza’s hand. Then he stood up. Esparza stared at them, his body involuntarily shaking.

  Kinnick knew what came next.

  “Don’t. Let. Me turn, Puta,” Esparza growled.

  “See you in hell,” Master Sergeant Hunter said and sent a bullet through Esparza’s frontal lobe. Then he bent down and took one of Esparza’s dog tags.

  Kinnick counted the team. One short. “Where is Pollard?” he asked.

  Master Sergeant Hunter shined his tactical light twenty yards back. Pollard lay in a growing puddle of his own blood. Hunter walked up and put another round through his skull.

  “Bowman?”

  “I took care of it,” Lewis said.

  “What the fuck, just happened?” Master Sergeant Hunter growled.

  “Somehow they were infected? But, how?” Kinnick muttered. “Fannin’s hand. Do you think the doctor infected him?”

  Moans answered him by drifting down the hallway. The soldiers stopped talking and stared into the dark.

  “We gotta move,” Master Sergeant Hunter yelled. “They’re coming.” They were off. Speed was their only friend now. They all knew what came in the dark, and the pounding of their boots echoed off the floor as they sprinted.

  They ran through rooms with big orange X’s on them. Kinnick sprinted right behind Lewis, who quickly checked corners on the run. A good habit if they were in a scenario where their enemy made tactical moves. Kinnick didn’t know how vital it would be against an enemy who didn’t think. But old habits die hard, and the squad of three raced for the elevators.

  At the end of the corridor sat the elevators. Kinnick let himself exhale. No one was there, and the elevators rested with the doors open. Finally, Kinnick thought. A break.

  His heart beat ferociously in his chest. You are getting to old for this. Old men die just as easy as young men, but they have a better idea of when to step out of the way.

  They rushed into the elevator, and Kinnick punched the button labeled “1.” Nothing lit up. The doors did not close. They did not move from the bottom floor of the underground facility. No sophisticated pulley system hauled them to the surface. Kinnick smushed the button again with two fingers, bending them painfully. Nothing happened. Crap. He crushed the button beneath his fingers again and again.

  “Come on,” he said beneath his breath.

  “Colonel, we got contact front.”

  “So soon?” Kinnick said.

  “Are we cleared to engage?”
Lewis said out of the side of his mouth.

  “You do not need to ask, Sergeant.”

  “Just clarifying. You wanted us to be careful of the civilians,” Lewis said.

  “What civilians?” Kinnick said.

  “I can’t tell,” Lewis said.

  Kinnick stepped to the side and peered down the hall. Shadows hobbled their way getting closer with each step to Kinnick and his team. They were still a good hundred and fifty feet from the elevator and in the shadows of emergency lighting. He couldn’t tell friend from foe. Kinnick pressed the button again.

  “Master Sergeant Hunter, we need power to these elevators,” Kinnick said, and Master Sergeant Hunter was all over the comms.

  “Sir, hostiles front,” Lewis said.

  “Fuck, Lewis, light them up,” Kinnick said. You could be ordering the death of Jackowski. Does it matter if we find the doctor and we are dead?

  Lewis licked his lips, zeroing in his sights. Within seconds, he unleashed a barrage of lead into the shadows in the dark. The forms staggered and fell. Kinnick had a gut feeling that this was going not be the last time he gave the order to potentially kill live American citizens. Their families could sue him when this was over and he wasn’t dead.

  Lewis stopped firing and fingered a tin out of his pants pocket. “Chew, sir?” he asked Kinnick.

  Kinnick shook his head no. He had given that up years ago. Lewis shoved a tin-sized chew in his mouth and spit onto a body on the ground.

  “Master Sergeant; status on the elevators?” Kinnick asked.

  “I got nothing,” Hunter said. They were going to have to climb out of the tomb.

  “Look for a way up. There should be a ladder around here,” Kinnick said.

  “Sir, you gotta take a look at this,” Sergeant Lewis said.

  Jesus, what now?

  Kinnick momentarily stopped pushing on ceiling tiles. Flashlights illuminated the end of the hall. He could see a mass of shapes moving his way led by a flashlight in front. The light did not move at the frantic pace of someone running from a horde of infected, but the much calmer gait of someone leading. Kinnick could vaguely make out the doctor and his followers goading the dead along.

  “What the hell is that guy doing?” he asked.

  “Dunno, sir. Don’t want to know. Permission to fire?” Lewis said, setting the SAW to his shoulders.

  “Permission granted,” Kinnick was all too happy to say. A figure broke from the pack and started sprinting for them.

  “Wait, Sergeant,” Kinnick said, staying his arm. “It’s one of the girls. Hold your fire until she is clear.”

  “Sir, that Zulu horde is going to be extremely close for fire by the time she gets here.”

  “Understood, soldier. As soon as she is clear, let ’em have it,” he said.

  She sprinted down the hall, crying out. “Wait,” she screamed. She slipped, falling on the tile corridor and banging her head off the ground. She crawled for them, but would never make it.

  “Goddamn it,” Kinnick whispered. He didn’t think, he only acted.

  He pushed past Lewis and ran for the woman. The dead struggled for them both, loud moans clouding the corridor. He sprayed his M4 on full auto into the horde with minimal effect. The dead only absorbed the rounds. The M4 clicked dry. The dead continued onward.

  She stared up at him in a daze as if she was trying to tell if he was real or not.

  “Take my hand.”

  She grasped his hand and he pulled her upright. They sprinted back, the infected on their heels.

  “Go, go, go,” he yelled as they ran.

  As soon as they cleared Lewis’s sights, he opened up with the SAW. Kinnick grabbed the girl, shaking her by her shoulders. She looked at him with teary eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he screamed in between momentary stoppages of Lewis’s light machine gun.

  “Please, let me go,” she sobbed, her thin form trembling. He pushed her to the corner of the elevator. Master Sergeant Hunter was gone.

  “Where the hell is Hunter?” His master sergeant had disappeared.

  “Sir, up here. Hand up the girl,” Master Sergeant Hunter said. His bearded face peeked at them from a gap in the ceiling of the elevator. Kinnick wasted no time helping her up. Lewis fired away but hardly put a dent into the horde moving murderously in their direction.

  “Sergeant, we’re going,” Kinnick yelled at Lewis. He slung his M4 to his back and jumped for the opening.

  Kinnick grabbed hands with Hunter and felt himself lifted upwards. He cleared the ceiling. They both reached down for Lewis, who slung his SAW and latched onto their hands. Kinnick pulled as hard as he could, hardly moving the man. Sergeant Lewis’s massive weight pulled the men down, and he dangled in the air.

  The elevator filled with the dead. Lewis grunted, his face red, while he kicked down at their grasping hands and ugly faces, and then he was through. The infected reached for the opening, but they did not have the dexterity to make the jump. The three men sat there panting, the young woman pressed into the corner. The distant light of the top floor gleamed at the top of the elevator shaft. Kinnick looked at his men. Lewis’s face was turning white. He spit a few times onto the top of the elevator.

  “Goat fucking bastards,” Lewis swore. Kinnick looked him up and down. He must have been bitten. Another soldier lost under his command.

  “Are you bit?” Kinnick asked. His hand rested on his sidearm. A bear of man like Sergeant Lewis looked slow, but when it came to weapons handling he was very quick. Kinnick would most certainly lose in a Wild West showdown. Sergeant Lewis gave him an evil look, his face turning a shade of green. He bent at the waist and splashed vomit onto the topside of the elevator.

  The elevator rocked as more dead piled in below. They were excited that another man was about to enter their ranks. Kinnick tightened his grip on the handle of his pistol.

  “Easy now, Sergeant. You know we can’t let you come with us if you are infected.”

  Master Sergeant Hunter took a step to the side, loosening his wide-bladed knife. Kinnick and he made eye contact.

  Lewis finished coughing and spitting.

  They can turn quick.

  “No disrespect, sir, but fuck you,” Lewis said, wiping vomit from his beard. Kinnick was slightly taken back as the man stood upright.

  “Those bastards down there,” he pointed below. “Made me swallow my wad of chew,” Lewis finished.

  Kinnick laughed in relief.

  “Haven’t been chewing long enough if you can’t gut it,” Master Sergeant Hunter said with a smile.

  “Goat fucking bastards? Where do you come up with this stuff?” Kinnick asked.

  “Made friends with plenty of natives of Afghanistan,” Lewis said with a spit again.

  “Let’s leave them a going away present,” Kinnick said.

  Lewis nodded, standing upright. He slipped a grenade off his vest. He pulled the pin, leaving the handle depressed in his hand.

  “Might want to get a head start,” Lewis said with a mean grin.

  Kinnick took to the ladder, pushing the girl ahead of him. Master Sergeant Hunter climbed right behind them.

  Lewis dropped the frag through the ceiling. “Fire in the hole,” he yelled. Concussions bounced up the elevator shaft as the hardened encased elevator absorbed the blast, and they began the long climb to the top.

  STEELE

  Duquesne Incline, Pittsburgh, PA

  Humvees rolled by the three men, engines rumbling. Scared faces from inside the vehicles ignored them as if the outsiders were already dead. Within minutes, the infected would find the crumbled walls undefended and breach the base claiming it as their own.

  Ahmed stood next to him. Steele observed him more than the departing convoy. He hadn’t forgotten what had happened the last time he had Ahmed watch his back. While he was skeptical of the man, he would have to do.

  After the last Humvee drove by, they were truly alone. No ride out of here. No escape unle
ss they made it themselves. Steele nodded to Ahmed. The closely shaved dark-haired, swarthy-skinned man nodded back and hefted his pack.

  The third member of their party waited near the edge of the cliff in front of a building with a black and yellow sign that read Duquesne Incline. He sat on his pack as if he had already traveled enough for one day.

  The older soldier was the third member of their small team, and the most important because of his specialty as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialist. His gut hung over the front of his trousers like it was greeting them hello. Chevrons on his shoulders marked him as a senior NCO. His mustache looked like a furry fat caterpillar had taken refuge on his top lip. His eyes crinkled up as they approached.

  “We have the entirety of almost two battalions and they give me a green cop and some sort of Arab,” he said, gesturing at them. He clearly wanted to make sure they understood his displeasure at being paired with them.

  “Shit, I bet Muhammed here knows more shit about bombs than you do, bucko,” he said with slight smile, taking a pull off his cigarette. “You can call me Barnes.”

  Steele smiled. It was more of a baring of his teeth. He had no time for bullshit.

  “Listen up, Pops. I am certified in IED detection and disarmament, and this is Ahmed, not Muhammed. He is going to make sure that no one jumps us while you and I plant charges. You better get used to the fact that we are not what you expected or wanted, because we are going to be the difference between you living, dying, and completing your mission,” he said.

  Barnes’s face soured at his words like he was jealous that Steele was perhaps more disgruntled than he was.

  “So, all the cock measuring aside, you are the expert, but you can’t do this without us. If you can’t or are unwilling, you better be faster than you look because the convoy is pulling out now, and they’re not coming back,” Steele said.

  He had been dealing with guys like Barnes since he had started his career, and they usually fell into a few different categories. Blowhards who talked about all of the bad ass things they had done to gain others’ respect, most of which was a fabrication or a “buddies” story. Quiet workers, ones who had seen and done a lot of shit, but didn’t brag about it or need to relive it. Then there were mentors, men who had seen and done some real shit but didn’t feel the need to rub it in people’s faces; they were mature enough to use their experience to teach and watch out for their fellow teammates. Everyone has a story, it’s a matter of using it to get better or resting on your laurels. Barnes was quickly placing himself in the blowhard category.