by Mike Kraus
The group of people overrunning the airfield was separate from the group at the Los Angeles Port, but the people comprising both groups had very similar motivations. In both cases the individuals in the groups had either voluntarily refused to join the survivor cities, been refused entry or been kicked out for some reason. Driven by a lack of food, water and medicine the crowd swarmed through the base as they broke into any building they could in search of supplies.
With only a skeleton crew working at the airfield there aren’t enough soldiers and airmen to bring the looting under control without slaughtering dozens or more. The commander, faced with the prospect of losing a key link in the supply line between the port and the survivor cities receiving aid, was at a loss of what to do. His short-term solution was to evacuate any non-critical buildings and pull everyone on the airfield into a central location where they could defend themselves. Once this was complete he radioed his superiors to get instructions for what to do next.
Frank and Linda watched the looters as they spread out across the airfield. Frank finally asked the question that both of them were thinking. “Any idea what we should do?”
“Not go in through the front entrance for starters.”
“Great idea. What else?”
Linda scanned the perimeter of the airfield and pointed off to the right. “There’s a side gate down there. We can probably get in that way.”
Frank turned the wheel and accelerated as he replied. “You saw all those people in uniform running for the hangar, right? If we go in there and run up to the door they’re liable to shoot us.”
“They won’t be there for long.”
Frank looked at Linda, not sure if he heard her correctly or not. “I… wait, what? Why not?”
“Look at those people. There’s more streaming in from the city beyond. There weren’t enough weapons on that airfield to hold off that large of a group when we passed through a couple days ago and I doubt they’ve gotten any reinforcements in. They’ll be forced to leave soon, probably to retreat to the east somewhere.”
“So you want to wait for them?”
“Exactly. Pull in through the gate if it’s open and we’ll wait just inside. If it’s still locked up we’ll wait outside for them to leave, follow them and…” Linda trailed off.
“And what? Ask them to kindly not shoot us while we flag them down as they’re running away from a bunch of looters?”
“You’re always with the jokes, aren’t you?” Linda sighed and nodded. “But yeah, basically.”
***
Linda’s intuition proved correct as it took just over thirty minutes for the commander in charge of the airfield to give the order to evacuate. Three more civilians died as infighting broke out among the looters and there was enough light and heavy weaponry sitting in the hangar with the military personnel that the commander knew he couldn’t let it fall into civilian hands. After radioing for orders and not hearing back for what felt like ages he was about to give the order on his own volition when a response came through ordering everyone at the airfield to evacuate.
While the commander thought that the order was due to the looters overrunning the airfield the truth was that the situation happened to coincide with news that a separate group had overrun the Los Angeles port. With the port no longer available to receive emergency aid the airfield was rendered useless and everyone stationed there was ordered to proceed east to a rendezvous point where they would await reinforcements to go back and retake both the airfield and the port.
Linda and Frank watched as a convoy of vehicles sped out of the hangar and headed for the gate near where Frank had parked the car. “Let them pass and get on the road. Once they’re out we’ll drive after them and try to get close enough to show them the ID cards and badges. With any luck they’ll stop and talk to us.”
Frank nodded and sank down into his seat, not wanting to get spotted by the convoy. Their SUV was parked just off of the road outside the airfield and he thought that they were hidden relatively well. Each of the vehicles in the convoy sped past the SUV without slowing down—until the end. The final two vehicles, a pair of armed Humvees, screeched to a halt in front of the SUV and a group of airmen wielding rifles jumped out and advanced on Frank and Linda.
“Get out now!” The one in the lead shouted at Frank and Linda while a pair of his companions hung back near their vehicles, keeping a nervous eye turned toward the looters still spreading out across the airfield.
Linda put her hands up, gripping her ID card in one hand and nodded furiously in response as she whispered out of the side of her mouth to Frank. “They must have seen us waiting here and thought we were going to ambush them. Just get your card and your badge, get out and keep your hands up.”
Frank raised his hands and held up his card as well before reaching slowly for the door handle. “I’m getting really tired of having guns pointed at me.”
Chapter 12
The journey to Aref’s safehouse is made all the more painful by his aching wounds and muscles. He mistypes the keycode three times before finally getting it right and barely managing to not lock himself out. He stumbles through the door and closes it behind him and is immediately drawn to the thin mattress in the corner.
No! Aref thinks, scolding himself for being weak enough to even consider sleep. He hobbles to a chair in front of a small desk and sits down, wincing at the new pains in his back even as the ones in his legs are relieved. He opens a bottle of water on the desk and downs it in a few seconds, each gulp bringing relief to his dry mouth and throat. He throws the bottle across the room and it clatters to the floor, rolling beneath the slats and cinderblocks that form the frame for his bed.
Located in the basement of a residential home purchased nearly a year ago by a shell corporation the safehouse is dirty and simple but it provides everything Aref needs to carry out his mission. A small generator with several cans of gas sits at the far side of the room attached to a metal pipe to vent its fumes up and out of the structure. A cluster of large plastic totes sit nearby, each containing essentials such as clothing, medicine, food and water that can be easily sealed in the totes in case of flooding or other emergencies.
Radio equipment hangs from the wall above Aref’s small desk, connected both to the generator and to a set of large batteries hanging on the opposite wall. While the batteries are intended only for emergencies Aref flips a switch next to them and watches as the lights on the radios begin to glow. The generator, while relatively quiet, would still let off far more noise than he feels comfortable with.
Aref takes a deep breath and glances at a clock on the wall. He is over an hour late in checking in with Omar and knows full well that the delay may mean he will be cut off from all communications and supplies. Omar is exceptionally paranoid as the countdown to his final phase approaches and any deviances from established plans will not be tolerated. In spite of this Aref still feels an unwavering loyalty to Omar. Aref has worked closely with Omar for years and sacrificing himself to ensure that Omar’s plan succeeds feels to him like a worthy end.
He picks up the transmitter, tunes to the appropriate frequency and keys in his authentication code on the radio. A few seconds later a light on the device glows green and he depresses the transmission button.
“LT-8 calling base. This is LT-8 calling base. Please respond.”
The only response is static. Aref waits for a moment before trying again. “Base this is LT-8. I understand that I’m late with my report and that I’ve probably been burned. I have mission-critical information you need to hear. Please confirm reception and recording of my transmission.”
Static again follows Aref’s call, but it is suddenly interrupted to a squawk and a reply. “LT-8, this is base. Your status is burned. No further transmissions will be accepted.”
Aref slams his fist down on the table, sending a few empty cans and a couple of pencils flying into the air. “If you don’t listen to this information then the mission may be over before it
even starts! Please confirm you are receiving and recording!”
Aref waits for the reply, but it doesn’t come. Minutes tick by slowly and Aref puts his head down on the desk and closes his eyes. He leaves the radio on, hoping that someone who picked up his transmission from the base of operations will be lenient enough to let him tell them what’s going on. He is just about to consider shutting off the radio when a new voice cuts through the static.
“LT-8 this is base. Your status is burned.” There is a brief pause before the voice continues. “Confirming reception and recording. You have two minutes.”
Aref raises his head, his eyes growing wide as his breathing intensifies. He fumbles with the transmitter and pauses before pressing the button as he tries to compose himself and decide on the exact words to say. “They know about the bombs. She knows about the bombs. She… tried to break me.” Aref stops talking and tries to remember what he told Linda. His knowledge about the bombs was minimal due to Omar’s insistence on secrecy but he never thought he would tell Omar’s nemesis anything. The way she spoke to him, though. Threatening his family, then speaking to his fears as she probed and twisted, pulling the bits of information from him. He shakes his head, deciding that a lie is better than the truth. “I resisted. Told her nothing of importance. But she knows somehow.”
Aref pauses to catch his breath and collect his thoughts. The voice speaks again, surprising Aref. “Shey’taan? She is back again?”
Aref nods before remembering he is using a radio. “Yes. It’s her. And a man, someone who’s helping her. There may be another, somewhere else, who they’re communicating with. I’m not sure.”
“She knows of the bombs? How?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you tell her, LT-8?” The voice drops an octave and grows thin and sinister. Aref hesitates in his answer and in that split second of hesitation he knows that his failure will never be forgiven. There is a click and static returns. Aref slowly reaches for the switch to the battery bank and flicks it off. The lights on the radio go dim as the capacitors discharge and the room is again awash in darkness. Aref sits back in his chair and closes his eyes, no longer fighting the urge to sleep. His failure, though monumental, will not be the downfall of the operation. Omar will ensure that the woman—the shey’taan—is dealt with in the harshest possible way.
A few hours later, long after Omar has dispatched men and vehicles to deal with the woman, Aref gasps as he awakens. He sits straight up in his bed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He looks around the room slowly. It is still dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of a few lights on the battery packs on the wall and a dim night light plugged in near the bed. The small lights cast shadows across the room, blanketing it in what a child version of Aref would find to be exceptionally frightening shapes. As an adult Aref has no business being afraid of the dark. Except, of course, when something else is in it.
“Why.” The word is a question as much as it is a statement. It comes from a dark corner of the room, where a figure has absconded with the chair from Aref’s desk. The figure is masked in darkness, enveloped by it as though it is a physical blanket to be wrapped and draped around one’s body.
Though the underground room is cold Aref can feel sweat pouring from his forehead and neck and dripping down his chest and back. His teeth chatter nervously, uncontrollably, and he feels the sudden urge to vomit. “Wh—what did you—” He tries to speak but the words are difficult to form. His tongue feels engorged, like its filling his entire mouth and is about to shatter his teeth.
The figure shifts slightly, uncrossing its legs and then re-crossing them in the opposite direction. “What did I do? Show you more mercy than you deserve.” The words are spoken with raw emotion and Aref feels tears well up in his eyes though he doesn’t know whether it’s from what the figure said or from what the figure did to him.
“I—” Aref tries to speak again but the figure shushes him.
“Shh. Speaking will only make it more painful.” Next comes a long sigh. “You were once strong. Able to resist. Why did you let her break you?”
“My… family.” Aref chokes out the word, distinctly aware that the figure just told him not to speak before asking him a question.
“She threatened your family? That was all it took?” Aref can’t see the figure but he can sense that it is shaking its head. “Someone so promising. So strong. So weak. So ineffectual.”
Aref feels his limbs grow numb. He falls back on his mattress, not even bothering with trying to move. He knows it is useless. The poison—he doesn’t know the exact type—has worked its way through most of his body. His brain remains relatively alert even as his internal organs and autonomic functions begin to shut down. His heartbeat grows erratic, his breathing slows and he feels his body slip away before him. He tries to move his lips to tell the figure he is sorry but it is far too late.
The figure stands slowly and moves out of the shadows. He places a hand on Aref’s face and closes the dead man’s eyelids. He shakes his head before sighing, turning around and leaving the dingy basement. Once outside a pair of men go back into the basement, each of them carrying a can of gasoline and a lighter. The basement and all of its contents are soon ablaze, snuffing out all traces of Aref and the fact that he was ever there.
As Omar watches the flames and contemplates the fate of his lieutenant he hears the soft padding of approaching footsteps. “Sir. They have fled. We are pursuing.” The man speaks quietly with a smooth, accented voice.
Omar nods once. “Ensure you delay them as long as possible. I will see how fast the timetable can be moved up.” He refuses to give in to the twinges of doubt that play at the edge of his mind and he dismisses them as swiftly as they appear. His upper lip curls as he speaks the nickname he gave to the woman long ago who still dogs him even after all these years.
“Stop the shey’taan. No matter the cost.”
Chapter 13
“What the hell are you two doing out here?” It had taken a couple minutes of shouting and swearing on both Linda’s and the airmen’s parts to get to the point where the airmen were no longer actively pointing their rifles at Frank and Linda. The one who had shouted at them initially—one Robert Brightman—was still clearly pissed off, though, and he wanted to know exactly what they were doing.
“We’re working with the CIA, and we—”
“Your badges make that clear, but that doesn’t answer my question. Why are you parked out here watching us?”
“Casey Schultz got us this SUV to help us get to the Los Angeles Port. We’ve been doing surveillance and left there a short time ago with a man connected to the initial attacks.”
“The… attacks?” Robert shook his head. “You mean the bombs and biological shit?”
“Exactly.”
He was about to reply when another airman ran up behind him and tapped him frantically on the shoulder. “We just got word that the port’s being overrun. We need to get moving right now.”
“The port?” Robert turned back to Frank and Linda. “That’s where you two were doing surveillance, right? Do you know anything about this?”
Frank and Linda both shook their heads and she replied. “No. We had a brief run-in with a crowd of survivors just north of the docks, though. That’s when we lost the suspect connected to the attacks. The crowd started rushing us and we had to leave in a hurry.”
“Brightman! We’ve got to go!” Another airman ran up behind Robert. “A few of them are dispersing from the airfield and heading our way.”
Robert nodded and glanced at Linda and Frank. “Grab your gear and get into the Humvee. When we get to the rendezvous you can talk to my lieutenant and explain all this to him.”
The ride through the city was bumpy and fast. As the landscape changed from thick walls of burned-out residential and commercial structures into more open areas Frank was the first to spot the cluster of military vehicles that were parked on a baseball field just off the
road. Instead of stopping near the end of the line with the other vehicles Robert’s driver took them to the center of the field where a few portable tables had been set up with maps and communications equipment.
Robert was the first out of the Humvee followed by Frank and Linda. They both had their packs on their backs and their rifles on their shoulders making them—aside from the lack of uniforms—blend in moderately well with the soldiers and airmen. They walked up to the table where Lieutenant Jackson was listening intently to a woman with a streak of blood across her face and her arm in a sling.
“We’re still missing a few soldiers but we think they got out safely. They may have taken the long way around, though, so it could be another hour before they get here.”
Jackson looked at his watch and furrowed his brow. “We’ll give them and the others an hour more, max, then we’re moving on the port.”
“Sir?” Robert stepped forward, taking the mention of the port to jump into the conversation. “I have a couple folks here who have some information related to the port and the attacks in general.”
Lieutenant Jackson, a short man with bright red hair mostly covered by a camo-colored cap, turned and looked Frank and Linda over top to bottom. “You two are?”
“Linda Rollins. Former Marine Raider.” She held out the badge given to her by Sarah along with the ID card they received at Dulles. “We’re working on behalf of the CIA to figure out what the hell’s going on in the country and how to find those responsible for it.”
Jackson glanced at the badge and ID before looking at Frank. “Frank Richards. Right?”
Frank nodded, somewhat unsure of what to say since he had no idea how the man in front of him knew his name. Before he or Linda could speak, though, Lieutenant Jackson turned to speak loudly to the men and women surrounding him. “All right, everyone. We’re moving out in an hour. Check your gear and prepare for potential hostile engagements. Details will be coming before we head out.” He then looked back at Linda and Frank and motioned at them. “Follow me.”
