by LC Champlin
In the garden area, Denver acted as a distraction for the cameras by bounding up and down the aisles, and poking at plants. Albin deposited his bundle of towels under one of the smoke detectors. Scratching a match across its box, he called forth fire. Spraying hairspray across the lit match produced a flamethrower effect, igniting the towels. As the blaze burst into life, Denver trotted back, weaving among the vegetables.
The duo ducked out the door, then returned to the stairs, where they rendezvoused with Amanda and Taylor. Mother and daughter wore the enthusiastic expressions of adolescents who had committed acts of petty vandalism. Or so movies from the ’90’s would have one believe.
The four moved toward the courtyard. Bridges and Behrmann emerged from separate tunnels. Bridges looked pale, but Behrmann appeared pleased.
No sooner had the group reunited then the fire alarm began to ring. White lights strobed. A voice announced over the speakers, “Multiple fire alarms have been activated throughout the bunker. Proceed to the nearest exit and remain calm. Security crews will evaluate the emergency. Repeat, proceed to the nearest exit. Delay may cause serious harm or death.” Hardly the way to keep people calm during crises.
Wordless, the six arsonists and Judge hurried toward the emergency-exit tunnel. They reached the double fire doors: familiar sights in industrial buildings, with a bar that would trigger the warning. With the alarm already blaring, Albin pushed through. The group broke into a trot.
As they rounded a curve, the emergency doors slammed behind them. Voices echoed down the concrete passage: “Stop!” Running footsteps followed.
Albin slowed to a halt but waved the others on. “Go.”
Bridges turned back to him. “I’m not leaving.”
“As you wish.”
Two security men appeared.
Judge barked and snapped, straining against her leash while Bridges used his whole weight to restrain her. Albin raised his hands in surrender. The economist gave him a side-long look of question. “What are we doing?”
“I am putting them at ease.”
“Ah, I see!” He proved it by attempting to calm Judge.
The guards held their revolvers at low ready. Seeing the fugitives already surrendering, the pair holstered their pistols.
“Shouldn’t we be leaving?” Albin asked. “This is rather a poor time to be chasing people and waving weapons about.”
“We’ve located the fires,” the older of the two guards responded. He kept a wary eye on Judge. “Come on. We’ll lead you out.” The guards flanked Albin and Bridges, keeping clear of the German Shepherd.
The group soon reached the stairs. Unsurprisingly, Behrmann and the Musters had elected to wait for their compatriots.
“Go,” Albin ordered before they could grow uneasy about the security officers’ presence.
With the alarm shrieking and the voice advising everyone to remain calm, the evacuees trotted up the stairs.
Behrmann took advantage of the opportunity to interrogate their escorts: “Do you have to get the fire department to turn the alarm off?”
“We handle matters ourselves, ma’am.”
At the top of the stairs, the party pushed the steel door open to emerge into a storage shed that doubled as a concealed exit. Gardening and lawn equipment hung from the walls.
Albin turned to the guards and gave them a feigned smile. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
Meanwhile, Denver peeked out the door into the sunlight. She made a circular motion over her head, imitating rotors of a helicopter.
“Now,” Albin resumed, “we require a flight to the nearest town.”
The security enforcers stared. “You’re planning to leave? Where?”
“Somewhere not here,” Bridges growled.
Beside him, Judge’s voice mingled with his.
The guards appeared to realize they found themselves in an enclosed building with four adults, a German Shepherd, and numerous improvised weapons. The pair reached for their revolvers, but the captives moved faster.
Albin trapped the nearest man’s hand against the pistol with his left hand, while sliding his right arm between the guard’s body and gun arm. Albin grasped his own wrist. He stepped in for the kimura wrist lock.
Simultaneously, Behrmann and Bridges set upon their guard: Bridges snatched a shovel off the wall. He smashed the handle into the man’s jaw. Judge clamped down on the enemy’s arm.
Amanda stripped the pistol from Albin’s captive.
Behrmann whipped a feed sack over her shouting foe’s head.
Meanwhile, Amanda held the revolver on the enemy as Albin kicked the bend of the man’s knee. The man went down, providing perfect access to his neck.
Between Behrmann and Bridges, they secured their guard and dragged Judge off her prize.
Albin wrapped his arm around his target’s throat. He placed his hand on the back of his own head and looked up. His other hand still secured the captive’s arm. The enemy slumped into unconsciousness in a matter of seconds as blood flow to his brain ceased. After a count of three, Albin released pressure.
Amanda bound the target’s hands with duct tape she had located on a nearby shelf.
A meter away, Behrmann took her prisoner’s pistol. Amanda handed Albin the other revolver.
Bridges and Amanda searched the former captors. They produced access cards, identification, and walkie-talkies.
“Now what?” asked Bridges.
Albin released the cylinder in the revolver, a Smith & Wesson Model 629 loaded with .44 Special rounds. “Now we go to the nearest airport, south of here. I believe this will cover our fare.” He clicked the cylinder back in place.
Chapter 64
Ready, Set
Hold On – Halcyon Skies
June 6, 2016—
After a good night’s sleep and a day of preparation, Nathan, Birk, and Sophia embarked on their mission. An hour’s drive brought them to Denver, Colorado, and the Sports Authority Field at Mile High, home of the Broncos.
In the far end of the football stadium’s parking lot, Nathan surveilled the main gate with night-vision Bushnell binoculars Sophia had supplied him.
Birk harrumphed in the backseat. “Why don’t you just let the government do their job?” Now that they occupied ground zero, he seemed to have forgotten his earlier skepticism of trusting their Benevolent Leaders’ competence.
“Do you want to stop LOGOS, or don’t you?” Nathan kept his eyes to the optics. “You know where the transceivers are, or so you claim. If the government fouls up, as they are wont to do, we will act as backup. Rather, they’ll be our backup. They don’t have the best track record, as you pointed out.”
Wrinkling his nose, Birk huffed. “Why are you so certain they’ll act on your tip?”
“If my name doesn’t make them sit up and take notice, I don’t know whose will. I’d say Bin Laden if he wasn’t already burning in Hell.”
Sophia, occupying the driver’s seat, broke her silence: “We’ve done all the preliminary work we can. Now it’s about getting inside and doing the heavy lifting.”
Nathan and Sophia turned to look over their shoulders at Birk, who crossed his arms and glared through his brows like a petulant toddler. “I don’t want to do this any more than you want me along.”
Nathan grunted. “I don’t have a choice.”
Birk eyed his rescuer / captor. “Say, where’s Smithers, anyway? Shouldn’t you be doing this with him?”
Smithers, Mr. Burns’s assistant from The Simpsons? Nathan pushed his door open as he ground his teeth.
Sophia and Birk followed. The researcher continued, “He wasn’t with you at Mercury either, come to think of it. Don’t tell me your BFF broke up with you! Did he get sick of being your bitch?”
The last syllable barely cleared Birks lips when Nathan slammed him against the car, gripping the bullet-resistant vest beneath the bastard’s button down. “We’ve had this conversation befo
re. Mind your tongue when you speak about my people.”
Suspicion filled Birk’s eyes. “Wait, did you . . . did you get him killed? Is that why he’s not around? I bet that burns the old ego. Or does it? Do you even care?”
Nathan’s shoulder twitched. His fist tightened—
A weight dragged him down on the right before the punch could shatter Birk’s jaw. Sophia hung off Nathan’s upper arm. “We don’t have time for this. Remember the deadline.”
Nathan jerked Birk forward, then shoved him against the car again under the guise of releasing him. Contemptuous little fucker looking so smug! He would regret it.
With a last glare at the weasel, Nathan stepped back. “Get ready.”
++++++++++++
June 5, 2016—
Behrmann checked her revolver’s cylinder. “I don’t know what we’ll do after we get to the airport, that’s the problem. Albin, I guess you could contact Nathan’s father-in-law.”
“Yes.” If no other option manifested, and if he could reach the man.
With the attorney in the lead, they stole from the shed. Ahead, a sleek, white Bell 407GXP helicopter sat with rotors idling. Albin strode toward it, pistol in hand but under his jacket.
The side door opened. With no encouragement required, Albin ducked into the craft, grip tightening on the revolver.
Nonplussed, the pilot looked back at him, helmet visor glinting in the sun. “Can I help you?”
“As a matter of fact, you can. We require transport to the nearest airport.”
“Would your name happen to be Albin Conrad?” The pilot consulted his smartphone, then looked back. “Well?”
How . . . ? Albin exchanged glances with Behrmann, who followed him. “And if I am?”
“If you are, then this message is for you.” He handed over his mobile.
Cautious, Albin accepted. An email occupied the screen. It read, Greetings from your friend in the Fortress. It may interest you to know that in the state’s capital, the Company is marshalling the Underworld. You may also encounter a dark god there, or perhaps just a dog. Either way, your present quest will be at an end. Your next quest will then begin. Tally-ho!
PS Happy early birthday.
Reading over Albin’s shoulder, Behrmann hummed in his ear, drawing a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean? Is he referring to—”
“Mr. Serebus, I believe, but I am unsure how he escaped government custody.” Knowing Mr. Serebus, he may have negotiated a deal with the authorities. At what price, though?
“Mm. Wait, it’s your birthday?”
“Far from it.” He looked up at the pilot. “Did you receive coordinates with this email?”
“I did. It’s on the outskirts of Denver. Do you want to go there, or do you want to go to the nearest airport like you planned? It doesn’t matter to me.” He shrugged.
Behrmann frowned, matching Albin’s suspicion. “I guess it’s better than hijacking the chopper.”
“I dislike being a pawn, but if it moves me in the direction of my goal, so be it.”
“Win-win, then,” she decided with a grin. “I’ll get the others.”
She ducked out of the craft as Albin reread the missive. Kenichi-san would not stand for LOGOS stealing his prize, but neither would he act directly.
Bridges, Behrmann, Judge, and the Musters climbed into the aircraft. The siblings looked about in amazement. The adults displayed less enthusiasm.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Amanda asked him. “Relatively, I mean.”
“Safer than us holding a gun to the pilot’s head,” Bridges replied, voice low.
“It is a message from Kenichi-san.” Albin showed Amanda and the economist the email. As she read it, her brows wrinkled in confusion.
While the passengers belted into the leather upholstered seats, Albin handed the phone back to the pilot. “Sir, please follow the coordinates that you were given in the message.”
For better or worse, they left the ranch. Did they leave the cage only to enter the snake pit?
Chapter 65
Go
Hunt You Down – Hit House featuring Ruby Freidman
June 6, 2016—
The trio began gearing up: Birk donned his lab coat, Sophia swung her backpack with its sniper rifle into place, and Nathan ducked into his AR’s single-point strap. When they finished, they set off for the ticketing counter at the stadium’s main entrance. They passed the wall of busts, a tribute to Broncos notables, which flanked the entry’s concourse. Farther in front of the building, stallions reared, frozen in their poses of power. The flag poles that had once hosted banners of triumph stood empty and still save for the ropes clinking against the masts.
The stadium could seat 76,000 people. How many cannibals could it hold? Double that? Triple? Nathan’s mouth went dry and his fingers tingled. Cold settled in his chest, constricting his heart, while fever heat coursed down his back.
Birk kept close to his armed escorts. “Are you sure the authorities are going to be here?”
“The government may be incompetent in serving the people,” Nathan murmured, “but it works well when its own interests are at stake. We don’t need them.” They needed him.
“Oh, sure.” Birk rolled his eyes, shoulders hunching. “We’re every bit as capable as a SWAT team or Army battalion. Those tens of thousands of cannibals don’t stand a chance!”
“If our information is right,” Sophia replied, voice low, “we won’t have to fire a shot.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Quiet.” Nathan signaled for silence as he took the lead. Ahead, the gates’ steel bars sealed the way and protected the glass doors beyond.
A Humvee sat nearby. It sported an extended cargo area with two smoke stacks like those from a wood stove jutting from its roof. A two-wheeled trailer carrying a steel box attached to the rear of the vehicle.
Sophia grunted. “That’s a BIDS: a biological integrated detection system vehicle. They can test the air for biological agents.”
“They’re worried about it mutating,” Birk muttered. “Idiots.”
Nathan kept silent, attention ahead. Two security personnel in full combat accoutrements watched the newcomers’ approach from behind a sandbag wall beside the entrance. “Stop right there!” one yelled. “Raise your hands and state your business. You’re in a restricted area.”
The three obeyed. Nathan assumed a businesslike tone: “We’re from the FBI. We have a scientist who was sent to evaluate the state of the affected.”
The two guards glanced at each other. “We haven’t received any information about that.”
“We have orders. May I?” Nathan pointing to his chest rig’s pocket.
“Go ahead, but we’ll call this in anyway.”
Nathan produced his forged badge—courtesy of Sophia the mercenary—and a folded piece of paper, then set them on the ground. He backed up to join the others.
One of the Soldiers retrieved it while his companion radioed their commanding officer.
“This mission is classified,” Nathan confided. If they waited to confirm the “orders” with the COs, they might cause the deadline to slip by. Worse, they might fire on the newcomers.
“If you don’t let me in now,” Birk piped up in his most annoying, insistent whine, “the cannibals will grow exponentially worse. I’m on an assignment to help discover a cure. It is imperative I see them now. You don’t know what’s at stake.” He dropped his hands. “This stadium isn’t just a holding cell. We are trying to help these people. Do you have a fingerprint scanner?”
“Yes. But the commanding officer didn’t say anything about you.”
The Soldier on the radio confirmed, “Kraus, they don’t know anything about him.”
“He’s not high enough on the food chain,” Birk returned. “Let me prove it to you.” He jabbed his thumb toward them.
Though reluctant, Kraus allowed him to scan
his digit on the biometric device. If LOGOS had wiped his account, this would not go well.
A chirp responded.
“You check out, but—”
“These orders look correct,” the Soldier’s partner cut him off, holding up the papers.
Private Kraus frowned. “All right. But remember, we can see you on the cameras.” Though he eyed them with skepticism, he unlocked the gates. “I have to warn you, a few of the cannibals have breached the barriers, and now are wandering around.”
“That’s acceptable?” Nathan’s hand settled around the AR’s grip.
“We haven’t had the manpower to corral them again. And our orders are to keep them inside the stadium building.”
“We’ll need keys,” Nathan declared. “Unless there are guards at each level?”
The Soldier shook his head. “There aren’t any sentries on the upper levels.”
“No guards?” Birk appeared at Nathan’s left. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”
“Sir, the commanding officer here didn’t want to risk troops or to take them away from other missions.”
“Give us the keys,” Nathan pressed, hand out.
“I’ll be your escort.”
“Security cameras aren’t enough?” Sophia asked. Her hand hovered over her Sig Sauer P226 pistol at low ready. A suppressor extended from the pistol, but unlike in Hollywood flicks where “silencers” made gunshots sound like a BB gun, it would only dampen the weapon’s report by perhaps thirty decibels. She gave the impression that she would enjoy firing on the servicemen. As a mercenary who worked for Lexa Birk, she probably would.
“Hurry up,” Birk snapped. “You’re wasting time.”
Nathan gave the idiot a warning look. Don’t overplay your hand. Birk twitched a brow at him.
The team dropped their night-vision goggles into place, washing the world in Mountain-Dew green. Kraus took point, with Nathan on the right and Sophia to the left. In the center came Birk.
