by LC Champlin
He halted beside a door marked Dispatch. “Wait here a minute. I’m going to talk to the chief.” Then he strode off.
Nathan scuffed the toe of his boot along a crack in the linoleum. “Officer Rodriguez.” He turned to face her. “It was considerate of you to let me have a little freedom tonight. Thank you. I’m sorry all this happened because of me.” His heart had gone numb.
“It wasn’t all because of you,” she murmured as she rolled her eyes. “Why the hell do you think you’re so special, Serebus? The attackers apparently didn’t think you were useful enough to kidnap you.”
“Who did they kidnap, then? Who’s more valuable or more guilty than me?”
“You don’t get to know that.” Oddly, she didn’t sneer.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter. Everyone’s dead, and knowing won’t bring them back.”
Chapter 18
Complications
Awake O Sleeper – The Brothers Bright
While remaining inside the hold with the other civilians offered safety, Albin must at least ascertain how the Sailors handled this catastrophe. He tried the door. Unlocked. Outside, a Sailor stood guard. The young man turned when the door opened.
“Sir,” Albin began, to stave off the order to return to the storage room, “I have friends out—”
“All you civilians do. Go back inside.” He jerked his head toward the door. “We’re taking care of this,” he added in a conciliatory tone.
His radio hissed. “We need reinforcements in the civilian quarters—”
With the serviceman distracted, Albin moved off in the opposite direction. He could likely ascend to the second deck, backtrack, then descend to find Amanda’s room.
A man announced over the intercom for civilians to remain in place unless immediate danger manifested.
Following the steel prairie-dog run brought him to the steep, narrow stairs. As he began to trot up, boots pounded toward him on the second level. He crested the stairs—and pressed against the wall to avoid colliding with a squad of Sailors in combat gear. A security team come to reinforce the chemical- and biological-weapons group? Since Albin wore part of the uniform of a Sailor—having lost his own clothes to the rubbish after soaking them with his blood—he shed attention like oilcloth shed water.
After proceeding down the hall for a distance, he descended one of the flights of stairs. Shouted orders rang, though their exact origin remained in question due to the corridors’ acoustics.
He slowed as he approached Amanda’s bunk area. When he knocked on the hatch, a woman opened it. Fear had drained the color from her face.
“Ma’am, are Amanda Muster and her daughters present?”
The woman shook her head. “She left just after you did. I don’t know where. Then the Sailors came and told us to stay here. What’s going on out there?”
“Follow their orders.” He turned to leave. Hopefully she had not decided to visit neighbors in the infected dormitories. A shudder rolled down his spine at the thought of the family falling victim to the contagion.
“Come to think of it,” the woman added, “they mentioned something about going back to see a judge. I don’t know what that means, though.”
Judge. The kennels. “Thank you.”
“Wait, what’s going—”
“Remain where you are.” Taking a deep breath, he strode down the passage. How did he reach the kennel area from this location? Perhaps the way would return to memory if he continued down the corridor.
After retracing his steps to the next deck, he hurried down the hall in the general direction of the kennel. He could follow the passage across—
Sssssaaaahhh!
++++++++++++
Silence fell as Nathan and Rodriguez waited in the station’s hall. The minutes ticked by. Then the sergeant returned. Behind him came a heavy-set brute, his beer belly straining against the buttons of his shirt. He wore a duty belt crammed underneath his gut. He came partly from Indian stock like his crony. His patchy beard complimented his greasy, thinning hair.
He squinted at the visitors. “DHS, huh? We don’t get many of you folk here.”
“I need to use your radio,” Rodriguez announced.
“Well . . .” The chief ran his thick fingers through what remained of his hair. “You see, we’ve been having some issues with it. We don’t get much funding out here. Why don’t you let me take your prisoner for you, and then you can—”
“I already explained this,” she snapped. “The prisoner stays with me. Now, by the authority of the Department of Homeland Security, I demand to use your radio.”
“Have it your way.” He shrugged.
The sergeant let them into the dispatch room. It consisted of one control station, with a radio, phone, and two computer screens.
“Let me get it set up for you,” the flannel-wearing sergeant instructed. “You want me to contact the Santa Fe force?”
“I want you to contact the National Guard Armory in Santa Fe. They were supposed to meet us when we got closer.”
“Damn,” the chief grunted. “You really were on a secret mission. This guy”—nod to Nathan—“is really that special?”
“Special isn’t the word.”
Nathan regarded the law enforcement officers from his peripheral vision. These kind of people didn’t like riffraff prisoners looking them in the eye like equals.
The sergeant flipped switches on the radio and fiddled with the frequency. “This is the Jemez Pueblo Tribal Police Department, calling the National Guard Armory in Santa Fe. Do you copy? Repeat, do you copy?” Only static answered. He tried two more times and also attempted to reach the EMS in Santa Fe before putting the microphone down and turning an apologetic smile on Rodriguez. “I guess we’ll have to drive you over in the morning.”
“I need to go tonight. I’ve wasted enough time already. I need to tell them what happened so that they can start hunting down the attackers.”
“Yeah, well, let me see about getting you some transportation. Our vehicles are tied up here.” The chief spread his arms in helplessness.
Rodriguez eyed him. “Your pickup truck is sitting in your parking lot.”
“At least one of us gotta stay here and hold down the fort. That’s our only truck. The other ones are out on a call, and I don’t want to bring them in, especially if there might be armed raiders around. Better to have my men ranged around.”
She stepped forward, pushing Nathan aside. “I represent the Department of Homeland Security. My business here supersedes whatever public intoxication or disorderly conduct call your men are on. If you don’t give me transportation, I’m commandeering it.”
“Whoa!” The chief held up his hands. “Easy there, mama. This don’t gotta get unpleasant. I guess we’ll just have to break policy and take you.” He nodded to his sergeant. “You’ll just have to get a ride where you can if you need it.”
“No problem.” Half salute.
The chief marched them back into the entryway, then outside. The night air ruffled Nathan’s hair and drew a shiver. The town lay as still and quiet as the Village of the Damned thirty miles back. Then again, it seemed like everywhere was damned.
“Aw, shit, I forgot the keys. Hang on.” The chief adjusted his belt as he ambled back into the station.
“I admit,” Nathan began, voice low, “I’m far from being an expert on police policy and procedures, especially when it comes to small towns, but this seems a bit odd.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Hand on her weapon, she glanced around as if expecting criminals to materialize.
“Maybe you should take my cuffs off just in case—”
“I’m not that desperate.”
“Take your hand off your weapon,” a male’s voice rang across the parking lot from the shadow of a garage. Did the speaker mean Rodriguez?
She did the opposite, drawing her sidearm and aiming it at the source of the order.
Nathan eas
ed back, toward the police station.
“Come out in the light. Now,” she demanded.
The station door opened; the chief stepped out. He held a shotgun leveled at Rodriguez. The barrel glinted in the porch light. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to ask you to put that gun down.”
Chapter 19
Confrontations
Hollow Vessels – Lifewalker
How did a cannibal escape the service personnel’s perimeter? Albin eased ahead, keeping his back near the steel walls as much as the pipes and girders would allow. From a side chamber stepped a Sailor. Shoulders hunched, head down, the man used the wall for support.
“Are you injured, sir?” Albin asked, halting.
The Sailor turned to face him. Red and black fluids stained the young man’s shirt and face. He coughed, spraying dark blood. In a slow, deliberate manner, he raised his head. Rust-red eyes bulged from their sockets as he stared at Albin. Blisters peppered his complexion. He clutched an M4. The infection caused spongiform degeneration in the frontal lobe, but did it also destroy his training and conditioning in the use of the firearm?
The Sailor lurched toward Albin.
Weapons—Ah, he had passed a fire extinguisher. Not turning his back on the cannibal, Albin felt along the wall for the cylinder. There! He ripped it from its moorings. The pin slid free. Aiming the nozzle at the infected Sailor, he squeezed the handle. A jet of white foam struck the creature in the face. It would cover the black oil.
Shaking its head, the cannibal dropped the carbine as it reached up to paw foam from its face.
Albin darted forward. His side ached, but he ignored the pain in favor of surviving. Holding the nozzle of the fire extinguisher, he slung the canister at the cannibal’s face. The extinguisher caught the enemy along the jaw. As the cannibal stumbled, Albin hooked his foot around the target’s ankle. The abomination crashed onto its back.
Kill the creature, or wait for the military to do their work? No doubt security cameras watched.
Albin snatched up the M4 by the strap. Hopefully none of the oil contaminated the weapon. It would rate as the highest irony if he infected himself with the very instrument he intended to use to save himself and others.
He headed down the passage, retracing his path to the stairs. If he ascended to the next level and followed the corridor, it would carry him toward the kennel.
Behind, men continued to bark orders.
Since he now held a weapon, Albin in his government-issue clothing blended even more with the Sailors—assuming they did not give him more than a cursory inspection from closer than five meters.
Sssssaaaaaahhh.
Behind.
He glanced over his shoulder. Three civilians stopped several paces down the hall. Pale, wheezing, with eyes wide and oil sliding down their chins—The narrow passage made their lope difficult.
The M4’s sight hovered over the lead cannibal. Reflex knew better than the conscious mind. However, his finger paused on the trigger. Shoot them, or outrun them? Given the risk of ricochets and the unknown targets behind them, the latter choice must suffice.
He trotted away from the cannibals as quickly as he dared. Falling and cracking his skull on the steel floor would not improve the situation.
The corridors and hatchways all looked identical. Why had he not paid more attention to the directions? The time on medication and in the torpor of recovery had dulled his observation skills. Grandfather would have upbraided him about the importance of situational awareness. The clinical depression also failed to assist his cognition.
More hissing emanated behind. Two additional civilians joined the ranks of the infected.
A stairway waited ahead. He pounded down the narrow stairs, only to end in an unfamiliar hallway.
Ahead, a passage opened on the right. A pair of Sailors stepped out. He drew up short, but these men failed to display the stigmata of cannibal infection. “There are infected civilians on the deck above,” he panted as they passed.
“Wait.” The rearmost Sailor paused. “Are you—”
As the hissing distracted them, Albin slipped down the hall. Down the corridor, he entered familiar territory. Ah, he had taken the stairs too early. How did anyone maneuver through this maze? The crew must wander for days before they mastered their segment of the steel behemoth.
At last the kennel’s hatch appeared ahead. He shouldered the barrier open and swung inside. Slamming it after him, he pressed his back against the cold steel.
Evidently the dogs had returned to their crates, for none came to greet him. “Is anyone here?” he called. The stacks of boxes and supplies prevented a clear view of the area.
A side door opened. His M4 climbed.
++++++++++++
Four men with rifles emerged from the dark corners of the police station’s lot. They surrounded the newcomers.
Nathan’s pulse thudded in his temples. So much for slipping away. Perhaps he could duck behind the wooden fence in front of the station.
Rodriguez held her ground. “What is this? I’m law enforcement; he’s my prisoner.”
“I know.” The chief bared his tobacco-yellow teeth. “And if he’s that valuable, we want to know why. I think some other people do too.”
“You’re working with the people who attacked our convoy, aren’t you.” Rodriguez glowered at him.
“Aw now, I wouldn’t say ‘working with’ them. They gave us a tip and a few motivationary rewards to keep an eye out. See, we’re going back to the way it was. This is the Wild West, remember? And we’re the only sheriff in town.”
Allies with the town-killers? Nathan froze. No weapon, hands cuffed behind his back, Rodriguez surrounded. So close to escape, yet so, so far away.
Ever the fighter, Rodriguez persisted: “So you’re taking the side of murderers?”
“They’re just killing you outsiders.” He flicked the shotgun barrel—still covering her chest—for emphasis. “You’re a Fed, and you’re threatening our authority. We run this town.”
“How long do you think you can get away with it? My people will come looking for me.”
Two men eased up behind Nathan. Ready, set, brace. They seized him by the elbows. No sense struggling. Six armed thugs with at least a little combat training if they came from the police force would make short work of a cuffed, semi-injured target.
Besides, if they found a party who considered him important, he may discover more about LOGOS’s plot. The shadowy pharmaceutical company that had created the cannibal contagion would soon realize they had fucked with the wrong man. LOGOS must have organized the ambush, since only they would care about his fate at this point. Then again, he might end up in the hands of the terrorist chief Cheel, who no doubt wanted to kill him as revenge for foiling the bastard’s plans. But if the government had similar plans for Nathan, how much did it matter?
Red-gold eyes opened in the back of his mind. Never let a crisis go to waste. Carpe jugulum.
His motto. It had sunk under the dark sea of despair during his captivity. His crisis had not offered opportunities he wished to take advantage of. The drugs made it difficult to see them anyway.
“I’d be quite happy to accompany you gentlemen,” Nathan spoke up, “if you promise not to hand me back to the government. I’m a high-value target for a number of groups.”
“Yeah, sure, sure.” The chief chuckled. “We’ll decide that ourselves.”
The remaining two gunmen closed in on Rodriguez. She held her ground, but the sergeant darted in. He cracked her over the back of the head with his rifle butt. She dropped to one knee, then slumped to the ground. Bastards! Though Nathan’s muscles ached to attack the fuckers, he remained still.
“Get him into a cell.” The chief jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“You got it,” the man on Nathan’s right grunted as he and his companion led the captive inside.
Down the halls, into the processing area. They stripped h
im of his belt and vest, then patted him down.
“All right,” the more vocal of the two began. Scrawny, with the odor of tobacco heavy on him and a smoker’s cough that manifested every few minutes, he didn’t look like a cop. “Get in the cell.” Nathan stumbled forward as the black-lunged SOB shoved him toward a cage.
“Put your hands up against the bars.” Nathan obeyed, and they removed the handcuffs.
“Now strip and put these on.” A roll of gray scrubs bounced onto the floor.
Keeping his expression emotionless but with rage roiling, he followed orders.
“Make yourself comfortable while we figure out what to do with you.” Cancer Lung bared crooked teeth in a grin.
His partner—shorter and heavier—snickered.
“May I have my book back?” Nathan asked.
“Eh, why not?” His jailer tossed the Bible against the cell door. It hit the ground with a thud. Then the pair sauntered out, leaving the inmate alone.
Chapter 20
Escapes
It’s a Sin – Hidden Citizens
“Albin?” Amanda peeked out from behind the side door.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Albin lowered the carbine. “Amanda. Are the girls with you?”
“Yes.” She emerged from the side chamber. “We were coming this way when we heard the intercom, so we just stayed here.”
“Good.” He glanced back at the door as if he could see through the metal, into the halls and dormitories beyond. “I came to verify that you were safe.”
Amanda stepped aside and another woman entered the storage room. Josephine Behrmann, ABC Action News reporter. She appeared wherever the story reached its climax. He had not spoken to her in . . . over ten days. She had sided with Mr. Serebus when the man had turned rabid. No doubt she did so for “the story.” Perhaps a desire to act as a restraining force to prevent him from growing out of control also came into play. That explanation seemed unlikely, however. Yet Albin could not blame her for her choice. She had, according to rumors, assisted in Redwood Shores’s survival.
