by G. R. Carter
Morton looked over the crowd of guards, suited in their armor and double-checking one another. “Team leaders, what’s your count?”
Each reported in on the ten men and women assigned to their group. In the end, Morton counted eleven missing, still on the other side of the doors.
“Okay, team leaders meet me in the control room, let’s go. Anybody from the Ready Response Team still here?” Two men raised their hand. “McCoy is doing a quick inventory in the armory, I want you to give him a hand. Identify all weapons we have available. Go now.”
“Uh, Sarge?” one of the response team members spoke up. “Shouldn’t we go out and look for Wilson and the rest of our squad?”
“Sorry, guys, I don’t think that’s possible. If they’re able, they’ll make it back to the door. I’ve got eleven men and women on the other side of that door to worry about first.” He thought about how the words sounded. He’d already made the decision that Wilson and his men were dead outside. He wasn’t going to waste assets finding corpses in the dark when he had a chance to save those potentially alive. He already knew that decision would linger in his soul until his own death.
He went up to the control room with the team leaders, walking as close to the balcony as possible without being seen by those down below. He didn’t turn to them right away, terror trying to freeze his mind. He wasn’t trained for something like this. He carried out orders, he didn’t make the plans.
His mind slammed repeatedly against a dead end. How could he possible wade into the middle of two thousand inmates and rescue his guards? He didn’t even know where they were in the multi-wing three-story labyrinth. Was it worth risking the lives of men and women already safe?
Of course it was. No self-respecting Eel would leave another behind in the middle of the Zoo.
Morton steeled himself. “I’m only going to take volunteers,” he said, still looking out into the darkened cafeteria. The light of the solar storms filtered through the roof, casting moving shadows. Noise was building from the people packed in below. Every second cost him a chance to get his people back. He needed to get this moving.
“Probably the question is who you’ll be leaving behind, Sarge,” Troy Watson said. He was the squad leader with the most seniority; they’d served together for twenty years. He was a good man, in Morton’s opinion. Cautious to a fault at times, though that certainly wasn’t the worst personality trait in their line of work.
He nodded with the warmth pride brought. “I'm thinking a team of twenty. Figure we have about an hour of good charge on the tactical suits and batons.”
“If we don’t have to engage, that is,” Watson said.
“I’m counting on the Syn having kicked in already. Hoping between food and their medication, the sharks will be kicked back.”
“And the third shift? They won’t have food or Syn yet. They’ll be cranky.”
Morton sighed. Watson was right. Since the power went out in the middle of the second supper shift, the third group would be waiting. “Nothing to be done for it now. Another reason we need to go right away. Every second we waste we’re closer to Syn withdrawal.”
“How many Eels do we have to pick from?”
“We had seventy here tonight. Fifty-nine are already assembled. I’ll want two of you with me,” Morton said before Watson tried to cut him off. “I’m going, Troy. I’m not going to sit back here and ask you guys to do this without me. Besides, I need to get an idea of what we’re facing out there.”
Watson looked determined to argue. Morton stayed firm. “We’re going hats and bats, Troy. Probably the worst thing we’ve ever faced. I’m leading this, and you’re staying here as ranking officer while I’m gone.”
Before Watson could object, Morton was past him and back down to the assembly area. He asked for volunteers. He was proud, but not surprised, when everyone raised their hands. He picked twenty men, split them into fives, and ordered a weapons and suit check.
When everything was ready, Morton pulled Watson to the side. “The men in the holding cells were selected by their tribes as troublemakers. I don’t need to tell you to be extra careful, but be extra careful.”
Morton chose his next words carefully. “You’ve probably noticed you’ve got most of our lower-tier Eels here, too. I think we’ve got some Synners on staff, though I can’t prove it. The union has offered to help anyone with problems, but with the medical privacy laws there wasn’t much we could do.”
Watson nodded. “I know, Sarge. I’ll keep an eye on them. Just get our people back safe. That includes you.”
They shook hands and Morton walked to the heavy steel door leading out into the back maintenance hallway. Going through the cafeteria would be no good; this was the most direct path into the holding areas and the front office. “Stay together, keep your discipline, focus on breathing,” Morton said and lowered the face shield on his helmet.
He waved two men forward to operate the latch, nodded and simply said, “Breach.”
The door slid open to a darkened hallway, illuminated only by the soft glow of battery operated emergency lights. He began to take quick, measured strides. His heart nearly stopped as three men jumped out from one of the doorways before they made it halfway down the first hallway. Instinctively Morton raised his baton. Twenty people in motion pushed at his back, nearly causing him to stumble. “Halt!” he yelled, as much to his men as to the three unidentified threats.
The three were now running towards him at a spring. “Sarge! Sarge! It’s us!” The light was just enough for him to recognize them as three of his eleven missing Eels. They made the distance in an instant, losing all discipline and almost hugging Morton. He barely stopped them before his suit could discharge the current into their bodies.
“Alright, alright, settle down,” Morton ordered them. “What are you doing down here? Why didn’t you come to the assembly area?”
One of the three, a recent hire named Santos, answered in a nervous stream of sounds. “We were getting third shift ready to move down to the cafeteria when the lights went out. Holy Moses, I ain’t never been so terrified. We didn’t have our suits, just our batons. One of the guys, he ain’t with us now, he’s still back there—man, he just panicked and started running for the gate room. But he couldn’t get in because the facial recognition didn’t work—the thumbprints didn’t work neither, you know? So he just starts banging on the door, trying to get in.”
“Wasn’t anyone in the gate room?”
“Yeah, but it all happened so fast. They were just staring at him through the glass. Then the dude freaks, starts running back down the hall past the cells. One of the sharks just reached out and clotheslined him. Dropped him straight down. He hit his head on the concrete, out cold. Saw blood coming from the back of his head,” Santos said.
He was panting, and he bent over to catch his breath. He stood back up with his hands on his head and continued. “Anyways, man, that shark, I think it was one of Little Adolph’s boys, he grabs Hodges’ keys. Yeah, that was the guy, Hodges, and just unlocks his cell door. I ain’t never seen that before! We just always used the thumbprints, you know? I never even thought about these keys, doing it manual.”
Morton was fifty shades of red under his helmet. All the time spent training for emergencies, screening for those who could stay calm, procedures and protocols—all out the window within minutes of electricity failing.
He took two deep breaths. “Did you try to stop that White Sheet from getting out of his cell?”
Santos hesitated. His panic was subsiding enough to realize he’d deserted his post. “Both those Sheets were out of the cell in a flash, man. They ran down and just started unlocking every cell—well, the cells of their tribe. There was like ten of them out in a flash,” he said quietly, apologetically.
“You ran?”
Santos nodded slowly. “I made for the gate room…these guys let me in.” He jerked his thumb to the man and woman standing behind him. The two were staring at the floor, feeling the shame o
f the other Eels in full tactical gear staring at them.
Morton hesitated. A very significant portion of him wanted to use the baton in his hand, to strike down the three cowards where they stood. He decided against it, if only to preserve the dwindling charge his weapon had left. He tried to make the best out of the situation.
“You got one minute to suit up. You’re going with us.”
“Dude, you gotta be crazy. No way I’m going with you, I’ll quit this stupid job before I set one foot—”
Morton had had enough and brought his baton across on Santos’ arm. The current discharged through Santos’ skin and pulsed into his nervous system. Santos let out a surprised yelp as his body flew across the hall and into the wall. Every Eel stood and stared at him, unconscious and twitching in the dim light.
Morton turned to the two still standing. No explanation or warning was needed. “Tell me what you saw. Any intel we can use to get the rest out.”
The female guard stammered. “Uh, well, Sarge, we got out through the officers’ hall. We were just running…the first door we came to after I got my keys out…”
“Come on! Spit it out!” Morton yelled.
“We thought we heard footsteps behind us, I hurried and got the master key in, got it open just in time, too…”
“And?”
“Well, we sorta left the keys in the door. We were just dead sprinting down here. Santos said he had a key hidden for the maintenance tunnel…”
“So he was lying about not knowing how the keys worked?” Morton cut in.
The woman was holding back tears. Her companion was in shock at the events and the sight of Santos laying on the floor at the hands of Morton. “Sarge, I really didn’t even know the guy…Santos, I mean.”
“Don’t worry about him, he’s not dead. Remember your training, he’s just out cold for a little bit. Maybe a concussion.” Morton turned to McCoy standing right behind him. A question came to mind and he turned back to the two frightened guards. “If the master key was in the door, why didn’t they follow you down here?”
“Santos slid some kind of metal through the door. We heard them pounding, trying to get in. The noise was just…” The male guard had now lost his composure and was sobbing uncontrollably.
Morton fought down bile. He sincerely wanted to hit this man, too. Usually he was so protective of his people…what had changed? They’d never faced anything like this, either. Would he have done anything different?
He took one more look at Santos, now stirring. “Pound on the door back there,” he pointed behind the group. “They’ll let you in. Tell Lieutenant Watson what happened. Tell him to hold Santos under guard until I get back.” They both nodded and stooped to pick Santos up under the arms. He thought he saw the woman whisper something in Santos’ ear, but couldn’t be sure. He considered sending one of the Eels he trusted back with them, but he needed every steady hand out here. Hopkins was likely dead, but finding these three alive gave him hope there might still be others hiding. He hoped he wouldn’t be so hard on them as he had been on Santos.
Chapter 20
Ridgeview Hunting Lodge
Rural Brown County, Illinois
Night Two of the Great Reset
Ridgeview Lodge’s long gravel driveway formed a T with what had been a township road when funding for such things still existed. You had to be a local or lost to get here without GPS…and since the solar storms had begun, a few years back, even the fancy map systems couldn't truly be relied on. A passerby couldn’t see the main residence or the outbuildings from here, obscured as they were by the bend in the lane and the treeline it disappeared behind. Tonight a yellowish glow rising above the treetops told anyone looking hard enough exactly where the lodge was.
A steady exhaust rumble from a diesel tractor echoed off the surrounding timber, growing louder by the minute. Two bright white lights pointed down between the ditches, one beam directly down, illuminating the tires and the heavy metal chassis. He could hear voices echoing over the engine, not clear enough to determine the words, but loud enough to recognize the unique sounds of excited people.
The tractor pulled up to the end of the lane where Sy Bradshaw sat on his old Honda four-wheeler. He had a shotgun in his lap and a lantern in his hand.
“Hello!” the tractor driver yelled. “Heard there was big party going on at the Bradshaw place. Thought we might crash it, if that’s alright.” Nervous laughter came from the flatbed hay wagon attached to the back of the tractor. At least a dozen men, women, and children were bundled up and huddled against the cool night air. The glowing rivers of light up above joined with the artificial light of the tractor, allowing Sy to see faces in decent detail. The kids were thrilled with the big adventure, the parents looked more concerned behind fake smiles.
“Alright, Mr. Mayfield. Just follow the fire pots up the lane to the lodge. Can't miss the crowd. You can unload there.” Sy pictured the lane in his mind, he could have made the walk home blindfolded.
The man waved from the seat of the tractor, and the rest of his flock waved from the wagon. As Mayfield slowly made the turn onto the lane, Sy could hear several people shout thanks to him. He simply waved back and nodded his head.
Mayfield’s tractor picked up a little speed as the wagonload straightened out and smoothed from the gentle rocking of the corner. This was the seventh group to show up so far tonight, the fruit of an afternoon spent inviting locals for miles around to stay at the lodge for the evening. He had no idea so many would take him up on it. He remained skeptical this was the right move, but Kara had insisted. Usually when his sister had something in her mind, it was best to go along. Not the least reason being she was correct more often than not.
Tonight would be a long one. Sy hadn’t thought too much about where he’d sleep. Between keeping the generator running and keeping a lodge full of people warm and fed, he figured the first chance he’d get some sleep might be in the morning when the night’s terrors were asleep, too.
***
Kara shut her office door and plopped down into a creaky old office chair, exhaling loudly as she landed a little harder than intended. She was used to working long hours, physical labor as well as mental, but there had been few moments in the last 48 hours to spare for herself. She was swimming against a current, fighting one fire after another. Add in the previous week’s preparation for the arrival of VIPs…she could feel herself losing the battle against exhaustion. Experience told her if she didn’t come up with a solid plan, and quick, she’d be playing catch up indefinitely.
The room she occupied was tiny. Sy created this office for her out of what began as a storage closet. The space was a cocoon against the constant demands of small business management – good training for the absurd scenario she found herself facing. She needed the solace of her cluttered little cubby. Removing distraction for even a few moments might allow the steady concentration to think through the ramifications of having a small village living on her property, a challenge even with reliable electricity and communications. Every unknown troubled her. How long would everyone be here? A day, a week? She couldn’t imagine having to host this group longer than that.
What about the clients who were supposed to arrive after the Casey group left? The lodge needed every booking to stay afloat. She couldn’t keep going back to ask Ben for more money…
She stopped herself before tears began. Ben’s money and gifts would stop coming now. She mourned not out of greed, but of loneliness. The comfort to know someone thought enough of her, and her son, to freely and gladly shower them with gifts, was ripped away.
She looked up at stacks of books on top of her desk. Ben purchased nearly every one of the titles for her. Her and Max looked forward to their weekly mail delivery, usually at least one book for her and several for her son. The paper versions were a rare luxury these days, as much an antique as the desk they sat on. Ben didn’t care. He loved books and loved to buy titles he found interesting. The ones Max received were c
olorful and entertaining. Kara’s were of a much different persuasion. She chuckled to herself as she read some of the stack. Identifying and Harvesting Edible and Medicinal Plants in the Wild, The Encyclopedia of Country Living, The Survival Medicine Handbook, Basic Butchering of Livestock and Game. She’d chided him once about sending something fiction instead of what she referred to as textbooks. Ben’s response? The mailman brought a stack that included One Second After and Alas, Babylon.
He was trying to help, and she appreciated it. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she found the subject matter too depressing to finish. Ben tried his best to convince her, insisting the knowledge had changed his life and priorities. He promised what could be found between the covers would be worth more than gold someday. The notion seemed silly at the time, but some of those stories stuck in her head now, made her feel like she was a character living in one of the books.
A voice and a knock came through the heavy wooden door. “Kara?”
When the office door was closed, the lodge staff understood to give the boss time and space, even Sy. Unfortunately for Kara, most of the people milling around the lodge tonight didn’t know the rules about interrupting her train of thought.
She tapped her pencil on some sketches she’d made for a new greenhouse on the side of the barn. The design was all hers, ready to be built with a stack of windows taken out of the old school. She wondered if she’d still have to wait for approval to get them now? Her mind wandered to other projects she had planned, then to the winter garden she needed to make sure was well mulched, then to their seed supply. Did they still have time to get some more planted? Probably not at this late date, but if she could get the greenhouse built…
“Kara?” the voice repeated, a little louder this time. Clearly, they weren’t going away.
Kara sighed, turned her chair slightly and opened the door.
Margie Gray’s entirely too energetic face appeared in the opening. “Oh hey, sorry to bother you. Should I come back at another time?”
