Out of habit, she checked to make sure the knives she preferred were in their normal resting places, secured about her person. She listened for another moment, and heard more crashes, from the same direction. She stepped out into the corridor, listening to the increasingly rapid sounds of breaking glass and plastic as she moved down the hallway.
Taking a glance inside the room to make sure there were no glass instruments on a trajectory for the door, she stepped inside and took a moment to survey the scene. Jim Atkins was clearly having a fit of rage, which was somewhat disturbing given that he was one of the larger men on the base. Tall and broad-shouldered, he nevertheless showed the signs of malnutrition, as they all did now. No one is fat, anymore, she thought.
Since he started working at the Shack, he hasn’t been in his lab. Why the sudden interest? And, more importantly, what is it that he’s destroying?
She spoke softly. “Jim?”
The violence against the inanimate stopped abruptly, as though it was a recording put on pause. Jim stood there, a puppet with his strings cut, not turning to her. Simply breathing hard from his exertion. She took one step, then another, and when he didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge her existence, she spoke again. “Jim? It is Tatiana.”
She saw his head turn to one side, and one deep blue eye gazed at her over his shoulder.
“What do you want, Tatiana?” His voice was rough, hoarse, as though he had been yelling.
“I simply want to know, you are OK?” She gritted her teeth. She hated having to pretend that she didn’t speak English well, but it wouldn’t be good for these people to wonder why a Russian scientist who’d ostensibly never left the Motherland had such fluency.
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine, Jim. Look around.” She waved her hand slowly at the devastation he had caused.
As if a veil had been lifted, he peered around the lab, seeing firsthand what he had done. He dropped the broken shards of some now-unrecognizable instruments from his hand, and she noted some blood falling to the floor with them.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that Atkins might be a far easier target than DiLaurio, and he had the same level of access. She’d never considered it before, given DiLaurio’s known penchant for blondes, but perhaps, now that the situation had been controlled, he could be more useful.
She took a moment to glance at her reflection in the shiny surface of one of the banks of his equipment, unobtrusively adjusting her clothing to its best advantage as she moved into the room. A tug down on the zipper of her sweater, a hand through her hair before putting it up in a ponytail with an ever-present scrunchie, and she was ready to work her magic.
Of course, she needed a way in. And getting an injury treated by a pretty girl was as quick a way as any, with most men.
“Oh, Jim, you are hurt,” she said, taking the first aid kit from the wall. She took it over to a table near Atkins, who hadn’t moved, and brushed off the top with her arm. Making sure there was no glass on it, she hopped up on the table and grabbed his arm, turning it over as she inspected it. He made no move to stop her, and the motion turned him toward her. She knew exactly what she was doing when she bent forward just a bit, giving him a nice view down her sweater. Have a nice look, Jim Atkins. Then maybe you’ll want more of a look later, and we can talk about what I need from you.
She fretted over his injury, telling him how silly men were, how they needed women to take care of them, all of the silly platitudes that she knew men liked to hear. Every so often during her medical ministrations, she would glance up at him from under lowered bangs and he would be staring at her, and she knew that she was having, at least in some small way, an effect on him.
She taped up the last bandage on his hands, and sat up straight, bringing her eyes to a level with his chin. Bohze moi, she thought. He really is a tall one! Even though she was married, Tatiana was a pragmatist, like most Russians, and knew that though she might feel nothing for this man, he could still be… fun.
“Thank you, Tatiana,” he said. “ Spasibo.”
She smiled. At least he’s trying. “Puzhalsta. You are welcome, Jim.” She shook her head again, expertly bouncing her ponytail in a way she knew caught men’s eyes. “Why did you do this?”
He sighed. “It just sort of all caught up with me. Being marooned down here, nowhere to go, for the rest of our lives. Everyone we ever knew back in the world is dead, and we’re all that’s left. Once we’re gone, humanity itself dies.” He moved off among the lab equipment and tables, broken glass crunching unnoticed beneath his heavy boots. “Oh, sure, there may be pockets left, some tribes in Asia or the outback of Australia, but eventually, they’ll be gone, too. And homo sapiens sapiens, as we know it, will disappear. We will have vanished from the face of the earth. Except for the walkers. Oh, good.”
She had stopped listening, not caring, but when he crouched down, she joined him, and saw him looking at two computer workstations under one of the tables. Alone amongst the debris, they seemed to have survived intact.
“These are not damaged?” she asked, playing the part of the dumb blonde to perfection.
“No, no, these are fine, which is great, because these are the backups.”
“Backups?”
“Yeah, the backup storage units for all my data. All the research is stored on these as well as the main system, just in case something should happen.”
Tatiana looked over at the main system, which still threw the occasional spark as it shorted out. The case had been shattered, the metal bent after who knows how many blows from a raging fist, and the monitor was a total loss. Following her gaze, Atkins sighed.
“I guess it doesn’t matter now, since I can’t access these without the main system. Thanks, Tatiana.”
“Puzhalsta, Jim.”
She smiled at him and stood up, stretching to give him a great view, then bounced out of the room. Once back in the corridor, she moved quickly to her room, her mind racing. If DiLaurio didn’t work out, as was becoming clearer and clearer by the day, Atkins seemed a definite alternative for her plans.
When she opened the door to her room, she saw that Vinnie had made himself comfortable on her bed, reading a magazine. He looked up at her entrance and smiled, and she smiled back, even though she wanted nothing more to punch him in that smug face for assuming he would be welcome in her quarters.
And why was he bothering to read a Russian magazine? Moron. But a moron with connections, all the same.
She closed the door behind her without turning, locking it at the same time. Pulling off her sweater, revealing pale, chilled skin, she moved toward the bed as DiLaurio’s smile got wider.
“Now, milyi, where were we?”
Chapter Eight
Seattle Ruins
One year later; Z-Day + 7 years
Arthur Beoshane was not having a good day. Not only were the latest reports from the scouts discouraging, meaning less and less edible food and other vital supplies were being found, but now he was having to listen to a tirade from someone thousands of miles away. A tirade so loud he had to hold the satellite phone away from his ear. It was times like these that he wished he’d stayed back on his vineyard and left well enough alone.
“Yes, Mr. McMillan,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time, gritting his teeth to keep from shouting in return. “I understand, sir.” Beoshane looked over at Driebach, standing in the corner of the room, face hidden as always within his hood. He had the feeling Driebach already knew everything he himself was only just hearing for the first time.
“Yes, sir. No, sir. No more failures, sir. We will succeed this time, I swear it.” The phone beeped at him, and as he looked down at the phone’s display, he smiled, then raised it to his ear once more. “I’m sorry, sir, but the phone is about to die. I will have it charged immediately. Thank you, sir.”
He cut the line, rubbing his ear as if to massage new life into it. He sat back in his chair, stretching, and yelled to one of the guards o
utside. “Coffee!”
One guard entered the room and bowed. “My apologies, Marshal, but we have not found any coffee in quite some time.”
Calmly and quietly, Beoshane drew his pistol and shot the guard once, in the head. The man’s brains splattered on the wall.
The other guard was instantly in the room. Seeing what had obviously happened, the new guard put away his pistol and turned to pick up the body.
Driebach gestured toward Beoshane.
“Wait,” said Beoshane. He forced himself to look at the monster in the corner as he spoke, trying not to think about what was going to happen to it later. “Leave it.”
The guard stopped and faced forward, waiting for any additional orders.
“Get me some coffee. And close the door behind you.”
The guard barely flinched. “Yes, sir,” he said, leaving the room.
Beoshane laid his gun down on the desk in front of him, carefully not pointing it towards Driebach.
Driebach moved over to the desk, glancing at the body on the floor on his way. Beoshane closed his eyes briefly as the creature took the lone chair in front of the massive oaken monstrosity that Beoshane had found somewhere. Beoshane looked at Driebach from under lowered brows. “Well?” Beoshane asked. “What do you have to say?”
Driebach shrugged. “You failed, again,” he said, his voice the dry, rasping croak that anyone who’d seen under the hood would’ve expected.
“The last plan was as much yours as it was mine!”
Driebach shrugged once more.
“I’ve had about enough of your crap, Mister Driebach. How about you come up with something? I’m sick of failing to take that damned bunker. We need to get in there. We’re almost out of food, and unless you want to pick up a shovel and start planting corn, we’re going to have to do something.”
Driebach spread his hands in a gesture of prayer. “God will provide,” he said sanctimoniously. It was mocking.
Beoshane went very still. “Do not presume to take the Lord’s name in vain in my presence.”
Driebach leaned forward, giving Beoshane a much more up-close and personal look inside his hood than the other man had ever wanted, and the twisted smile was sickening. “I’ve seen some of the things you’ve done in service to your Lord, Beoshane. They make even me cringe,” he whispered.
“I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself, monster.”
The smile vanished, and Beoshane went cold. If I’m not careful, it could be me on the floor, instead.
Driebach was still and silent, then began to laugh, the dry, hoarse sound echoing in the enclosed space. Beoshane shivered, knowing that that laugh, like the ‘man’ before him, was unnatural and evil. Still, Driebach was useful, at least for now, and if Beoshane could find a way to dispose of him when his usefulness ended, well, so much the better. He had some ideas, but Driebach was proving to be somewhat more hardy than he had expected.
Driebach leaned back in his chair and said nothing.
“Fine. Since you have no ideas, come with me, and I’ll show you mine,” Beoshane said, standing and leaving the room.
After a short walk, they entered a larger room with a wooden conference table dominating the center. A map of Mount Rainier was spread upon it, and a table to one side held climbing gear: ropes, harnesses, pitons, and ice picks, among other items.
What is Arthur Beoshane planning? Driebach thought.
“So, Mr. Driebach, say you were building this bunker. You could put anything inside it that you wanted, but once it was sealed, it would stay that way for years, perhaps decades.” Beoshane was standing on the other side of the map from Driebach, and gestured toward it as he turned to look. “You’ve built the bunker into the side of the mountain, and you’re not leaving for quite a while.”
Driebach looked at the map, failing to see what Beoshane was driving at. He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest.
“My point is this,” said Beoshane. “What’s the one thing you’ll need from the outside, during all that time? That you can’t manufacture deep underground?”
“Get to the point.”
“Air. You need air, Mr. Driebach. Fresh air, or at the very least, air you can filter, recycle, and filter again. Ten thousand people breathe a lot of air in twenty years.”
Driebach grunted. “Vent shafts.”
“Exactly,” said Beoshane. “And that’s where these fellas come in. Send them in!” he called to the doorway. A group of six men entered at the other end of the room, arraying themselves before the table as though they were military. To a man, they looked as though they could bench-press cars for sport, with thick, muscled arms and legs. None were under six feet tall.
“These are your team, Mr. Driebach,” said Beoshane.
Driebach was motionless, staring at the team, and it was a moment before he said anything. “I don’t climb.”
“Fear not, my friend. These men will see you make it to your destination. And once inside, they are prepared to die to defend you, should it be necessary. For such is the word of God, right, men?” Beoshane asked, turning to the assembled group.
“Sir, yes, sir!” the young men chorused.
“Very well. Dismissed.” The climbers left the room.
Beoshane and Driebach returned to Beoshane’s office. “Well, what do you think?” Beoshane asked.
“Dangerous.”
“Definitely, but you’ll make it. Because I’ve already told Foster that this little jaunt was your idea, Mr. Driebach. And he was most insistent that it be carried off without a hitch.”
Driebach looked at Beoshane, wishing as he did every day that he could simply kill the man. Unfortunately, the repercussions would be… unpleasant, he thought. Then it occurred to him that perhaps Beoshane was playing a deeper game, and in a flash he had it.
Arthur Beoshane is trying to kill me.
Whatever the reason, whatever Beoshane’s long-term plans, Driebach couldn’t let on that he knew, or it would be much harder to find out what the snake was planning. I have to play this very, very carefully, he thought. And I am so thoroughly tired of this game.
Beoshane was clearly waiting for him to comment, so after a moment’s consideration, Driebach spoke with the short, clipped phrases he affected for Beoshane’s benefit “Then what?”
“Your first priority will be to take over their command center. Once in there, you should have control over most of the bunker, if not all of it. And that will allow you to open the doors, flood the bunker with a toxic nerve agent—whatever we choose to do. The point is, the fate of everyone in that bunker will be ours to decide.”
“Risky if the shafts aren’t there or are designed to prevent just this sort of attack.”
Beoshane shrugged. “We know the shafts exist; they have to. They’re likely camouflaged, but I’m sure they’re there. And as to the climbing, I’ll have the men run you through some training. We found a rock gym with a large wall in the city that hasn’t been destroyed. Or at least, not all of it. You’ll do your training there. But if you have a better idea…”
Driebach ground his teeth in frustration, but he couldn’t come up with anything. They’d already tried everything else, short of rushing the gates en masse, and this new direction might work for them. The only way they’d know is to try. “When?”
“First thing tomorrow morning—7 a.m.”
“Plan B?”
“The men going with you will explain it in detail, but they have a hangar up there. You’ll find a way in there, if need be.”
And somewhere, on the top of that cold and bitter mountain, one of Beoshane’s men will try to send me to my doom., thought Driebach. I think perhaps it is time for another object lesson for Beoshane. He went over and locked the door, looking at the other man, who had gone pale and quiet behind his massive desk, trying obviously not to look at the body on the floor.
I can’t really blame him, thought Driebach as he knelt next to the dead man. I wouldn’t want to wat
ch this either.
Mount Rainier
South Tahoma Glacier, Above Bunker One
Driebach stopped for a moment, forcing the others attached to him to stop as well. Not that I care, he thought. They’re under my command, at least for the moment. Driebach was under no illusions as to the nature of the relationship that had developed between himself and Beoshane, and he knew that he must, out of necessity, watch his back. But there were many things about Driebach that his ‘partner’ still didn’t know.
Like how much I enjoy this view. Driebach stood there, sucking in oxygen from the tank on his back, marveling at how the world looked from eighty-five hundred feet. The air was crisp, clear, and he felt as though he could see for miles. Which, in fact, he could. He looked to the northwest, and beyond the slopes of the mountain, he could see the burned remnants of Seattle, a city that once held more than half a million people. He could see all the way to Puget Sound, and, if he squinted, he could just make out what must be Bainbridge Island.
He sighed, remembering how such things used to be important to him, before… well, before the world ended. Glancing at the men standing next to him, he knew what he would see before he turned his head. They were talking quietly, thinking he was out of earshot, expecting the freezing wind to carry their words away before he could catch them. Unfortunately for the conspirators, his hearing was only one of many ‘enhancements’ he had received, thanks to McMillan—the man who had turned him into what he was. He knew they were plotting to get rid of him, but it made no difference at this moment.
Taking a pair of binoculars from his coat, he trained them on the mountain’s flanks, following the road up to the door of the bunker, where the fortifications that had been emplaced were far more obvious from this vantage point. Nestled into a small valley between two rising glaciers, it was an excellent location for the bunker, and he wasn’t surprised in the slightest. The people running the AEGIS program back when this construction was put under way were far from idiots. He surveyed the glacier between his current position and the upper area of the small valley, and nodded. Just as expected.
The Dying of the Light (Book 2): Interval Page 13
