by Mike Kraus
TO STEAL A
MARCH
Surviving the Fall Series
Book 11
By
Mike Kraus
© 2018 Mike Kraus
www.MikeKrausBooks.com
[email protected]
www.facebook.com/MikeKrausBooks
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical or other means, without the permission in writing from the author.
Table of Contents
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Author’s Notes
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Special Thanks
Special thanks to all of my awesome beta readers who make every book I write all the better. Thank you to Al, Caroline, Christine, Claudia, Glenda, James, Julie, Karen, Kelly, Laurel, Lynnette, Mark, Marlys, Mayer, Randy, Robin, Sarah, Scarlett & Shari!
Now Available:
Surviving the Fall #12:
A New Dawn
Preface
Last time, on Surviving the Fall….
A vicious assault by the group of attackers began at the Waters’ homestead. A large group attacked the home at once, but with the help of everyone at the home—along with some cleverly concealed booby traps in the woods—Dianne was able to drive back the attackers. After a brief respite, though, the attack was renewed and the man in the red shirt was able to break into the house where he captured Dianne, Sarah, Jacob and Josie. Mark, Jason and Tina, meanwhile, were able to slip into the basement during the confusion of the invasion where they hid in the tunnel, wondering what they could do next…
Meanwhile, in Washington, an attack by members of MS-13 nearly led to the deaths of Rick, Jane and Dr. Evans. The appearance of four Russians—two Spetsnaz and two technicians—meant the quick end of the gang, though, and after a tense standoff between Rick’s group and the Russians, a tenuous alliance was formed out of their shared goal of finding the key to stopping Damocles. While the technicians seemed genuine enough, Jane had her suspicions about the Spetsnaz officers, suspecting that they weren’t being completely truthful about their objective…
And now, Surviving the Fall Episode 11.
Chapter 1
Washington, D.C.
Sitting atop one of the buildings at the old Naval Observatory with a Russian Spetsnaz officer at his side, Rick slowly let his gaze drift across the city. Rick had lost all sense of time over the last few days. Catching a few minutes of rest at odd moments here and there, long hours of travel and more than a few altercations had made it hard for him to tell the difference between evening and morning, let alone what day of the week it was.
The trees growing in small parks and in medians dividing roads were bare, though their limbs shook in passing breezes. A month ago they would have shook at the passage of cars and trucks zipping through the city as a million people went about their daily business. Aside from the run-in with the group of MS-13 gang members, though, there had been no other signs of movement or life in the city.
Two hours stretched by with a few visits from one of the techs to relay messages about their progress, though none of the news was exactly encouraging. Rick and Ostap had spoken in fits and bursts since climbing onto the roof. Most of the discussion was surface-level, talking in abstract about things in the city, bits and pieces of their lives and what they thought their chances were of stopping Damocles. Though the conversation was mostly superficial, Rick appreciated the opportunity to hear a bit of news from someone outside the country—even if said person might be about to try and kill him.
That still bothered him, as well it should. Jane’s warning to him, based solely on her gut feeling, still ate at his gut. Each time he had a hushed conversation with Ostap about some new subject was a new opportunity to feel a bit of kinship and trust in someone trying to shut down Damocles, but it always ended the same way. He would remember Jane’s warning, his stomach would tighten and he’d wonder if she was right.
Whether the Spetsnaz were out to stop Damocles or not didn’t matter at the moment. They had yet to find the server room where the NSA/CIA collective would have worked on the virus, and the encroaching darkness and lack of progress from the group in the central building left Rick with the feeling they’d be packing up soon. If the Spetsnaz were keeping Rick and his little group alive for as long as they had, there must have been some sort of reason.
Or maybe she’s just paranoid and it’s rubbing off on me. Rick let his eyes drift sideways until they rested on the back of Ostap. Clad in black, his rifle lying casually across his legs, the Russian looked formidable but not threatening. He and his fellow Spetsnaz officer, Carl, had been cordial enough. But they had also torn through the gang of MS-13 thugs like hot knives through butter.
“Ostap? Rick?” The thickly-accented voice made both men turn to see Oles standing at the door to the roof, nervously looking around.
“What is it, Oles?” Ostap had to force himself to put on a smile and a friendly tone of voice. He had sensed every sideways glance the American had given him and knew that Rick’s suspicions about the Russians had been aroused.
Oles stared at Ostap slightly too long, wondering where the officer’s friendliness was coming from before glancing at Rick. “I think we found it. The basement of the building is enormous, but we were able to break into every locked room—except this one. The door looks normal, but it has a retinal scanner on it.”
“Does the scanner have power from the backup systems?”
Oles nodded. “It does. Jacob and Dr. Evans are already setting up a bypass. It’ll take time, but Jane said I should come and tell you both right away.”
“Excellent. We’ll be right down. Wait for us at the entrance, please.” Ostap smiled again and Oles backed down the stairs, slowly, still wondering why Ostap was being so nice.
Rick slowly stood to his feet, exaggerating his movements. He had caught Oles’ puzzled expression and seen through Ostap’s forced smile. His heart quickened and his stomach flipped as he realized once again that Jane was possibly—no, probably—right.
Chapter 2
The Waters’ Homestead
Outside Ellisville, VA
A cool breeze wafted through the leafless trees, stirring the bare branches and carrying the sounds of a few still-active insects far and wide. The faint glow of stars shone through from above, but the thickness of the rough branches and thick bark meant that none of the light passed through to the cold, frozen soil beneath. Dead leaves, scraggly brown vines and twigs sat atop the ground, still aside from the occasional flutter when the wind picked up from time to time.
Far from the gunshots and noise occurring up the nearby hill, the insects continued their song through the night, oblivious to the violence being inflicted by and upon those on both sides of the fight. They crawled through the debris on the gr
ound as they sang, though they were soon disturbed—not by what was going on far away, but by a shaking in the ground itself. It wasn’t severe, but it was odd, arousing those in slumber and those in motion.
Old wood, treated but still succumbing to the ravages of moisture and time, shifted beneath the detritus and rusted metal hinges creaked and groaned in protest. Leaves and dirt fell to the side as a large wooden door was pushed open from the ground below and a pale face appeared, illuminated by the soft glow of a handheld light. The face peered around the interior of the small shack in which the wooden hatch in the ground was located.
The shack was old and poorly cared for, with a sagging roof, no insulation against the elements and an impressive collection of cobwebs. Its sole purpose was to act as a shelter for the hatch in the ground, keeping the weight of snow and the liquid from heavy downpours from damaging the hatch and the tunnel beneath. A few leaks in the roof hadn’t kept the shelter from performing its task, but it was still dank and musty, its denizens perturbed by the disturbance caused by the moving of the hatch.
“All clear.” A young voice whispered as the eyes set on the pale face glanced around, then the hatch moved more, slowly opening until it fell backward with a thunk. Mark Waters ascended from the tunnel, a pistol clutched tight in his hands that were shaking ever so slightly.
Tina Carson and Jason Statler were the next to emerge, with Tina helping to pull Jason up while he wheezed softly, winded from their walk down through the tunnel. Jason leaned against the inside wall of the shack while Mark peeked out through the front door, seeing nothing but the darkened shape of trees that appeared to go on in an unending fashion. “Still clear.”
“Good.” Tina kept her flashlight pointed at the ground as she and Jason dropped the armfuls of weapons and ammunition they had taken with them from the basement. “No noise from the tunnel. Maybe they didn’t check the basement or notice the doors if they did.”
Mark reached for the door, starting to push it open when Jason grabbed his arm and shook his head. “No, wait. We shouldn’t go out now. It’s too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous?” Mark looked at Tina. “They’re probably still back at the house. We should try to get back there and rescue Mom and the rest!”
“No.” Jason shook his head firmly. “We can’t take on a group like that right now, at night.”
“Mark’s right.” Tina stood next to the young man, putting her arm around his shoulder. “If they haven’t left yet then we need to try a counterattack. We can’t let them take four of us—especially when two of them are children.”
Jason opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself and sighed in resignation. “You’re right. I just…”
“We’ll be careful, Mr. Statler. I promise.”
***
The trio stuck to the tree line as they went along, their pockets bulging with extra ammunition and spare magazines that they had hastily filled in the shed before moving out. They wound around the perimeter of the property as quickly as possible, with Mark in the lead, Tina just behind him and Jason slowly bringing up the rear.
The house was lit from inside on the main floor and moving lights could be seen shining through the cracks in between the boards covering the windows. As they continued moving closer to the house, they heard the sound of car engines, slamming doors and loud shouting and calling. Mark and Tina looked at each other and increased their speed, trying to get around to see the front of the house.
They were, in the end, too late. By the time the pair were in the right position to see around the front of the house the last vehicle—the truck belonging to the Waters—was on its way out. In the back of the truck in front of it, Mark could make out the shape of a pair of figures that were sitting in the bed. Though he couldn’t make out who they were, he was certain that it was his mother and Sarah Carson. He very nearly shouted out to them, but Tina’s rough hand on his shoulder directed his attention to the house instead.
“They set the place on fire!” She hissed at him as she pointed at the front porch. A flickering orange glow was just barely visible, but it was growing in size and intensity even as they stood and watched.
Mark was the first to take action, moving without thinking as he broke from the trees and sprinted across the yard toward the back porch. Though he couldn’t see the entirety of the front of the house to see how bad the fire was, he saw no glow around the back, and knew that time was of the essence. Tina and Jason both called out to him in low voices, trying to beckon him back, but he ignored them, staying low and running as fast as he could.
Once on the back porch he eased through the broken glass and wood that had once formed the back doors. The acid smell of the stun grenade still clung to the air and the floor was covered in dirt, glass and boot prints. He held his breath as he stood just inside the back door, turning his head in all directions as he searched for a sign that anyone was still inside. Seconds ticked by slowly and all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat so he stepped forward, pistol clutched in both hands and extended outward. Each step brought with it the crunch and crackle of glass and dirt beneath his feet, and he braced himself for the attack that never came.
As he moved into the kitchen, a new smell invaded his nostrils, along with the same orange glow he had seen before. The kitchen had been ransacked, but he paid little attention as he ran for the cupboard beneath the sink, hoping that of all the things that had been taken, the large red cylinder hadn’t been one of them.
He flung the doors open and snatched the fire extinguisher up in one hand as he tucked the pistol into his belt with the other, then ran for the front door. The glow was brighter and he hesitated near the door, wondering if he had chosen the best course of action. Out front, beyond the glass, he could see Tina and Jason moving outside. He swallowed his fear and opened the door, immediately taking a step back as a blast of heat greeted him. Kindling had been stacked and doused with lighter fluid near the base of the door and the flames were already licking up to the top of the porch. He pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and aimed it at the base of the flames as he squeezed the handle, sending out a jet of white chemical powder.
The fire, while burning hot thanks to the accelerant, had been created in haste as an afterthought by the man in the red shirt. As such, the extinguisher quenched the fire almost instantly, reducing the heat and light within seconds. In less than half a minute, with constant streams of powder, the fire was out. Tina and Jason stood just off the edge of the porch, watching Mark put out the fire, and once it was over Tina ran to him and embraced him.
“You idiot.” She wrapped her arms around him, causing him to drop the extinguisher. “Don’t do that again! Your mother’s going to wring my neck if she finds out what you did.”
Mark couldn’t help but smile as he hugged her back, then took a step back and looked at the damage caused by the flames. “Sorry, Mrs. Carson. I just couldn’t… we can’t lose the house. Not along with Mom and Josie and Jacob and Mrs. Statler.”
Tina glanced at Jason, who was already looking at the damage. “We won’t lose them. Will we, Jason?”
“No.” He kept his eyes on the blackened wood, but both Mark and Tina could see the traces of tears forming at the mention of his wife’s name. “This is all superficial. You caught the fire before it could do any real damage.” He looked at Mark, his eyes glimmering in the reflection of the flashlight. “Nice work, Mark. You saved your home.”
“And now,” Tina intoned, “we’re going to save the rest of our family and friends.”
Chapter 3
Washington, D.C.
After combing the above-ground halls of the expansive building, Jane, Carl, Dr. Evans and the two technicians began searching the basement levels. While a simple visual inspection would have been enough for some types of searches, trying to find a system that contained information about Damocles was incredibly slow and methodical. Each room had to be scanned for any materials that referenced Damocles and, if it looked
like anything was present, the computer had to be taken up to the squad car where it was connected to the power inverter, turned on and forensically analyzed by one of the techs.
After searching dozens of machines, Jane and Dr. Evans made the call to abandon any more searches of the rooms above ground and focus on the more secure areas in the basement levels. There were three such levels according to the maps located at each floor’s stairwell, but Dr. Evans was the first to call that number out as suspicious.
“These stairwells are too wide and thick. Government contractors use this type when they want to dig deep. I guarantee there’s at least five, maybe seven floors below ground.”
The first two floors of the basement were virtually identical to those aboveground, albeit far darker. Most of the windows on the building were false anyway, but belowground the only illumination besides flashlights were the faint flickers from a few emergency lights whose batteries hadn’t completely died.
Insulated from any external sounds, the basement levels were eerily quiet, and the whole search group—even the normally unaffected Carl—found themselves whispering. The shadows in the halls were long and hard, dancing with each sway and flicker of the lights. By the time the group reached the third and, supposedly, final floor of the basement, Dr. Evans could see that his suspicions were correct.
“Anybody notice the stairs?”
The two technicians, eager to please their idol, started stumbling over each other as they tried to speak, though neither of them said much at all. It was Jane who realized what Dr. Evans was talking about, as she stood on the last stair leading down into the third floor.
“This flight of stairs is shorter than the others.”
