by LC Champlin
What if the mission did turn and he failed to return? If he died this night, she would never know his thoughts. Neither would the Musters. “I feel an obligation toward the Musters.”
“An ‘obligation’?” Disapproval coated the word.
“Yes. A duty, a responsibility. They helped us when first we entered their neighborhood. We are part of the reason they are in this situation. They trusted us, and we failed them,” he stated. “The we includes you.”
“You don’t feel anything more?”
“I have never felt anything more than philía love, at best, for anyone.” He paused to turn the drone homeward. From here, he could make out the guards’ sandbag emplacement at the main entry, with its two Soldiers and their machine gun. “I will sacrifice my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor for those to whom I am loyal and for the causes in which I believe. If that does not meet the level of emotional attachment you require, that is not my concern.”
Behrmann studied him, then delivered a slow nod as a smile formed. “You’re a unique man, Albin.”
“Perhaps.” The drone footage reclaimed his attention.
She watched the feed on the controller. “What are we going to do if this fails? If LOGOS can control the affected, they can turn everyone into cannibals. Even if we succeed, they’ll keep trying until they succeed. They’ll never give in—”
“Do not give our enemies a victory they have not yet won.” However, having a contingency plan proved essential. “If we fail tonight, we will continue to fight. Kenichi-san evidently has a master plan; he will continue his machinations, even as we continue ours and I continue to search for Mr. Serebus.”
“I know I’m bringing up the obvious—”
“Then do not bring it up.”
“—but Nathan tried to kill you. You’re still going after him, though. I”—she pressed her hand over her heart—“stuck with him too, yet this is apparently the highest form of treason in your book. Even higher than firing a grenade at you.”
“Must you resort to hyperbole so often?” Albin kept his eyes on the aircraft’s camera display. “I have already explained my duty and family ties to him. And he did apologize after helping to save my life.”
“I drove the vehicle that took you to the medevac flight.” She pulled herself erect in defiance. “I helped the people of Redwood Shores and our friends while you were recovering and Nathan was—is—in jail.”
The drone auto landed before them.
He turned to her. She had answered his questions in a satisfactory manner, as he had hoped she would. Providing her the opportunity to voice her loyalties reaffirmed them to herself as well as to him. “Ms. Josephine, you have my deepest gratitude for your efforts.”
She eyed him as if expecting a but.
“Now, do you wish to assist me on this mission? I do require a driver, but if you prefer to remain at the headquarters with the Musters, I understand. I shall have Bridges drive instead.”
The shift in topic left her stunned silent, but only for a moment. She growled a sigh. “Of course I want to help. I’m not arguing with the arrangement of people. I just want to get the story correct.”
“I wish you and the story the best of luck,” Albin responded as he stooped to retrieve the drone. None of the customers at Tru Cannabis in the shopping center ahead paid them heed. “I also wish you and Bridges all the happiness in the world.” He gave her a knowing smirk.
Her eyes widened as she opened her mouth to reply.
“I am not as blind to the interactions of humans as I may appear.”
Chapter 71
Occupied
Army – Zayde Wolf
Nathan took point. “One, two, three!” Carbine up, he shoved the Club area’s glass doors open.
There, to the left, the cannibals from earlier. They loitered a dozen yards off, each facing one of the four cardinal directions. Shit, why hadn’t he taken the time to sew the space blankets into his clothes for a rudimentary electromagnetic shield, like the wallets that protected credit cards? But time allowed only so much preparation.
The next escalator lay farther down. Nathan moved out, rightward, with as much stealth as possible. He and his comrades followed the wall. Perhaps the electrical wires in it would camouflage his magnetic field.
Sssssaaaahhh!
Or not.
“Go!” Sophia whispered from behind. “I’ll distract them.”
“But—”
“Now!” Her gaze snapped to him, half pleading, half demanding.
“Come, Birk.” Nathan caught the man’s elbow and dragged him forward. They both broke into a run. The escalator lay ahead. Fifteen yards, ten, five—Touchdown! They sprinted up the steps, the belt rattling under their charge.
“Wait.” Nathan halted, one hand out behind to stop Birk. Shuffling and a grunt indicated the researcher almost collided with him.
Nathan took the last few steps at a walk. He stepped around the corner, carbine ready. A dark figure lunged from behind the railing. He dodged back, into the third level’s concourse. Another cannibal sprang from the other side of the escalator. Fuck! They’d waited to ambush him. Recognizing their flanking tactic had failed, the first cannibal continued its course toward Nathan, while the second turned to Birk.
Gunfire would draw more of them. Nathan’s finger tightened on the trigger anyway. The monster dodged left, then charged. Fuck! Pivoting clear on the ball of his foot, he lacked only a bullfighter’s cape. Shove to the cannibal’s shoulder with the AR’s butt—
The abomination staggered off balance as the AR came back online.
Bang-bang-bang!
The rounds tore through the foe’s torso and throat. With the spinal cord severed, the body collapsed.
Now for Birk—who vaulted over the railing from the escalator onto the third floor. The cannibal’s swipe missed him by inches. Unbalanced, he rolled when he hit the floor.
“Move!” Not that Birk required encouragement as he scuttled backward.
Bang-bang! Bang!
Lead punched through the cannibal’s T-shirt and tore through the back of its skull, taking membranes and gray matter with it.
“Go!” Birk’s yelp cut through the ringing in Nathan’s ears.
What the—A pack of the creatures, at least thirty strong, barreled down the corridor toward them.
“Birk, bathroom!” Nathan seized him by the shoulder, fingers wrapping behind the vest edge. They scrambled into the nearest: a women’s bathroom, given the lack of urinals.
“Now we’re fucking trapped,” Birk snarled.
“Shh.” Nathan shoved the scientist into the handicapped stall at the end of the row. Following, he closed and locked the door behind them. “Start wrapping yourself up, spud.” As Nathan spoke, he pulled the space blanket from a chest-rig pouch.
“This is nuts!”
“Turn off your night-vision goggles, radio, phone—any electronics.”
In the dark, the fugitives ducked under the Mylar coverings. They had taken the time to glue and tape foil between two layers of the blankets, along with applying black garbage bags to the outside for concealment. The blanket would not block their electromagnetic fields 100%, but it would reduce the signal—hopefully to the point where the Dalits would ignore it.
Shuffling outside. Ssssssaaaaahh.
Nathan pressed his back against the wall on one side of the toilet. His laceration scar ached at the pressure.
Birk occupied the other side, rustling in the Mylar. Why—Shaking? For fuck’s sake. Nathan shifted closer until his shoulder touched Birk’s. This seemed to steady the man. Now if only someone would steady me.
Chills prickled along Nathan’s flesh. Sweat slid down his back as his throat turned dusty. He kept his eyes open. A private display of defiance, since the darkness and the blanket rendered him blind. Facing death with eyes open seemed more courageous. Damn it, he should have looked for a closet instead of a restroom. T
ens of thousands of people died in bathrooms every year, a statistic he’d rather not join.
No time for do-overs: stall doors began opening as the monsters made their way down the line. Hissing and the shifting of bodies against each other and against the walls faded to an ambient drone.
One, two, three, four. God had brought him here for a reason. Perhaps for judgment? He deserved to die at the hands of cannibals, just as the people he should have protected had died. Albin was already dead. As for Janine and David . . . If he allowed LOGOS to win, he should not subject them to his presence.
More hissing. Thuds at the stall door. Grunting, the rustle of fabric. It sounded close. In-the-stall close. A cannibal must have slithered under the door. Nathan’s heart constricted, sending pain through his chest.
Could the oil-puking bastard get out? Vermin never could seem to escape after nosing into places they didn’t belong.
Footsteps, light but measured. Breathing, wheezing. Sniffing.
Nathan leaned harder against Birk’s shoulder. If the man passed out or panicked, he would cause both their deaths. Sooner, anyway.
Chapter 72
Distraction Techniques
Run Devil Run – Crowder
June 6, 2016—Fifteen minutes earlier.
Albin watched from the Renegade as one of the sentries ushered in three newcomers. Two wore tactical gear, while the third wore a lab coat.
Setting the binoculars aside, Albin nodded to Behrmann and exited the vehicle.
“I’ll be waiting,” she affirmed as he retrieved Judge from the backseat.
“Thank you. Do not drop your guard.”
He strode toward the sentry post at the front of the stadium. He passed through the Equipment Field, with its giant football-helmet mask and mouth guard. Art at its finest for football fans. Judge trotted at his side, eyes bright and ears pricked. She could feel the trepidation of her companion, evidently.
“Stop!” yelled the sentry. “Identify yourself.”
“I am with the FBI team. Please unlock the door and permit me to continue my work.”
“Are you with them?” The Soldier jerked his head toward the door.
“Yes, sir.”
“I still need to see ID.”
“I am going to reach for my badge.” Albin raised his right hand.
“Slowly, then toss it in front of the sand bags.” The M4 trained on him ensured he would take the word slowly seriously. He produced the forged badge, which had come with the black fatigues, plate carrier, and other accoutrements.
The identification slid to a stop against the machine gun emplacement. The guard approached with caution. Upon retrieving it, he examined the badge. “All right,” he decided. “Come on.” He moved to unlock the gate. The barrier opened to reveal the ticketing area beyond glass doors. Expansive, designed to accommodate tens of thousands of people moving through it, the entry clashed with reality: cannibals now occupied the place once reserved for entertainment. But contests worth millions still played out. This game held the lives of millions in question.
“You can still catch up with them and their escort if you hurry,” the guard suggested. “I would take you, but I have to keep watch.”
“I am with another team, and I have my own escort.” Albin patted Judge’s neck.
“I suppose you do,” the man chuckled. “But be careful; there are cannibals roaming around the halls. We can’t spare the manpower to track them all down right now. Join up with your people as soon as you can.”
“I plan to do exactly that, Soldier. But I require a passkey to reach them. I was told to collect one from you. Don’t worry; I will return it as soon as I’m through.” A sarcastic smile put the guard at ease.
“If we can’t trust the FBI, who can we trust? Here.” He tossed a ring of keys to Albin.
“Good luck.” The steel gate clanged shut like the door of a cell. A very, very large cell that held abominations and fates as nauseating as any a convict could conceive.
Albin followed his mental map of the stadium, proceeding rightward, away from the agents charging up one of the escalators. In moments he reached the employees’ area at the team merchandise store. So far, so good, as Mr. Serebus would say.
Albin entered the true maze of the stadium: its staff-only halls. White, concrete passages carried man and dog deeper into the facility’s heart. Halogen lights in the ceiling hummed, the only sound besides his footsteps and Judge’s claws on the cement. As in a living creature, the channels carried lifeblood. Humans who acted as cells ensuring it prospered.
Albin fitted his night-vision goggles to his helmet. He would need them after he cut the power.
At last the maintenance room’s door came into view. According to the layout Kenichi-san had provided, it held the breakers to the electricity. That same electricity flowed to the devices that would translate the satellite signal for the cannibal control.
He slid the key into the lock, and attempted to turn it. Nothing. A chill of unease rippled down his back. Maybe another key? No. In fact, none of the other keys fit. A pity Kenichi-san had not supplied him with C4 explosive. However, he did have a lock-picking gun. The DVD of the mission included a tutorial on its use. He fitted a tension wrench—a six-centimeter strip of steel with a ninety-degree bend at one end—with its tooth into the key slot. Next he slid the pistol-shaped pick’s “needle” in like a key. Pulling the trigger caused the pick to snap down and up. In theory, it would shake the tumblers into place.
Judge jerked from looking at him to staring down the hallway. She growled.
Albin replaced the lock pick in its pouch. His hand settled over the grip of his Glock.
++++++++++++
June 6, 2016—
Something brushed the Mylar in front of Nathan’s face. His eyes flinched shut by reflex. Don’t breathe, don’t move, don’t—
Then the presence retreated, the breathing growing fainter. Rustling, more hissing. Did it worm its way out?
The shuffling and hissing of cannibals diminished.
Birk made as if to step forward, but Nathan leaned hard against him to stop him. “No.” Perhaps they waited for their prey to venture out.
Seconds bled into minutes. Minutes seemed to stretch into decades. At last the suspense grew stronger than trepidation. Nathan lowered the composite sheets. Flashlight on. Clear. A sigh of relief escaped him as his shoulders slumped. Black drool streaked the floor, the only sign of the visitation.
“They’re gone,” he breathed.
Birk peeked over his space blanket, eyes wide. “Are you sure? You mean these stupid things”—shake of the plastic—“actually worked?”
“It appears so. Either that, or the Dalits realized they were late for an important date.”
“So long as they’re gone.”
“Let’s continue down the rabbit hole. Don’t lose your head.”
Heart still pounding, Nathan folded his blanket.
“They must have completely broken down the barrier,” Birk concluded.
“They’re getting more intelligent. Or rather, they’re regaining some of their intelligence.” Nathan’s stomach lurched at the thought of losing one’s mind to a contagion that transformed its host into a savage killer.
The duo paused at the bathroom’s exit. Birk hung back as Nathan eased the door open. Outside, squads of cannibals meandered along the edge of the level, looking down over the railing at their fellows. Others stared out the window as if ruminating on days gone by.
Nathan closed the door and leaned back against it. What now?
“Well, this is just fantastic.” Birk paced the row of stalls, fists balled at his sides. “All the way up here, only to be stuck in a bathroom with a horde of cannibals outside. Maybe I should have stayed with Mercury. This ‘live free or die trying’ nonsense is bullshit . . .” His mutterings faded into the distance.
“We need a distraction.” Nathan keyed his radio, tapping out t
he code for distraction: cht-cht, pause, cht, pause, cht-cht.
Silence. Then, cht-cht, pause, cht-cht-cht. Signal received.
“It might not be the most low-key idea,” Birk declared, evidently half into a thought, “but I’m using it.” He raised the space blanket.
“Good thinking. Hold it up in front of us while I take point. We’ll need to stay close together. Can you handle that?”
“I have a choice?” The researcher wrinkled his nose.
Crack the door an inch . . .
An explosion thudded. It sounded as if it came from inside the stadium. Sophia had probably fired a grenade.
The cannibals closest to the railing didn’t move, but those near the wall and the stands’ entrance turned. Then they filed toward the rat hole from whence they had poured. Noticing the herd’s behavior, the cannibals at the handrail followed them. Bingo.
Chapter 73
Undercover
Walk With the Devil – Karliene Reynolds
June 6, 2016—About ten minutes earlier . . .
Footsteps sounded down the employees-only hall, but not the unsteady or meandering gait of a cannibal. Albin broke into a trot away from the visitors, moving as quietly as possible given that he ran in combat boots in a concrete tunnel, wore tactical equipment, and claimed a dog as a partner.
He rounded the corner, weapon ready, but only empty hallway greeted him. Back against the concrete, he peeked back the way he had come. Four men wearing SWAT officer equipment stopped before the door to the maintenance / electrical room. Three acted as sentries while the fourth unlocked the door. Then the squad entered. The door closed behind them.
If he entered, he would face trained combatants. While he could excel at long-distance engagements via sniper fire and surprise, hand-to-hand would put him at a significant disadvantage, even if he could rely on Judge to attack and was not recovering from injuries. This feeling of vulnerability and weakness must resemble what had afflicted Mr. Serebus. Frustration grew, bringing anger. If the men blocked him, he could not cut the power. LOGOS would succeed.
