Half Life: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 6)

by Scott Nicholson

  “What about the abort code? Did she share it with anyone?”

  “Negative.”

  “Bring Ziminski back here immediately. I say again, bring Ziminski to Hotel Quebec, copy.”

  “Negative.”

  Was Munger betraying him, too? He expected it, but Munger was smart enough to make his play here at Luray Caverns, where he could find supporters in the army. Even if Munger took over Ziminski’s unit, he wouldn’t have enough of a force to mount a rebellion. And if the clock was ticking on the human race, what use was a coup anyway?

  “Colonel Munger, return to base. I order you to bring Ziminski to me. If your interrogation failed, maybe we can apply a different kind of leverage, since he still has friends here.”

  “Negative, General. He…when I interrogated him…”

  “Tortured him. You mean, when you tortured him.”

  “Roger that. The subject…mistakes were made.”

  “You killed him, didn’t you?”

  “He was weak. He couldn’t take the pain. That’s what happens when civilians—”

  “Damn it, Munger. He knew the code!”

  Alexander’s radio operator, a teenager who whined constantly about the lack of cell phones and daydreamed of schemes to bring them back, turned away in disgust at the old man’s ranting. The concrete room fifty feet below the surface absorbed all sound, so Alexander didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing the news. The boy, who went by the nickname of “Sketch,” would be here on solitary duty for the rest of the day, so Alexander had a chance to get ahead of the news.

  “That was a FUBAR, sir. I failed the mission. But there’s one more possibility, copy.”

  “Go, over.”

  “We broke one of the officers. Ziminski dispatched a team to a Zap city about an hour north of here. Near where the Hundred-and-First was positioned last year. The half-Zap woman, Wheeler, is with them. We have reason to believe Ziminski gave her the code, over.”

  “What reason is that?”

  “The officer said Ziminski sent her on a mission to make enemy contact.”

  “When you’re pulling out a man’s fingernails, he’ll tell you anything you want to hear.”

  “Negative, sir. He wants to join us. He thinks Ziminski was selling us out to the Zaps, over.”

  “Well, for God’s sake, Colonel, get your ass in gear and catch up to her.”

  “Roger that, sir. Franklin Wheeler is with her. I’m on it.”

  Munger wanted revenge against the reclusive survivalist for stealing Munger’s vehicle and embarrassing him in front of his men. Pride was a weakness, but also a motivator. Munger would find them or die trying. “I’m counting on you, Colonel. When you find her, do not interrogate. Repeat. Do not interrogate. Bring her here immediately, over.”

  “Sir, we had another failure. This morning I sent two men to take her out. Only one of them came back.”

  Alexander squeezed the mic handle so hard he cut his palm. “God damn it, Spanky! You couldn’t even carry out a kill on a woman? But I guess we should be glad now. If you kill everybody, who’s going to stop Operation Free Bird?”

  “You can count on me, sir.”

  “Get on it, copy.”

  “Roger that. Over and out.”

  After Munger signed off, Alexander slammed the mic onto the table and cussed under his breath.

  Sketch gave him an insouciant, sleepy look. “Want me to try NORAD, Chief?”

  “For the hundredth time, I’m ‘General,’ not ‘Chief.’”

  “Whatever. NORAD, or not?”

  When I set things right, this boy’s getting a lesson in the School of Hard Knocks. I’ll have him scrubbing latrines with a toothbrush. I—

  Alexander sighed and drifted from his fantasy back to the dimly lit reality of his concrete coffin. “Negative, Private. We’ll try again at fourteen hundred hours.”

  “Is that, like, this afternoon?” Sketch wiped at his nose with a skinned knuckle.

  “Two o’clock. But I doubt we’ll have much to talk about.”

  “Copy that.” Sketch grinned like this was all a game. “Am I getting the hang of it yet?”

  Alexander patted him on the shoulder as he left the room. The general was his savior and the poor kid didn’t even know it. Sketch just couldn’t grasp the significance of a nuclear strike and mutually assured destruction. Then again, Sketch hadn’t attended school in five years and probably hadn’t made it past the fourth grade. They didn’t teach “Duck and Cover” in the classroom anymore, anyway.

  When I turn back those nukes and beat the Zaps, we’re going to overhaul education. Teach only the things that matter. No more poetry and art and philosophy. Nothing but science. And the snot-nosed brats are going to exercise. Push-ups and rope courses, not any of this badminton and modern dance.

  Adolf Hitler dreamed of a thousand-year reich. Hitler was a piker, a lunatic whose ambition was his downfall. Stalin’s paranoia wiped out millions of his own people, including his brightest minds that could’ve helped Russia achieve greatness. Chairman Mao Tse-tung wiped away thousands of years of Chinese culture in order to instill his ideologies. All three leaders were flawed but shared a deep commitment to their visions.

  Alexander would have the advantage of a clean slate. The solar storms and the Zaps had done a thorough job of wiping out all that had gone before. All Alexander had to do was crush the Zaps and build the United States the right way, as it should’ve been done in the beginning if the lawyers hadn’t babbled on so.

  He was mentally drafting a new constitution as he jogged up the stairs, energized despite his throbbing arm, when he heard the commotion. The stairs led to a small alcove and a metal door separating the command center from the depot—in an emergency, he would have to secure himself for the good of the people. But right now, they needed him.

  When Alexander unlatched the door and entered the depot, he discovered dozens of civilians fleeing into the fissures and crevices in the solid rock. They were heading back into the caverns they’d abandoned when the savage Zaps had infiltrated their tented cities. There were no solar-powered lights in the caverns, which meant they were in a panic. Alexander rushed over to a hunched, elderly woman who had a young girl at her side.

  “What’s happening?” Alexander screamed at her, since he didn’t see any soldiers in the melee.

  She waved him away, hustling the girl forward into the cool, jagged darkness. Alexander yanked the old woman’s shoulder, nearly pulling her to the ground. “I asked you a question, you old hag.”

  She turned and gave him a three-toothed snarl. Her eyes swiveled wildly in their sockets, like a trapped animal’s seeking escape. “Look who’s calling me old!”

  Alexander took one look at the little girl, who wore a filthy dress and carried a torn plastic bag that probably held food. She was the future of the human race, the raw material from which he would mold a new and better society. Alexander smiled at her and then punched the old woman in the face so hard that one of her yellow teeth popped out.

  When she dropped to the ground, moaning and rolling back and forth, Alexander drove the toe of his leather boot into her ribs. “Next time you answer me.”

  He stomped away, so angry that he had to remind himself where he was. His amputation scar pulsed with fire and his crew-cut scalp bristled with electricity. Tepid sweat dotted his face. He shook off the fever of infection, ignoring the civilians that ran for what they believed to be safety.

  The general heard the gunfire before he reached the depot entrance. The two gunners peered into the valley, unable to see their targets. “Firearm!” Alexander barked at one of them, holding out his hand.

  The gunner fished a Beretta from its holster and passed it to him. Alexander ordered them to defend their positions to the death and hurried down the trail to the compound. The gunfire was scattered throughout the valley, as if the soldiers had broken their defensive line and pursued their quarry into the forest. He found a soldier who’d taken
position behind a truck.

  “Report, Private.” Alexander leaned against the vehicle and caught his breath, orienting himself to the various pockets of conflict. There were at least half a dozen skirmishes underway, staccato small-arms fire muffled by the landscape.

  “Zaps, sir.”

  “Savage?”

  “Yeah. Except they weren’t attacking. Something was chasing them. They were on us before we could tell what was happening. Broke the line and we took some down.”

  The soldier pointed his rifle barrel across the compound. Two Zaps lay sprawled on the ground. One was completely nude, the other draped in a few rags. Both were pocked with wounds that leaked thick red blood. Another corpse was tangled in the low branches of a pine tree, neck twisted at an obscene angle.

  What’s so terrible that even savage Zaps are afraid?

  “Why did the troops break ranks?” Alexander asked.

  “The Zaps seemed more surprised than we were. When we started shooting, they ran for it. The bastards have messed with us for so long, we figured it was time to kick their asses while we had the chance.”

  They’d disobeyed Alexander’s orders. He’d have to bring down some thunder on his officers. “Hold this position, Private.”

  “Don’t worry, sir.”

  The coward had stayed out of the fighting and left his comrades to fend for themselves. But he’d followed orders, so Alexander gave him the benefit of a doubt. He headed toward the gunfire, leaving the compound via the overgrown gravel road that eventually connected with the highway. Alexander maintained a brisk pace, his head swimming from exertion.

  He swung his pistol toward a commotion to his left. A rabbit burst from the brown underbrush, darting and skipping in a zig-zag pattern. It appeared to be normal, a creature whose ancestors had survived the solar storms intact and continued to breed. In other circumstances, Alexander might have taken a few shots at it for meat, but this was a battle zone.

  A burst of gunfire maybe fifty yards away drew him off the road and into the woods. With the November coolness pulling leaves from the trees, the forest floor was thickly carpeted. With the recent rains moistening the ground, Alexander could move with little noise.

  He heard a scream just before he came upon the firefight.

  Two soldiers knelt side by side, firing at a metallic creature about the size and shape of a large canine. It was just like the scout had reported.

  Except this one had a man in its jaws, its silver snout thick with blood. The robot wolf shook its head, trying to rip meat from its victim’s abdomen.

  “Let him go, you son of a bitch!” Alexander bellowed, standing erect and firing his Beretta.

  He wasn’t sure his bullets struck—his arm was shaky and his vision blurred—but it was only then that he realized the wolf held not one of his men, but rather a savage Zap. This one was mostly clothed, which was why he’d taken it as a soldier at first. The giveaway was the missing shoe that revealed one pale, scabrous foot.

  The two soldiers squeezed off short bursts at the creature, which ignored them. Alexander stepped behind a tree and studied it from twenty feet away. Its body was long and lean but the chest was stocky, the legs lacking any sign of muscle. The blunt, sloping head featured two triangular ears sticking straight up, and its eyes were dull, rounded silver that blended with the rest of the form. It wasn’t quite like a wolf, he decided. Rather, it was like a lazy imitation of a wolf, as if some apprentice sculptor had taken a turn at casting.

  The soldiers slowly retreated, as if afraid that sudden movements would reveal them as prey. Alexander waved at them to move in the opposite direction so as to divert the beast’s attention. But he couldn’t be sure what compelled its actions—the metal wolf didn’t seem to be driven to slaughter everything in its sight as a savage Zap might. Instead, it focused on the prey in its grip.

  As if it’s hunting Zaps and not humans.

  It gave one more shake of its great head and the corpse dropped. The wolf turned and grinned right at Alexander with its bloody silver teeth. Then it padded away into the forest, as silent as smoke.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Nothing,” Cone said.

  “Try again,” Franklin said.

  Cone wound the hand crank on the manual generator that powered the little radio unit. Once it drew enough power to light the LED on its face, Cone pressed a button and spoke into the tiny grill on its side. “Foxtrot One, this is Victor Squad, over. Foxtrot One, do you read?”

  She released the button and waited, faint white noise leaking from a separate tiny grill that housed the speaker. Cone had wired the antenna to the Humvee’s chassis to create a broader receiver, but they’d heard nothing in the last five minutes. Franklin didn’t like sitting here in the parking lot of a Dairy Queen, relatively exposed even though the exit sat just off the state highway ramp.

  “What’s the range on that thing?” DeVontay said.

  “Depends on atmospheric conditions,” Cone said. “It could be a thousand miles under the right circumstances. Of course, with all this electromagnetic disturbance, it’s a shot in the dark.”

  “I thought Ziminski was supposed to be a genius,” Franklin said.

  “We’re lucky to have this,” Cone said. “One of our guys found it on a scouting run, in a basement somebody was turning into a bunker. It was shielded and everything, just like a paranoid survivalist would do it. Except the wacko must not have made it, because they didn’t find any bodies or skeletons, just the gear.”

  “Well, some of us paranoid wackos made it,” Franklin said.

  “So far,” DeVontay said.

  “I need to pee,” Squeak said.

  Franklin did, too, but he wasn’t about to admit it. A swollen prostate was another joy of old age, and his ass was sore from sitting in one position for the last twenty minutes. Still, he didn’t like the looks of this place, especially when they were probably within ten miles of the Zap city. Each time they crested a hill, he expected to see its blue glow and flickering lightning.

  “I’ll take you,” Rachel said, scooting toward DeVontay’s door.

  “No way, Zap lady,” DeVontay said. “You’re not going out there alone.”

  “I won’t be alone. Squeak will be with me.”

  “Nobody’s going anywhere,” Franklin said. “We give this radio thing another couple of minutes and then we’re out of here.”

  “Who died and made you king?” K.C. said, angling her neck in each direction until her vertebra popped. She knew the mannerism annoyed Franklin, so she repeated it.

  “I guess I’m king by virtue of being the only one with brains,” Franklin said. “We’ve been chased by metal men, I’ve seen a few of those beastadons running through the woods, and we’re close enough to the Zap city to get hit with a welcoming committee.”

  Rachel climbed over DeVontay’s lap and opened his door, motioning for Squeak to follow. Franklin tried to reach behind him and block her path, but she rolled out and stood stretching. Squeak followed, and then DeVontay. They headed for the restaurant, which featured greasy glass, wiry green vines crawling along its brick, and a shattered sign that lay in sections along the length of a Cadillac parked in a handicapped zone. Eight or ten other cars were scattered across the lot, which extended behind the building. The good old DQ had not been very busy when the storms hit.

  “Damn it, wait for me,” Franklin said, exiting via his own door. “You kids just don’t appreciate danger.”

  When K.C. also got out, Franklin yelled at her to stay put, but she only laughed. Cone focused on alternately cranking the generator and calling Ziminski on the unit. Franklin kept an eye on Rachel and the others as he stepped between two sedans to urinate.

  K.C. giggled and hollered, “Need any help there, handsome?”

  “I think I can handle it, but I’ll keep you in mind,” he teased back. He turned away like the gentleman he definitely wasn’t as K.C. relieved herself a few cars over. As he zipped, he saw Rachel and Squeak headi
ng for the restaurant door.

  They’re not that dumb, are they? Do they think they’ll find working toilets or something?

  “Stand guard for Cone,” Franklin called to K.C. as he jogged to catch up with them.

  “That reminds me,” K.C. said. “Pick me up an ice cream while you’re in there.”

  “You’re sweet enough as it is. Don’t go getting diabetes on me.”

  Franklin hadn’t seen where DeVontay went. Maybe the man had some serious business to attend to and needed some breathing room. You had one job, Dee.

  Franklin didn’t want to raise his voice to warn Rachel. The noise might attract unwanted attention. Besides, she’d probably ignore him anyway. These damned uppity women just didn’t seem to respect his worldly knowledge and generally cynical mindset.

  I guess that’s what I love about them. They’re not always looking for the worst.

  But somebody had to do the worrying around here, and Franklin didn’t mind the task. When he reached the restaurant, he put his face to the glass and squinted into the gloomy interior. A few leathery corpses sat at the tables, their clothes rotted and brown with dust. Plastic trays held the heaps of what had once been French fries, burgers, and shakes. One corpse had a drinking straw protruding ludicrously from its mortuary grin.

  He didn’t see Rachel or Squeak. Rachel’s eyes should’ve given her away instantly. Unless she’d gone down the narrow hall toward the restrooms or into the kitchen. He remembered Cone’s promise of another lollipop for Squeak and wondered if Rachel had decided to get the girl a treat. Maybe he could find some packs of honey.

  Franklin tapped lightly on the glass to see if they would respond. After a glance back at the Humvee to make sure K.C was standing guard, he made his way down the sidewalk to the entrance. He looked at the faded gray newspaper in the fifty-cent rack by the door. He couldn’t make out any print, but he doubted the headlines warned of a catastrophic cosmic disturbance.

  The media never did give us any useful information. “Humans Do Stupid Shit And Die” could probably run as a headline every day for a thousand years and never be a lie.