Storm of Ghosts (Surviving the Dead Book 8)

by James Cook

  “Mike, what are you talking about?” I asked.

  Mike glared a few seconds longer. “Gellar,” he said, “you and your men find some boxes or something and start gathering every piece of paper and electronic device in this place. If you need help, use the command net.”

  “Yes sir. Where will you be?”

  “We’re going to find the other one.”

  “Colonel, are you sure you don’t want a couple of my guys to come along?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Do what I asked you to do, Master Chief.”

  Mike’s tone was hard as granite. Gellar nodded once. “Yes sir. We’re on it.”

  To Park, he said, “Let’s go.”

  We left the building and set out for the north side of the compound with Park Heon-Woo leading the way.

  FORTY-FOUR

  We passed the remnants of what little fighting there had been.

  Between the Resistance and the JSOC operators, nearly a hundred and fifty troops had descended on the Klamath Basin internment camp. At a glance, I guessed they had run into a force of less than thirty KPA troops still able to fight. Nonetheless, there were dead Resistance Fighters and a few wounded operators being loaded onto stretchers.

  “Must have inoculated their best guys,” I said.

  Gabe turned his attention to where I was looking. “Seems that way. Put up a hell of a fight.”

  “For what good it did them.”

  A platoon of support troops had arrived and were setting up floodlights and medical tents. The special operations guys still on their feet were sweeping the base for survivors while the Resistance helped the prisoners forced to flee their quarters. The fire started by the mortar was burning itself out, but the wreckage created by the explosion was still throwing off a choking cloud of smoke. Through the smoldering haze, I caught the outline of a charred body.

  A very small charred body.

  I looked away.

  Not now. Feel it later. Put it in a box and keep moving.

  There was a small inner compound on the northern side of the prison yard. During the intel briefings we had surmised it was a prison within a prison, a place to torture those who committed whatever petty violations the KPA deemed worthy of punishment. People went in, bodies came out. The bodies were wrapped in sheets, and promptly burned in a large pit, so it was impossible for our satellites and spy planes to ascertain their condition. The fact that Park was leading us toward the inner compound led me to believe perhaps we had misjudged its purpose.

  I looked up and saw banks of solar panels on the roof, enough to produce sufficient energy to power several pre-Outbreak households. I’d seen them before on satellite imagery, but had not thought much of them. I figured the KPA used it as a place to charge radios and allow officers to enjoy comforts the rank and file could not. Now I found myself wondering what their true purpose might be.

  “What is that place,” I asked, pointing.

  Park looked like he didn’t want to answer. “You see soon.”

  Gabe grabbed him and pinched a nerve in the little man’s elbow. “I’d like to know too. Answer the question.”

  Park’s face twisted in agony. “Is lab! Is lab for testing!”

  Gabe released the nerve. “Can we expect any trouble in there?”

  “Not sure. Maybe guards stay, maybe fight.” Park pointed toward the pile of dead KPA troops.

  “So Kim Ji-Su might not be there?”

  Park shook his head emphatically. “She no leave. No place to go.”

  It was as strange pronouncement, but it had the ring of truth to it. Gabe and I shared a glance.

  “Keep moving,” Gabe said.

  We reached the main entrance to the lab, and as expected, it was locked. The walls were solid cinder block with no windows. I studied the lock and shook my head.

  “Don’t have picks for that,” I said. “We should radio for one of Gellar’s men to bring the Carl Gustaf.”

  “No time for that.” Gabe handed Park off to Mike and Grabovsky, both of whom put a hand on him in case he decided to run.

  “Give me a hand,” Gabe said, motioning to me. “We’re out of breaching charges, but not grenades.”

  He produced a roll of 100 mile an hour cloth duct tape. I peeled off a few sections and used them to secure one of my frag grenades to the door handle. Gabe did the same with the hinges. When we were ready, we motioned for the others to get to safety. They moved to the side of the building and waited around the corner.

  “We’ll have four seconds,” Gabe said. “When the spoons pop, run like hell and count to three. Then hit the ground in a tiny little ball and let your back plate take the hits. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Gabe used a multi-tool to straighten the tines of the pins on the two grenades he’d set up. This was an important step; if he tried to pull them simultaneously without straightening them first, the grenades might dislodge from the duct tape. The pins in modern grenades are not easy to remove. When I watch old movies of John Wayne or someone pulling pins with their teeth, I laugh. If someone tried that in real life they would need a skilled dentist to repair the damage.

  I grabbed the pin of the grenade I’d set and held spherical portion in place with my free hand. “Just for the record,” I said. “This is a bad idea.”

  “Duly noted. On three.”

  I nodded. Gabe counted down, and on three, we pulled. The pins came loose and the spoons popped into the air. I turned right, Gabe turned left, and as my father would have said, we ran like our backs were on fire and our asses were catching.

  Three, two, one.

  I managed five long, running strides before I hit the dirt and curled into a ball with the back plate of my body armor toward the grenades. I was outside the kill radius, but not outside the range of shrapnel. As I slid to a halt, the grenades detonated. I felt the thump of explosives through the ground, the impact causing a hollow feeling to bloom in my chest. Something smacked into my back plate, and something else hit the sole of my boot. I waited a second, and then sat up. The first thing I checked was my boot. A piece of shrapnel had cut a furrow in the tread, but there was no other damage. Gabe got up and approached.

  “Check my back,” he said. I did. There were a couple of hits on his armor, but nothing on flesh.

  “You’re good.”

  Gabe did the same for me and let out a low whistle. “About two inches lower, and that could have been a problem.”

  I glared at him. “Next time you decide do some crazy shit like that, get someone else to help you.”

  “Quit you’re bitching. You’re starting to sound like Eric.” Gabe keyed his radio. “Door is breached.”

  The door lay in pieces spread several meters around the empty hole where it once stood. The two of us stacked up outside the entrance and waited for the rest of the squad to arrive. When they did, we gave the cloud of smoke and dust a few seconds to clear, and then entered.

  Like the previous building, there was a small reception area and doors leading to branching hallways. Mike hauled Park inside and shoved him into the lobby.

  “Where is she?”

  “You follow,” he said, beckoning with his hands. He walked to a door on the right hand side of the room, produced a strange looking key on a string from under his shirt, and unlocked the door.

  “You first,” Gabe said, motioning with his rifle.

  “Okay, okay.”

  Park went through the entrance. We could see illumination ahead, so we flipped up our NVGs. There were dark red emergency lights on the ceiling every twenty feet or so, casting the hallway the color of spilled blood. The air was hot and stuffy and difficult to breath. We followed Park down a plain corridor to another door at the end. The little man unlocked this one as well, entered a t-shaped passageway, and turned left. We followed him until the hall terminated at a double door.

  “This Ji-Su office. She inside.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Gabe asked.

  “She not in la
b,” Park hooked a thumb over one shoulder. I looked where he was pointing. There was a door there with an indicator box beside the handle. It looked like the kind that used a key card for entry. There were two lights on the box, both dark at the moment.

  “What’s in the lab?” I asked.

  Park paled. “You no want to see.”

  “We’ll deal with that later,” Mike said, forestalling further questions. “Park, open the door.”

  He did, using the strange little key. Then he stepped back.

  “You go. She inside.”

  Mike grabbed him and shoved him in first. “Lead the way, shitbird.”

  Park stumbled, then regained his balance and took a few tentative steps inside, hands raised. “Is safe,” he said.

  Mike and Gabe looked at me. My reputation for being the best pistol shot in the First Recon evidently preceded me. Gabe must have thought pretty highly of my skills in that regard if he was willing to let me go first. I stacked up on the edge of the door, and as fast as I could, stepped inside, raised my pistol, and took a knee.

  The room was small. There was a cot, a desk, file cabinets, and a small wash basin. A woman of perhaps forty sat in a chair in front of the desk. In one hand, she held a picture. In the other, she held a Makarov pistol.

  The rest of the squad filed in behind me. The woman looked up. She had a round, prematurely wrinkled face, stringy hair, and an expression of infinite weariness. Her eyes were the empty black pools of a person who knew only horror and suffering. She looked at Park and smiled weakly.

  “Are they here to kill me?” she asked in perfect English.

  “No.”

  “Interesting. Which one of you is in charge?” she asked, shifting her gaze to me, and then to the men standing behind me.

  “That would be me,” Mike said, stepping forward. I kept my pistol aimed steadily at her forehead. If that Makarov moved, there would be consequences.

  “I assume I’m speaking to Kim Ji-Su?” Mike asked.

  A nod. “You are.”

  “Ms. Kim, I need you to put that gun down, if you don’t mind.”

  Her gaze lowered and she looked at the weapon. “When the guards left, one of them handed this to me. He said if they didn’t come back to do my duty.”

  “And what would that be?” Mike asked.

  Kim Ji-Su laughed bitterly. “What do you think, American?”

  Very slowly, she placed the gun on the ground and kicked it away. “I’m not dying for them. Not after what they did to me for all these years. Not after what they made me do. They took everything from me, but I won’t give them my life.”

  I lowered my weapon and stood up. Mike stepped forward slowly and knelt in front of Kim Ji-Su.

  “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re here to rescue you.”

  The petite woman looked at Mike with those desolate eyes. “From what? Myself? Good luck with that.”

  “You’re work, the vaccine. We can help you.”

  “How? By making me your prisoner instead of theirs?”

  “No. By offering you a chance at redemption. And, if you want it, freedom.”

  “Freedom,” she let the word fall from her lips. “I’ve been a slave since I was a young girl. The Party realized very quickly I was a bright student. A genius. They put me to work doing…this.” She made a vague gesture toward the lab. “There is no freedom from the things I’ve done.”

  “You’re wrong,” Mike said gently. “You can’t change what’s happened, but you can make a difference going forward.” He stood up and looked down at her. “I won’t force you. If you don’t want to help us, I’ll walk you out of here myself and take you somewhere you’ll be safe. Your life won’t be easy there, but no one will force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

  Kim Ji-Su shook her head. “I would not know what to do with myself. Freedom is for people who know how to live. I do not.”

  “Then come with us. Help us put an end to all this.”

  Mike held out his hand. Kim Ji-Su looked at it for a long moment, and I saw the faintest glimmer of hope kindle in her eyes. Then slowly, hesitantly, she put her fingers in Mike’s palm. Mike closed his hand around hers and gave it a gentle pat.

  “Come on, Ji-Su. Let’s get you out of here.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  In the darkness before dawn, the helicopters returned.

  They brought with them crates of inoculant. Medical personnel immediately set to work inoculating the prisoners, and, to my surprise, the enemy troops laid up in their barracks. The latter were strip searched, forced to don ill-fitting orange coveralls and slippers, and secured hand and foot with prison shackles. Once restrained, the prisoners were held together by long chains connected to their ankles. Armed guards surrounded them, their dour expressions saying ‘give me an excuse’. The KPA troops were too sick to fight at the moment, but I wondered how that would change once the AIM-38 virus wore off.

  I asked Mike if I could go and help the medical personnel.

  “No,” he said. “Sorry son, but our orders are to stay here with these two until their transport arrives.”

  We brought Park and Kim to the lobby and had them sit together on one of the couches. They sat as far apart from each other as they could. I did not detect the bitterness of hatred between them. Rather, it seemed as if they were embarrassed to be in one another’s presence. There was probably a story behind that, but I was too tired to ask. And I doubted they would have told me anyway.

  Mike got on the radio and asked for Gellar’s status. They were still busy packing up files in the other building. Mike acknowledged and got on the command net. I heard him give a sitrep and ask for assistance securing the contents of the two buildings. Shortly thereafter, I heard the searing roar of turbofan engines overhead.

  Fighter jets. Interesting.

  Their arrival was followed by a stealth Blackhawk touching down on the open ground in front of the lab building. The cargo door opened and a man with a colonel’s rank insignia stepped out, along with four heavily armed soldiers. Judging by their aggressive bearing and obvious confidence, I was thinking Delta Force.

  “Which one of you is Colonel Holden?” the officer asked.

  “That’s me,” Mike said.

  “Colonel Andrew O’Conner.” The two shook hands. “I believe we’ve met.”

  Mike nodded. “I remember you.”

  “Are they here?”

  “Right inside,” Mike said.

  “Do they need medical attention?”

  “No. They came peacefully.”

  O’Conner nodded. “Good, good. Have your men bring them out.”

  Mike turned and motioned to Gabe and Grabovsky, who went inside and came back out with Park Heon-Woo and Kim Ji-Su in tow. O’Conner held a hand toward the Blackhawk.

  “If you’ll come this way, please,” he said. He was being polite, but it was clear he wasn’t really asking. One way or another, they were getting on that helicopter.

  The two went along quietly and climbed aboard the bird. Just before the door shut, Kim Ji-Su looked back at us and gave a little wave. Mike waved back. Then the door shut, the pilot spun up the engines, and the Blackhawk disappeared into the night. The sound of the fighters overhead went with them.

  “Fighter escort,” Tyrel said. “They must be pretty damned important.”

  Mike was still staring in the direction of the departed aircraft. “You have no idea.”

  *****

  With dawn came a light drizzle. The clouds overhead were growing darker, telling me there would be a downpour later.

  General Jacobs arrived, and his retinue immediately set to work erecting his command tent. The floodlights were turned off, but the roar of multi-fuel generators continued to shatter the morning stillness.

  When Mike saw General Jacobs, he told Gabe, Tyrel, and Grabovsky to stay put and wait for the general’s people to arrive. When they did, the three of them were to direct the arriving troops’ efforts boxing up the contents
of the inner compound.

  “What about the lab?” Tyrel asked. “I ain’t going in there, I don’t care what Jacobs says.”

  “No worries,” Mike said. “Let the people in hazmat suits handle that part.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Mike set out toward the command tent, and to my surprise, he motioned for me to follow. “Come on, son,” he said. “General wants to see you.”

  I went with him into the tent and was immediately assailed by squawking radios, rustling papers and maps, and the hum of people working busily and speaking in hushed tones. General Jacobs stood over a table with a bright light shining down on it. On the table was a large map of ROC territory. The general had a box of multi-colored markers near his right hand, and as reports poured in, he made notations on the map. He looked up when we entered.

  “Colonel Holden, Captain Hicks, good to see you. How’d you make out?”

  “One casualty,” Mike said. “Petty Officer Hemingway.”

  Jacobs paused. “Shit. What happened?”

  “We ran into some ghouls on the way in. Hemingway hit one with a MK 9, but didn’t make sure it was dead. Got him on the leg when he had his back turned.”

  The general closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Son of a bitch. He should have known better than that.”

  I wanted to say something harsh, but didn’t. The general was right, if not entirely tactful. Hemingway knew better. He got sloppy, and he paid the price. What I felt on the subject was irrelevant. The truth was the truth.

  “The rest of your squad all right?” Jacobs asked.

  “Fine,” Mike said. “Cuts and bruises, nothing serious.”

  “Good.” The general shifted his attention to me. “Captain Hicks, I’ll need you to hang around for a while. Might have some questions for you.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Mike joined Jacobs at the table, and the two of them were soon in deep discussion over the events of the previous night.