ARISEN_Book Thirteen_The Siege

by Michael Stephen Fuchs

  “So what happened to him?”

  The doctor sighed. “That is Royal Marine Younis. Hit by grenade shrapnel. In a scrap with the living. Some Russians, I gather. And sedated.” Sarah’s eyes widened at the mention of Russians, but the doctor ignored this, instead nodding his own head at Handon. “But he is in an induced coma. Which is rather different. Except that it’s equally critical that he rest.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “His prognosis?”

  “He had a major artery nearly severed, which is a very serious injury, as well as a compressed spinal nerve nearby. We surgically repaired the artery, and the swelling on the lumbar nerve has already gone down, with the help of anti-inflammatories.”

  Sarah’s look said that wasn’t a prognosis.

  The doctor looked noncommittal. “He’s obviously strong as a horse, especially for a man getting into middle age. Of course, we see that with a lot of the UKSF lads – SAS, SBS, Special Reconnaissance Regiment. Never know when to pack it in. Don’t know how to quit.” He nodded down at Handon’s quietly breathing form. “And judging by the scars I saw on him in the OR, he’s suffered worse injuries than this one – and bounced back to full operational status. My guess? He’ll be working out again in two weeks, and deploying in six.”

  Sarah started breathing again. She didn’t raise the question of whether there’d be anywhere left to deploy to in six weeks. Or anywhere to work out in two.

  The surgeon straightened up and put his palms on his thighs. “But what he needs now is rest. Serious time in bed. Which is usually the problem for his sort.”

  Sarah smiled. “No. Not great at taking it easy.”

  “When they do it at all. But we need to keep him on his back as long as possible.”

  Sarah spoke carefully. “I need to speak with him.”

  “What did I just tell you?”

  “Please. Only for a minute. It’s important – to both of us.”

  The man shook his head. “Terrible idea. He needs rest and healing, and right now is the most critical moment. There’ll be time to say whatever you’ve got to say later.”

  Sarah held the man’s gaze across the dim air, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. They both knew that what he’d just said, about there being time later, was… well, they both knew. Finally, the doctor exhaled heavily – then got up without a word and returned with a syringe, injecting the contents into a port on Handon’s IV line.

  He began to stir.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

  Handon blinked and squinted one eye against the light, as he tried to work his jaw. His mouth felt as if it had been filled with paste, but then the doctor leaned in, tilted his head for him, and helped him take a few sips of water.

  “Thanks,” Handon said, his head settling back.

  Sarah’s heart leapt at the sound of his voice. It was him. His voice was quiet, but it wasn’t weak. The unbreakable strength that had always lain beneath it was still there.

  “What for?” he asked.

  “What?” she said.

  “What are you sorry for?”

  Sarah swallowed and struggled to speak. She wanted to tell him how she had thought she was going to die, to atone for her sins, to be absolved – not once, but twice. The second time had been holding that cargo deck against the Spetsnaz boarders so Sergeant Lovell could get Dr. Park down to the water and away to safety. And the first had been at Jizan, where she’d thought she was done for, having volunteered to go with Wesley to blow up that desalination plant, put out the inferno, and wash away the dead – but then had been washed away by the flood in turn.

  Both times she had thought she was paying with her life, to progress the mission, to keep hope alive – and to wipe out the stain of all she had done wrong.

  “There was… this shore mission…” But that was all she could manage.

  “I know,” Handon said, his stubbled face kind.

  “What? How…?”

  Handon shook his head. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t even sure how he knew himself. Maybe from a dream? It felt that way. “You did your job,” he said. “You kept the most important man in the world alive. And you got him what he needed to work, to save all of us. You got it done.”

  “I… I thought I was dead.” She choked back a sob, gripping his arm with both hands. “And I was sure I’d never see you again. Forgive me. Please forgive me.” What she meant was: all the drama with Henno, the distractions from his work, the running wild, the failures of discretion on her part. All her sins.

  Handon squeezed her back. “There’s nothing to forgive. I don’t care about any of that, anything that happened before. It doesn’t matter now.” He reached up and touched her face. “You’re alive, I’m still alive, somehow, against all the odds. That’s all that matters. It’s okay. It’s all fine.”

  “Okay, enough,” the doctor said. He reached for Handon’s IV line, holding another syringe.

  “Wait,” Sarah said, stopping his hand with her own. She looked back down to Handon. “There’s something else. I… I’m…” She couldn’t get the word out.

  “You’re pregnant,” Handon said.

  She nodded her head briskly in silence.

  “You’re sure?”

  She nodded again, as fat tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, trying to interpret the look on his face. She vividly remembered him telling her, back beside that creek near her cabin in Michigan, how he had always wanted a child, with the wife he later divorced. But they’d never been able to conceive. She searched his expression, desperate to know what he was thinking, but unable to ask.

  And then she realized he wasn’t looking at her – but rather looking over her shoulder. When she turned, she saw a newcomer standing in the open doorway, watching them.

  Homer.

  He was presumably here also to check on Handon. But he didn’t speak. He just stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. Watching. But when Sarah turned back, the doctor had injected the syringe into the IV port.

  And Handon’s eyes had closed again.

  Rift

  London – The Gherkin

  “Bad news, the truck we came in did a runner.”

  Up on the tenth floor, Jameson and Croucher exchanged a dark look as they listened to this transmission from Simmonds, who was down on the ground floor with the Para. Their shared look said: Yeah, big surprise there.

  “And the other one?” Jameson asked.

  “Still parked out front. But the cab is kind of crowded right this second.”

  Jameson blinked. “With what? Living? Dead?”

  “Bit of both, I’d say. Hard to tell, if I’m honest. Lot of bodies thrashing around inside, windows splashed with blood and gore, that black gunk literally pouring out on the pavement from an open door.”

  “Jesus,” Jameson muttered, but only touched his radio after. “Can you reach it?”

  “Yeah, affirmative – probably. Street’s a bit dodge.”

  Jameson looked up to Croucher, who said, “Even if they fight their way there, everything inside’s going to be covered in infectious slime.”

  Jameson sighed. “And we don’t even know for sure if the radio’s functional.”

  “And no guarantee it’ll reach CentCom even if it is.”

  Jameson hit his radio pressel. “Leave it. Get back up here.”

  “Roger that, boss. Happily.”

  * * *

  Jameson stuck his head out into the elevator lobby, and nodded his thanks at the Tunneler leader.

  “All six lifts,” Hackworth verified.

  Jameson could see that it was so – they were all on this floor, the tenth, and all of their doors had been wedged open. That would keep panicked civilians from getting up there that way, and bringing the dead with them – or just the virus, due to already being infected, which was nearly as bad. Jameson didn’t feel fantastic about locking out living people who were simply looking for sanctuary, trying
to stay alive, like everyone else. But there were a lot of buildings in the City, and they had a lot of floors on them. This one was theirs.

  Jameson went around the corner just as two Marines were unbarricading the stairwell door to let Simmonds and Elliot back in. Both were sheened in sweat and breathing hard, but looked okay.

  “All right, lads?” Jameson asked.

  Simmonds said, “Some civvies tried to follow us back up the stairs – the dead right behind ’em.”

  “And?”

  “Barricaded the stairwell door at ground level best we could. Don’t know how long it’ll hold.”

  “Get yourselves inside,” Jameson said, holding the door for them – however, Elliot not only pushed open the other door himself, but conspicuously wouldn’t meet Jameson’s gaze. He was afraid he knew exactly what the young paratrooper’s grief was, but didn’t have time to deal with it now.

  Back out on the main floor, they were greeted by Croucher, as well as all the other Marines who weren’t guarding either the main stairwell or the back one.

  “Well,” the colour sergeant said. “What now? Sit tight?”

  Jameson took a breath and realized he was genuinely at a loss. Their prospects for fighting on foot across half of London as it was being overrun and falling into chaos weren’t tremendously promising. Plus night was starting to fall. He could see perfectly well out of all the curving glass walls what was going on down at street level, and he didn’t want any part of it. None of them did. Maybe they could commandeer another vehicle, maybe even something big enough to hold them all. But then again probably not – anything running was likely to be in high demand.

  On the other hand, the odds of them getting rescued also weren’t great. I don’t know if anyone’s going to be rescued, Jameson thought. Ever again. Like as not, everyone was done for.

  But they couldn’t give up.

  He figured there were really only two things they absolutely had to do now. One was get back to CentCom – somehow. With its high walls, position south of the river, significant garrison, and extensive armory, it seemed likely to stand longer than anywhere else.

  And two was get themselves back in the fight. In some way that helped, that contributed in the smallest way to whatever tiny hope there remained for London, Britain, the world, and the human race. Go down fighting. Doing their jobs. And all doing it together.

  Maybe that was all that was left for them.

  But still, some tiny frail part of Jameson couldn’t quite believe that all hope was extinguished. Even now. Maybe there was still time for the vaccine to get back. Hell, maybe it was back already, and they just didn’t know it. Maybe the situation could still somehow be salvaged, despite all evidence to the contrary. It was a tiny flickering hope, with hardly any basis, but it just wouldn’t seem to die. He seemed to remember someone saying once that groundless hope, like unconditional love, was the only kind worth having.

  And maybe undying hope was what it meant to be alive.

  Jameson stirred from this reverie to see Private Elliot Walker coming around the corner holding his rifle, another one slung over his shoulder, and cinching up his ruck on his back. Jameson’s eyebrows lowered. “What’s this, then?”

  “I’m off,” Elliot said.

  “Where the hell to? Your unit—”

  “I know exactly what happened to my unit. And so do you.”

  This last phrase caused Jameson’s blood to chill. The young man’s voice was like black ice on blacktop. Jameson knew what this was about – that errant artillery barrage, over which he’d presided, however loosely. And what it had caused – the destruction of Elliot’s entire company. Unable to conceal the reaction on his face, Jameson had also just admitted to Elliot that he knew. It remained unsaid, at least for now. But it was out there, between them. Jameson knew what he’d done. And Elliot knew that he knew.

  Suddenly, Jameson had a bad enemy. And a big problem.

  Elliot looked around the room and said, “Anyone who wants to stay here and die in this stupid building can be my guest. The major here has an impressive record of getting people killed. If you don’t fancy that, come with me.”

  Obviously, the Marines of One Troop didn’t move. But a number of the Tunnelers started shifting uneasily. It was in their DNA to keep moving. And what Elliot was saying seemed to have an effect on some of them. Maybe he had a point. In any case, this was turning into a rift – and a standoff.

  Colour Sergeant Croucher stepped forward, his big frame pulled up to its full height, towering over Elliot. “Put the fucking bergen down, Private. We’re not splitting the force.”

  Elliot neither reacted to nor shrank from this. He just took a breath and gave Croucher a cool look, one that was just this side of contemptuous. Then, still unwilling to look Jameson in the face, he started to turn and walk away.

  But Croucher grabbed his arm, his grip like forged steel. “Don’t you turn your fucking back on me, trooper.”

  Jameson opened his mouth to tell Croucher it was okay, and to stand down. But before he could speak, the sound of breaking glass, not close but clear enough, filled the strained silence of the open air. It was followed by the voice of Akers, coming over the squad net. He’d been assigned to guard the back stairwell.

  “Major, we got company here.”

  “Civilians?”

  “Yeah, them – and the dead chasing and eating ’em.”

  “Shit,” said Croucher, letting go of Elliot and raising his rifle.

  “Will the barricade hold?”

  “A while.”

  Jameson looked at Croucher, who nodded his head skyward. “Up, I reckon.”

  “Agreed,” Jameson said. “Might have more luck with commo from higher up, as well. Take the lifts?”

  Croucher nodded as he started moving toward the elevator lobby. “Why not. Might even outrun those poor bastards taking the stairs – for a while. Everyone out – go, go, go!” he shouted, windmilling one arm. All around, Marines and Tunnelers packed up or rucked up at high speed and got moving.

  “And anyway,” Jameson sighed, standing post and waiting to be last man out, “any damned fool can be uncomfortable.” He wasn’t even sure anyone heard him, but it didn’t matter. He was just pleased he wouldn’t be running any more stairs in full combat kit. And the crisis at least defused the standoff. He could see Elliot was coming with them – little choice.

  When Jameson finally did bring up the rear and exited the floor, he could see panicked faces pressed against the glass in the door to the main stairwell, while two Marines held the barricade in place with their bodies. Looking up to see Croucher shoving people into one of the lifts, he shouted up at him, “How come I’m now more scared of the living mob than the dead one?”

  “Yeah,” Croucher shouted back. “Funny that.”

  The elevator dinged.

  Over Before It Begins

  CentCom – Common

  “Well, that was awkward.”

  The woman just smiled, doing up the last button on her uniform blouse, after the officer and the two RMPs left the clearing to let them get dressed in dignity. “But worth it,” she finally said, retrieving her rifle from where she’d propped it against a tree. They weren’t supposed to go anywhere unarmed now. Of the two of them, only she had complied with this order.

  The man smiled back, tucking in the end of his belt.

  Both knew what they had been doing here was crazy, shagging each other senseless out on the Common. But the whole world had gone mad around them. And a few minutes of joy and human intimacy seemed worth whatever price they had to pay for it. The man smiled again to think they had gotten away with it – or gotten off cheaply, with only a little embarrassment – and she gave him an exaggerated wink in return.

  But then his smile melted away and his eyes levered panic-wide as he saw frantic, palsied, racing bodies erupt from the treeline behind her, spewing like rampaging minions of Hell into the clearing. Mind overloaded with fear, beyond all rational th
ought and reacting on pure animal instinct, he simply turned and sprinted away as fast as his adrenaline-washed legs would go.

  He heard something, and it wasn’t gunfire, and that was puzzling enough that he stuck his chin over his right shoulder and stole a look back. And there she was, his erstwhile lover, still standing tall in that clearing, laying about her with her rifle, barrel held with both hands, knocking swarming dead bodies to the ground in all four quadrants around her—

  And then his head bounced forward again in alarm as a root smashed into the toe of his boot, and he stumbled and lurched forward, but just managed to recover, only to feel an evil and viscous weight slam into him from behind and left, taking him forward and over, slamming him headfirst into a thick tree trunk, and then down onto the ground.

  He managed to scream, once.

  But he was too weak and stunned to defend himself.

  * * *

  Sarah paused at the entrance to the Biosciences complex, hunching slightly out of the breeze that presaged the incoming storm, and which was already starting to make the air misty and sounds muted.

  Yeah, that definitely sounded like a shout, she thought.

  She waited to see if it would recur, or clarify. But there was nothing. It was a strange quirk of psychology that if a noise or disturbance ended before you could figure out what it was, most untrained people will decide it was probably nothing. Sarah was actually a trained and experienced police officer, and knew about this phenomenon.

  But she was also worried about her detour by the med wing, and anxious to find Simon and get back to her job of protecting him. It was obvious that Ali neither liked nor trusted her – certainly not now, if she ever had. Sarah needed to prove her wrong.

  But, even as she turned to go in…

  Cheers erupted from inside the Bio complex.

  That’s REALLY weird… she thought.

  * * *

  Rebecca Ainsley breathed more calmly than she had felt herself do in a long time. She couldn’t seem to enjoy the sensation of having food in her stomach, also for the first time in a while. As usual, she was mainly focused on seeing that the boys got enough to eat – and also now the little girl.