Hassle tapped the chart before him and looked at Petersen. “Let’s get this in the plotter and see what kind of times we can give these guys,” he said. Petersen nodded and set about it.
“Rapier, Escanaba. Understand all. But uh, isn’t Manhattan a containment zone? Over.”
“Escanaba, that is correct, but we still need you to move your vessel into the East River. Over.”
“Rapier, understand that we do not have a helicopter onboard, so whoever needs to be picked up is going to have to try and make it to us. We can pick them up at the shoreline, but we don’t have the kind of manpower to go in and get them if they’re inside the city. Over.”
“Escanaba, Rapier. Understood. How long will it take you to get into position, over?”
Hassle checked the electronic chart plotter’s LCD display, then compared it with his own plot. There was only a few minutes difference between the two. It would be a 52 nautical mile jaunt, and the Nob could make about 22 knots flat out. But the seas were hardly glassy at the moment.
“Rapier, Escanaba. Given the current sea state, it’s going to take us about four hours to get into position, more if we hit anything unforeseen. We understand air attacks might be launched against the bridges... is that to bring them down completely, or just leave a hole in the span? Over.”
“Escanaba, Rapier. The word is the Air Force is only going to blow holes in the bridges so the... the OPFOR can’t cross them. We’re hoping this will still leave you enough room to navigate, but the attacks should be concluded in an hour or so. We’ll get back to you with the battle damage assessment and let you know if your course will be blocked. Over.”
“Roger that, Rapier. Escanaba is on the way. We’ll report our status once we pass Governor’s Island and the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Will this frequency be good? Over.”
“Roger, Escanaba. This frequency is good. We’ll look forward to hearing from you at 0100 hours, over.”
“Helm, steer course two six three, call for twenty knots,” Hassle said.
“Sir, steer course two six three at twenty knots, aye aye,” the helmsman said. The Escanaba’s twin diesel engines picked up, and the large white vessel surged into the rising seas.
“Rapier, Escanaba. Talk to you at 0100 hours. Escanaba, out.”
CHAPTER 18
“So the Coast Guard is going to save our bacon, huh?” Gartrell shook his head. “My God. What has the world come to?”
McDaniels had to grin a little at the first sergeant’s total deadpan delivery. He had joined Gartrell in the kitchen, where both of them smoked cigarettes they had liberated from poor Earl Brown.
“Seems like the Coasties are the only show left in town,” McDaniels said. “They should be out in the East River in about four hours.”
“All we have to do is get out to East River Drive and throw ourselves into the river, and the Coast Guard will take care of things from that moment on, is that it?” Gartrell took a long drag off his cigarette. When he pulled it away from his mouth, he held it before him and examined it thoroughly. He exhaled smoke from his nostrils.
“We’ve got maybe eight hundred rounds of various types of ammunition. And there are maybe a hundred thousand zeds between us and the East River. Total piece of cake, major.”
“Why, First Sergeant Gartrell, do I detect the tremor of fear in your voice?”
“What you hear is eager anticipation. All we need to do is get down below, secure the vehicle, and figure out how we’re going to make all those stenches line up in nice neat files so we can kill eight at a time with one shot. Once we clear those hurdles, well hell, I might just break out my teddy bear and security blanket and take a nap.” Gartrell looked at McDaniels directly. “What’s the word on our families,” he said.
McDaniels slowly shook his head. “Nothing yet. But four zeds were shot on Normandy Drive, near the middle school. Fort Bragg is in lock down.”
Gartrell looked back to his cigarette. “Yowza. You know, I’m thinking one or two of those beers might taste pretty damned good right about now.”
McDaniels finished his smoke and tossed it into the sink. “I think they’ll probably taste a hell of a lot better on the Escanaba,” he said. “That’s the name of the cutter.”
“Well, then. Let’s pack some of the brewskis up and get them ready for transit. Looks like we should get down to the garage and scope out this so-called armored car.”
McDaniels nodded. “It does indeed.”
Gartrell finished his cigarette and tossed it into the sink next to McDaniels’. “You know why it takes twelve Coast Guardsman to hold a burial at sea?”
“Do tell.”
“Six to dump the deceased overboard, and six to jump up and down on the casket to push it under the mud.”
McDaniels chuckled. That was a good one.
“Earl, tell us more about the garage. How big is it? Is there usually someone down there? Is it usually closed up, or can people get into it easily?” McDaniels asked. He and Gartrell had taken Earl to one of the tables in the far corner of the cafeteria so they could talk to him more easily. McDaniels didn’t want to upset Earl’s youngest daughter any further; Zoe was still having a difficult time coping with the fact that she had just seen six people die.
“Well, it’s almost always closed... only reason the door ever went up an’ down is if’n someone was leavin’,” Earl explained. “The security guys would have to open the gate. No remotes or anythin’ like that. Sometimes, the big guys would park their personal cars down there, but not too many a those. Not enough room, really.”
“How would you get there?” McDaniels asked.
“Either the freight elevator, or the normal elevators to the garage level. Me, I always use the freight elevator to get around, almost no one else uses it ‘cept us maintenance guys if there ain’t a delivery.”
“When was the last time you were down in the garage?” This came from Gartrell.
“Oh, this week, maybe. Friday night, dumpin’ garbage in the dumpster.”
“So you haven’t been down there since? Which means you don’t know if the garage door is open or closed.”
“That’s right, I don’t know for sure.”
“And what kind of vehicle is it?” Gartrell asked. “You said it was an armored car. Did you mean like the kind used when money is delivered to a bank, or an up-armored limousine?”
“Neither,” Earl said. “It’s like a... van, I guess. It’s white, but no windows. Seats inside, though. I guess you’d have to see it to know what I’m talkin’ about.” Earl paused, then added, “It’s made by Ford.”
“A white Ford van. Okay, that should be easy enough,” Gartrell said. He looked at McDaniels. “We should scope that out ASAP, sir. I’ll take Rittenour with me, you and the deaf guy can stay up here.”
McDaniels chuckled, but Earl frowned.
“That’s not nice to say that,” he scolded Gartrell.
“Sorry, Earl. Sorry.”
“Earl, do you happen to have any rope around here?” McDaniels asked. Gartrell looked at him quizzically, but the major ignored his unspoken question for the moment.
“Sure. We got ‘bout five hunnert feet a nylon rope on every floor, next to where the emergency packs are kept.” He pointed off into the darkness. “There’s a coil in the closet over there. Why you want it?”
“The city’s starting to lose power,” he said, looking at Gartrell as he spoke. “I figure if an elevator gets caught between floors, then the rope might come in handy. What do you think, First Sergeant?”
“I think you’re exactly right, and that we should probably get our hands on as much as we possibly can. No telling when we might need it, but if we get into a jam, I’d rather we had it as opposed to just wished for it.”
McDaniels nodded. “Then take it with you, First Sergeant. We’ll see if there’s a way to get the coils from some of the other floors later, if possible.” He rose. “I’m going to go check on Finelly and Derwitz. You go ahead and hit
the garage, I’ll leave Leary up here.”
“Roger that, sir.” Gartrell practically leaped to his feet, obviously happy to have something constructive to do.
McDaniels left Sergeant Leary on the 27th floor with the civilians after ascertaining he was fit for duty (“I can hear now sir, really,” the Special Forces soldier assured him) and entered the fire escape stairway. He found Derwitz had taken a position on the 26th floor landing, and Finelly was one floor below. Both were discharging their duties as vigilantly as possible, which essentially meant they were standing around waiting for something to happen. Neither soldier reported any unusual activity—no stenches, no noises, no nothing.
“It’s kind of boring duty, sir,” Finelly admitted. “But you know, it’s a good kind of boring, when you think about the alternatives.”
McDaniels smiled and clapped the tall soldier on the shoulder. “You guys are doing all right. Keep up the good work. You’re doing some real good, here.” Both men kept their voices low, mindful of the echoes the stairwell would cause.
“Thanks, major.”
McDaniels nodded and looked down between the stairway handrails. Far below, darkness loomed. McDaniels listened as intently as he could, but heard nothing. Had the zeds left? Gartrell had reported they were massing on the ground floor, but McDaniels heard nothing from the 25th floor landing. If there was much commotion going on down there, he was sure he would have been able to hear it, especially since the stenches were hardly stealthy by nature.
He turned back to Finelly. “Go tell Derwitz to return to the cafeteria. Have him inform Sergeant Leary he’s to take your position, and you fall back to the landing on twenty-six. We can’t really communicate effectively since our radios are different, and Leary will be able to talk to myself and Gartrell if something goes down.” He pulled the sat phone from its holster and handed it to the tall soldier. “And keep this with you. Without the booster relay at the assembly area, it’s the only way we can communicate with Rapier. Move out, troop.”
Finelly nodded, and walked up the stairs, where he had a whispered conversation with Derwitz. A moment later, McDaniels heard Derwitz’s footsteps as he climbed up the stairs to the 27th floor. Finelly waited on the 26th floor landing, looking down at McDaniels, his MP5K held in both hands, his NVGs pushed back on their helmet mount.
McDaniels looked back down to the ground floor. Still nothing but a small patch of blackness.
Leary appeared, walking down the stairs as quietly as he could. He looked at McDaniels with a raised brow, and McDaniels leaned toward him.
“Sergeant, are you sure about your ears? If you were to get a call on the net, would you be able to hear it?”
Leary nodded. “Yes, sir. Only a slight buzzing in my ears now, nothing like it was before.” As if to prove this, Leary kept his voice low, barely above a whisper.
“Okay. I’m going to head down and check things out. I want to see what the deadheads are up to. Things are pretty quiet, and if OMEN is back in the zone, that’s probably not a good sign.”
Leary looked over the railing and peered down the gap. “You think Mr. Keith’s got something going on?”
“Won’t know that until I see it for myself.”
“I dunno, sir. Those things aren’t really intellectual heavyweights. They might have forgotten all about us by now, since there’s no way for them to get to us. But if they see you, that might change things. Again.” As he spoke, Leary his eyes focused on the darkness below.
“I’ll do my best to keep things as cool as possible,” McDaniels said.
Leary straightened and reached into one of his pockets. He pulled out a plastic tube that was perhaps an inch and a half long, and handed it to McDaniels.
“IR chem stick,” he said. “When you get down there, activate it and drop it, then use your NVGs. Ambient light might not be sufficient to see everything that’s going on. It’ll last for about three hours, and I doubt the stenches can see in the IR spectrum, right?”
McDaniels nodded and took the chem stick. He put it in a pocket on his body armor and started off.
“Major?”
McDaniels turned back. Leary looked at him then down through the handrail again.
“Long walk down, and a long walk up. Hope your legs are up for it if something goes down. And if that happens, what are your orders?”
“Stay here. Defend the civilians, and report to Gartrell. If I’m gone, I’m gone. Your job is to zero as many of those zeds as possible, until Gartrell gives you something else to do.”
“Roger that. Does the first sergeant know you’re doing this?”
McDaniels smiled and started down the stairway.
The elevator ride to the garage level was smooth as smooth as silk with no problems, which is how Gartrell liked it. His primary fear wasn’t that he and Rittenour would be mobbed by a raging tide of hungry stenches once the door slid open (though they were ready for that with weapons cocked and locked), but that the building would suddenly lose power and leave them stranded between floors. To that end, they had already checked to ensure the elevator had a maintenance access through the roof, and that it was accessible to them once they removed the panels covering the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. They also had the heavy coil of rope Gartrell had taken from the cafeteria, and it lay in one corner on the elevator floor. Of course, its utility would be in going down, not going up, but Gartrell was something of a pack rat when it came to items that might be of use. He had also squirreled away some sandwiches and bottles of cold water in his back pack, just in case they were in for a longer stay in the elevator than they had planned for.
Ding. The elevator came to a halt, and both men took deep breaths. Gartrell had the point position with the AA-12 at the ready. Rittenour had his Heckler & Koch Mk 23 pistol clasped in both hands as he stood off to the side. Both men had their NVGs powered up but raised; if the doors opened and total darkness was on the other side, they could flip them down and be operational in a split second.
The heavy stainless steel clad door slid open, and Gartrell tensed, his finger on the AA-12’s trigger. Rittenour flipped the safety switch that locked the elevator in place, so it couldn’t be called away.
The elevator didn’t open into the garage itself, but into a dimly-lit, glass-walled vestibule that was in the center of the garage itself. Gartrell stepped out and spun left while Rittenour covered the area to the right. The garage was illuminated by several lights, yett it was hardly a bright affair; there were still more shadows than either man liked, but the ambient light was too strong for the NVGs to be effective. Glass doors were on either side of the vestibule, and both were closed. Gartrell motioned for Rittenour to follow him. He slowly pushed the door open, then eased out into the garage proper. Rittenour followed, both moving as stealthily as possible.
The garage door was closed, as was the personnel entrance beside it. Two vehicles were parked inside. One was a black Audi A8, and its lustrous paint gleamed even in the garage’s meager light. The second vehicle was much larger, a Ford E350 van. Gartrell ignored it for the moment, electing to do a full search of the garage. There was a ripe, pungent aroma in the air, and he exchanged a glance with Rittenour. There were only two things Gartrell could think of that would emit that odor: rotting food, or a zed.
It turned out to be garbage. There was a dumpster in the garage, which Earl had told them about, and it hadn’t been emptied. As such, its contents were quickly going south. Both men made a quick but thorough search of the garage. They were alone.
Gartrell returned to the van and examined it critically. It was a monster, all right, something he hadn’t expected to see in the middle of New York City. White in color, the only windows were up front; there weren’t even windows in the double doors on the back. It rode high on a heavy duty suspension and slightly oversized tires that sported an aggressive tread. Gartrell moved to the front and found the vehicle was outfitted with a brush guard to protect the grille and a heavy duty bumper. He knelt
and peered underneath the vehicle’s nose. A transfer case bulged between the front tires. The van had been converted into a seemingly-hardy four wheel drive vehicle.
Gartrell straightened and looked at Rittenour. “Well, someone was certainly planning to be able to get out of here.” His voice seemed loud in the garage’s close confines.
Rittenour nodded. “I guess they wanted to make sure no one was stuck here during a blizzard, or something. I’ll tell you, the thing looks tough. A guy in another ODA has something like this at Fort Bragg. He uses it when he and some of his buddies go camping and hunting.” Holding his pistol in his right hand, Rittenour walked toward the van and pounded on its side with his left fist. He was rewarded with several solid thumps. “Wow, definitely up-armored. I’ll bet this thing’s going to be a total pig to drive.”
Gartrell tried to open the driver’s door, but it was locked. He and Rittenour tried all the doors. No luck. The van was locked up tight. Gartrell sighed and looked around the garage.
“All right, let’s find the keys to this thing. I hope they’re down here somewhere.”
CHAPTER 19
The farther he descended, McDaniels became less certain that going down alone was a great idea. While he’d encountered no difficulties other than a growing ache in his knees and lower back, the lower he went, the more uncomfortable he became.
And then, there was the smell.
As he descended, a decidedly unpleasant odor wafted up from below. A fetid breeze moved through the stairway, venting upward like a draft through a chimney. The dead were down there, that was for sure. They hadn’t grown bored or otherwise left the building. But what they were doing was another matter entirely.
10th floor.
9th floor.
8th floor, and the air was foul.
7th floor, no improvement.
The 6th floor, and it was difficult not to gag.
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