“Is that a VEPR?”
“Oh, yeah,” Larry said. Pete hefted the super-sized shotgun and grunted at the weight. “Should be a few spare magazines in my duffel, too.” He paused for a moment, then said, “But you came here for a reason, looks like. What’s up?”
Pete slung the VEPR and crossed his arms over his chest. He hadn’t worked out in his head how we wanted to spill the beans. He’d been expecting that Larry would be out for a bit, and give him some time to collect his thoughts. Now, though . . .
Don’t wuss out on him. You’ve held out long enough — he needs to know.
Pete nodded to himself. “You’re right, I need to fill you in on something.”
Larry caught the tone of his voice and cracked an eye to study his face. “What, is Miles okay? Is my leg worse than Tish is letting on?”
“Last I heard, Miles is fine, and you’ll be dancing in no time.”
“Couldn’t dance before.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled. “I should have told you this a while back, but to be honest with you, I wasn’t sure if I was going off of my rocker or not. And yeah, I know y’all have been whispering about me spending so much time up in the observation post. Well, I’ve got a damn good reason for it.”
“I’m telling you, it’s going to work,” Miles argued. “Look, the elevator motor has some pretty heavy duty capacitors. That way, if the power goes out, there’s still enough juice to run the elevators to the ground floor and let everyone out. Disaster recovery 101. We temporarily disconnect the server room and run a new cable to the inputs on the elevator motor. With me so far?”
“What happens to the servers when they lose power?” Ross asked. “Do we need to worry about losing data?”
Miles shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. The rack units have uninterruptible power supplies built in; when they detect a power loss they shut down the systems if the batteries drop below a certain level. Plus the drives in there are all solid-state — no moving parts. It’s redundant six ways from Sunday. Trust me on that, I checked.” He shrugged. “Depending on how long it takes us to get what we need the room may not even shut down.”
“Fair enough,” Ross said. “I’m listening.”
“All right, so depending on the voltage output of the battery packs we wait until the elevator capacitor charges. Once it’s ready, we run it up from the ground floor to the server room using the maintenance controls up here. We get in and take it down to the ninth floor. We get to the server room and get out with the right blade. Ride back up here in style and disconnect the elevator. It drops back down to the first floor on emergency power, and we boot the server room back up. Only this time the authentication server is powered-up on the local network, and I can log in.” I hope.
“Two shooters in the elevator, one up top in reserve,” the Chief mused. “I like the sound of that better than one at a time down a ladder.”
“Building off of that,” Janacek interjected, “what’s the top of the elevator car look like? It would be a hell of a lot safer to not jump down into a potential kill box until we’re sure that we’re not ringing a dinner bell when the doors open up.”
“No idea,” Miles admitted. “But we don’t have to open the doors; the controls have numbers for each floor and another pair of toggles for opening and closing the doors. Once it’s charged, we can run it up and check it out from above.”
“I like that better,” Ross mused. “Who knows if the elevator is empty right now?”
“Cheery as always, Mikey,” grinned the Chief. “What do you need to get started, Mr. Matthews?”
Miles shrugged. “There are plenty of tools. Maybe another set of hands?”
“Sounds right up your alley, Janacek,” Ross ordered. “I’m going to see if I can get Cartwright or Camp Perry on the horn, keep them in the loop.”
Janacek slapped Miles on the shoulder. “Let’s do it, nugget.”
Chapter 27
Dantzler was too short on sleep to put up with Lloyd’s grumbling.
Just before noon, he lost his patience for the passive-aggressive remarks that the other man seemed to view as both biting and clever when they were nothing of the sort. He lowered his binoculars and turned away from his study of the Wild as he casually remarked, “Lloyd, if you’re unhappy with the terms of your position, we can discuss your exit from this venture.” He stopped speaking until the silence became uncomfortable, then added, “You can stay behind. We’ll rough you up a bit, tie you up and throw you under one of the beds. When you’re found, no one will believe you were ever involved. But trust me — this will be your last chance to blow this Popsicle joint on your own terms. When the military shows up in force, that’s all she wrote. You can say bye-bye to your little taste off the top. Uncle Sam don’t go in for graft and corruption unless it’s his skim. Hell, for that matter, they may even draft your ass and send you off to rid the world of cannibals. But I need to know, right now. And if you’re in, shut the fuck up.” By now Ben and Victor had drifted out of the cabin to see what all the fuss was about. No one else was in earshot; Dantzler wasn’t stupid enough to spout off in front of witnesses. “And the same goes for you two,” he added as he stared them down. Both men broke eye contact and looked as though they’d rather be somewhere else.
Lloyd held out both hands. “I’m cool, boss, I’m cool. You just got me out of sorts over last night.”
“You the boss, Lloyd? You expect me to clear everything with you before I do it?”
“No sir, not at all.”
Sir. Dantzler liked that, and for a moment, he entertained the notion of not dumping Lloyd’s corpse in the river when they got to the boat. Just for a moment, though. “Well, let me lay it out for you boys, then. Just this one time. We’re golden for fuel. You would know that if you listened to anything I said yesterday. But it came at a price. Now, I don’t know about y’all, but I kind of feel like there’s more to life than MREs and boiled river water. So here I am last night thinking to myself, hey, since Buck didn’t make it back, his stash should still be intact. Booze, guns, ammo, who the hell knows what he wanted to hide away from Piper and the boys. Should have been a milk run to check his cubbyhole. Yeah, in the end, it wasn’t. But I ain’t taking any shit over it, either. It’s just bad luck, is all.”
“It’s all anyone is talking about in the cafeteria,” Victor observed. “Sounds like Carter Burke got messed up pretty good, and Larry, too, but he’s awake, I guess.” He gave Lloyd an accusing glare. “And like you said, he didn’t see your face, else the rest of the law dogs would be all over us. They’re not even talking about you — everyone is talking about the killer.”
“All the better,” Dantzler declared. “Let them chase their tails trying to hunt down their little knife murderer. After last night, I reckon they got about zero chance of figuring out who it is unless they catch her in the act.”
“Her? A chick killed Ronnie and gutted Carter?” In point of fact, the attacker stabbed him in the back, but Dantzler didn’t feel the need to correct the rumor mill. It made his getaway look that much better.
“Yup. I don’t know how good a look she got at me, but I got a good glimpse at her.”
Lloyd chimed in. “Hell, boss, who is it?”
Dantzler waved the question off. “Doesn’t matter, we’re out of here tonight. Ben, your last batch still on track to load up after dark?”
“Should be.”
Good. Contrary to his explanation, Dantzler wasn’t planning on using the meth as trade goods, no matter who they ran into. He figured he was going to need it to stay sharp when he was by himself out in the Wild. The one drawback to this entire plan was the loss of being secure in a good night’s sleep, but the military showing up was all the hint he needed. It had been a good run, but he needed to get out of here. Even the neighborhood watch supervision of the council had been annoying at times. He’d lose his damn mind under military governance, or God forbid if he himself got drafted. Ivan Dantzler risked his ass for
no man without adequate compensation.
“All right. So, the plan is we roll out right around midnight. I want everyone sharp, so rotate shifts and catch as many Z’s as you can. One person on watch at a time. Anyone asks, we’re sharing a stomach bug. That will keep ‘em all out of our hair.” He tossed his binoculars to Lloyd. “You’re up, buddy.”
Dantzler clambered down the ladder on the side of the cabin to the ground. As he pulled open the door, a final thought occurred to him. “And just in case — if a good-looking brunette comes around looking for me, I ain’t here.”
The job went more smoothly than Miles had any right to expect. The PowerWall units were daisy-chained together in a neat row. The last unit in the line connected to the electrical conduit that led into the server room below them. The difficult part was splicing compatible ends on either side of an electrical cable that was long to reach the elevator motor inputs while still being of a heavy enough gauge to handle the current. What they ended up with was a hybrid monstrosity that looked like an engorged python in the middle where the union was. Miles and Janacek had hand-spliced the cables together, wrapped electrical tape around the splices, and then shielded each connection even more with rags and duct tape. It was redneck as hell, but the only thing that mattered was whether it worked. They strung the cable across the workbench and connected the cable ends to the appropriate ports.
Miles’ hand hovered over the switch on the PowerWall module that enabled the output. “Moment of truth, fellas,” he said to Janacek and Foraker. “Cross your fingers and toes.” He pushed the button, and a small green LED lit above the output port.
The three of them turned and looked at the motor housing in expectation. After a few moments of silence, Miles cursed and said, “Maybe there’s not enough current. It should still charge the capacitor, but maybe . . .” Before he could finish his thought, the small, square LCD screen mounted on the motor housing lit up. “Hot damn,” Miles whispered. “It worked.”
He rushed over to the motor, followed by the other men. Readouts flickered on the small screen as the controller went through its diagnostic boot-up. He found that he was holding his breath in anticipation, and he forced himself to let it out. If it didn’t work, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. Adapt, react, overcome; Charlie Mike; all the old catch-phrases Pete had hammered into his head when he was growing up, except now it wasn’t a failed math test or a bad date. This was for all the marbles.
The controller completed its cycle, and reported, in bold black lettering, SYSTEM READY. Miles couldn’t help himself, he grinned like a fool as he tested the controls. There wasn’t much to them; the touch membrane had a four-button directional pad with a button labeled SELECT/ENTER in the center. Below the down arrow was another button, this one bereft of decoration save for a stylized back arrow; technological hieroglyphics.
Miles paged through the menus a few times until he was certain of the options available to him. Satisfied, he began to select buttons in earnest. Step one — put the elevator into diagnostic mode, which locked out the panel inside the car. This would prevent the car from returning to the ground floor in a set time frame after the doors opened and closed. It made things more difficult if they had to move fast, but with someone up top running the show, he hoped that it wasn’t a huge risk on their part.
Though there was no button for the topmost floor inside of the elevator, the display listing the floors programmed into the elevator did have the extra floor, though without numeral designation. It was simply labeled “T”. Assuming this was the server room, he highlighted it and pressed the enter button. Almost immediately, the motor whined to life and began to pull up cabling. The hum of the electrical housing and the whir of the cables was surprisingly quiet, though the sudden noise still startled him.
At the bottom of the shaft, the elevator car rose after years of inactivity. They moved to the railing and looked down. At first, there wasn’t much to see. Foraker clicked on his rifle-mounted light and trained it down into the shaft. For a time they could see little, but as the car rose shapes came into slow focus.
With a whir, the car came to a stop just below them at the entrance to the server room. There was no arrival bell or sound of the doors opening; in the independent operation mode, that required another command in the menu. None of them moved from where they stood to attempt that action; the three men stared at the top of the car, frozen. “Oh,” Miles whispered. “Oh, man.”
The top of the elevator was nice and flat, and as he looked at it Miles noted that it was liable to serve them just fine to travel down to the 9th floor. A system of pulleys and guides distributed the cables across the top and along a pair of metal beams that also served to support the weight of the car. Wheels and guides on the ends of the beams kept the car centered and riding on rails inset to the concrete of the elevator shaft. Electrical cabling from the center beams terminated in electrical junction boxes and provided power to the interior lights and controls. A metal hatch perhaps two feet square sat on one side of the central beams.
On top of that hatch, curled up as though sleeping, lay the dead woman.
It was impossible to tell much about her; after so many years she was little more than bones in a business suit. The cut and style of it made Miles think that she was on the younger side. One of the sales representatives, perhaps. She was barefoot, and while it was impossible to say for certain, Miles didn’t think she’d been bit or injured. There were no telltale bloodstains on the elevator’s roof. She looked for all the world as though she’d climbed up and out, closed the hatch, and laid down to sleep.
“How?” Miles managed.
None of the SEALs answered for a long moment, but when Foraker finally spoke there was a hitch in his voice. “Maybe she held out for a while after Z-Day. At some point she ran out of break room food or vending machine snacks, I guess. Didn’t take the stairs, for whatever reason. Lights still had to be on, for the elevator to work. She rides down, but there’s a welcoming crew for her in the lobby. Maybe she’s unlucky and that’s the moment the power goes out, or maybe it was out all along, and her trip was all the juice the elevator had left. The natural instinct in a time like that is to climb, get up and away. I imagine that’s in our genes from the caveman days, run from the lions, and tigers, and bears. But now she’s on top, danger on the bottom, no way out going up, and no food and water.” He studied the ladder inset into the wall of the elevator shaft. “If she had a cell phone or some other source of light, she might have seen the ladder. She could have taken it up to the top and . . . I don’t know. She may have just given up, in the end. Dehydration would have killed her.”
“How long does something like that take?” Miles asked.
“Three or four days, maybe. It wasn’t quick.” Foraker grimaced. “Come on, let’s find a blanket or something. We can do that much for her.”
Chapter 28
Two days of peace and quiet were already grating on Hanratty’s nerves.
It wasn’t that he wanted some excitement. For almost a decade he’d trained himself not to trust any perceived safety unless he was at sea. Staying in one spot this far from a body of water made him jittery.
It didn’t help that he felt like a third wheel. He’d led the troops in PT first thing in the morning, and after that, it had been a whole lot of nothing. Baxter, at least, had found enough people to interview that he was out of Hanratty’s hair. How long that would last was an open question. As for his team, they were doing a detail clean and inspection of the LAV’s weaponry. They’d been running and gunning for far too long, and he was taking the opportunity presented by their surroundings to ensure everything was in tip-top shape. The fact that sitting on top of the LAV on a sunny spring day was rather pleasant made the chore of disassembling the pintle-mounted machine gun seem not much of a chore at all.
The outright hostility of the community had dissipated since his speech. He’d tried not to oversell the possibilities — plans often changed, these
days, in accordance with reality on the ground, but he’d been unable to push down the swell of hope that crested in him as he considered what these survivors had built on their own. One of the first missions the military remnant had undertaken was to determine where to obtain sources of fuel. That was easier said than done. The US Strategic Petroleum Reserve sat on the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. This reduced the risk in accessing it, but much of the stores were crude, unrefined oil. This was unsuitable for use in the destroyers, hospital ships, and various civilian craft that had attached themselves to the fleet of Navy ships. As fuel supplies dwindled, they stripped the smallest ships of anything useful and scuttled them. The crews transferred to the larger vessels. In some cases, they were useful, and could augment the surviving personnel. More often than not, they were just extra mouths to feed.
Even with the reduction it was still a close run thing. The surviving military and civilians were treated to the incongruous sight of nuclear-powered submarines and an aircraft carrier taking smaller, conventional-fueled vessels under tow.
In the Caribbean, the Hovensa refinery on the island of St. Croix had, at one time, been one of the largest in the world. Inefficient and polluting, the refinery passed through multiple hands and states of shutdown and renewal in the years before Z-Day. The final iteration of the refinery was a conversion to an oil storage terminal.
When much of the workforce succumbed to the outbreak, the refinery sat idle. When the Navy reached St. Croix, the equipment was somewhat worse for wear from the maintenance-free period in the tropical weather. Despite that, a team of Navy engineering mates and civilian volunteers got it up and running on a limited basis. At full capacity, the refinery was capable of producing half-a-million barrels of refined product each day. Given the reduction in fuel needs, they needed but a fraction of the refinery’s total capacity. The overage gave them a slow-building surplus. It was that surplus with which command hoped to begin the recovery of the American mainland. The island hadn’t come cheaply; the infected had fought them tooth and nail for it. Before Z-Day, St. Croix’s population had numbered over 50,000 souls, and vast numbers of them had succumbed to the Brazilian flu.
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