by Justin Bell
***
“We’ve got a body over here,” Agent Craig said, moving toward the rear of the lobby area, bending low behind the long, oak desk. His eyes never left the corpse, dressed in a powder blue shirt and dark blue pants, he was in the garb of a security guard, his large stomach stretching the fabric of his shirt, arms splayed out to each side. The front of his shirt was caked with dried blood, and his skin had gone a clammy pale shade of off white, colored like soft wax.
The glass had been silent for a few minutes, the attackers apparently losing their drive to pummel it with 7.62-millimeter ammunition, though for all Davis knew they were still just outside the door, waiting for the right moment.
“He got a badge?” Davis asked and Craig was one step ahead of him, snapping it from the lanyard and holding it out.
“Computer workstation on the counter, too,” Craig finished, pulling himself to a standing posture and walking toward the computer. At the far side of the lobby, Lassiter had been laid down back-first on the formerly cleanly polished floor while Lance Corporal Rickard huddled over him, peeling apart his uniform to check for injuries.
Haskell made his way over, casting more than a few worried glances toward the glass encased entrance.
“How long before they come storming in here?” he asked.
Davis followed the direction of his gaze. “No idea, but they have to know that glass won’t hold out forever.”
“Then we’d better get moving,” Craig replied from the computer station.
“What exactly are you going to do for us from there?” Haskell barked, an edge of hostility coloring the tone of his voice. Marines and infantry had no love for the intelligence geeks and his impatience with Craig’s inclusion on this mission was starting to show through.
Craig was looking down at the computer screen and held up what looked to be a USB key, which he slid somewhere that they couldn’t see.
“Let him work his magic,” Davis said. “Believe me, I’ve worked with my share of geeks, they have their uses.”
“Knowing your way through technology isn’t being a geek,” Craig barked from the other side of the desk. “Last time I looked it was the twenty-first century here.” His fingers clacked on the keyboard.
“I don’t care what century it is, spy boy, whatever you’re doing, do it; those guys will be in here in minutes.”
Davis gestured away from the desk and Haskell followed him as they walked across the lobby toward the other Marines who were gathered around Lassiter. Sergeant King was standing a short distance away, Holbrook working a bandage onto his left shoulder and adjusting some gauze.
“Gonna live?” asked Haskell.
“Right as rain,” King replied. “It wasn’t even my gun arm, Sarge.”
The Gunnery Sergeant smirked and nodded.
“So what’s your take on the guys out there?” Davis asked, jerking his head toward the window.
“Well, we agree that they were firing AK’s, right?” Haskell replied.
Davis nodded his agreement.
“Did you hear them shouting back and forth?”
“Heard them making noise, couldn’t tell what they were saying.”
“Could have sworn one of them was yelling in Chechen,” Haskell said, keeping his voice low.
“For real?” Davis asked. He narrowed his eyes, trying to replay some of the past several moments in his mind, but couldn’t recall any specific words or language spoken.
“What the hell would Chechens be doing in Philly?”
“Especially at this particular data center?”
“Something’s not adding up.”
“There’s a lot about the last week that’s not adding up, Sergeant Davis.”
“Yo!” a voice shouted by the desk. “I’ve got a hit!”
Davis and Haskell flashed a look at each other, then Davis broke away, striding quickly toward the desk.
“Whatever you’re saying, make it quick!” shouted Campbell. “I’m seeing movement outside the entryway. I think they’re getting ready to make their move!”
Davis reached the desk. “What do you have, Craig?”
“I used a brute force application stored on the USB key and successfully cracked our dead guard’s password in about forty-three seconds.”
“Good for you,” Davis replied, picking up the pace as he walked toward him. Craig was standing tall, his face a mask of confidence that Davis had not noticed previously.
“Got access to the floor plan, and I can tell you exactly what server cages we’re looking for.”
“Nice work,” Davis said, sounding like he actually meant it.
“I’m sending it to the printer down the hall, let’s grab it and get rolling. I don’t want to be here when those wingnuts figure out how to break through that glass.” Craig moved away, turning left down the hall and returned a moment later with a few pieces of printer paper in hand. Davis could see the rough outline of a series of rooms and chambers printed in tiny black lines. Reaching over toward the desk, Craig snatched a felt-tipped pen from a coffee mug proclaiming its owner as the “World’s Best Doggie Dad” and came back over to the paper, squeaking a pair of circles around two of the small rectangular shapes.
“These two cages here. Both pretty close to each other. If we can grab a few shelves of hard drives from each cage, I’m betting we can salvage some security footage.”
“Quickest way there?” Haskell asked.
Craig pointed back down the hall he had come from. “Down that way. There’s a man trap, but we’ve got two ID badges, which should let us unlock both doors simultaneously. From there it’s more or less a straight shot, then we can come right back.”
“And what about them?” Campbell asked jerking his head toward the glass enclosure. No figures were currently visible outside at the moment, but everyone in the room knew that was destined to change.
“We’ll have to cross that bridge when it comes,” Davis said.
As if on cue, a clutch of men clad in black converged on the front door, kneeling down by the base of the entrance, hands working.
“What are they—?”
“Move,” Davis hissed. “They’re gonna blow it. We need to move and move now!”
Sellers and Quail were already forming up on Lassiter, hauling him to his feet, his head bobbing as they did. Sellers bent low and hefted him up on his shoulders, then took off toward the hallway, the Marine detachment following close behind.
“Go go go!” shouted Davis. “Except you!” he barked at Holbrook. “Grab all the spare M27 magazines you’ve got, both you and King. We’re rear cover, got it?”
Holbrook nodded firmly, turning toward King, who was already pulling the magazines from the overstuffed pouches on his tactical vest.
“Come on, double time!” Davis shouted, but the back half of his sentence was drowned out in the rumbling wham of concussive explosions, shattering glass and shorn rock ripping free from the walls and the floor and spraying the entirety of the inside faux marble lobby with smoldering and battered chunks of hacked concrete.
Davis had his head lowered, his eyes pulled tightly closed as dirt and rocks rained down around him, his ears ringing with the leftover sounds of the contained explosive blast. The world spun around him as he tried to catch his balance, small pops from automatic fire filling in the scant gaps of buzzing in his ears. The wall next to him buckled and punched apart as bullets struck and he lurched left, just trying to get some separation.
“Got your back!” Holbrook screamed way too loud, coming up on Davis’s other side, M27 roaring. Smoke clotted the air, nothing was visible except the vague, shifting movement of figures bursting their way in. Davis thought he saw one of them spin away with an accented shout.
“Man trap’s open!” he heard from the end of the hall. “Davis! Holbrook! Move move move!”
“Go!” Davis shouted, jerking his head toward Holbrook who didn’t hesitate, he simply spun and ran toward the back of the hallway, bullets pepperi
ng the wall and floor in his wake. Davis shifted left and fired, spraying the smoke clogged area ahead with 5.56, then pulled back and bolted, turning and chasing Holbrook, running close at his heels. Up ahead he could see Haskell holding the door, the smoke thinning as they moved away from the lobby, but the stink still clung to his nostrils and the sound still buzzed lightly in his ears.
Footfalls thudded from not too far away as he ducked his head and swept into the first door of the man trap, usually a small room with dual entrances and exits that require two different keys to remain unlocked. As he slid through, Haskell moved in behind him, slamming the door just as a barrage of gunfire plowed into the glass enclosure, smashing against the hard surface. The glass in the man trap was tough, but not quite as tough as the front entrance, and its surface starred and began to splinter, though it kept the bullets from going completely through and likely saved Haskell’s life. He followed Davis through the second door, then arced left, the entire group of Marines thrusting deeper into the data center, searching for the cages that would give them what they came here for.
As he followed the moving herd, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what they were going to do once they found what they were looking for…
***
Melinda would have screamed if the hand wasn’t clamped so tightly around her mouth, of this she was certain. As it was, she made a short, swift squeak, twisting and struggling against the tightening grasp of the looming figure behind her. Pulled completely off her feet, she squirmed, trying to wrench free, but the arm was too tight, wrapping completely around her, pinning her own arms to her sides, lifting her and hauling her backwards. She pressed her eyes together, trying to picture someone and something she cared about, some sort of stabilizing influence that would prevent her from completely freaking out, an image or person to keep her grounded.
Their faces whipped through her mind like familiar friends on a merry-go-round, a blurring recognition before fading into nothing. She was dragged and pulled, feet scraping on pavement, her muscles bundled into tightly wound coils, but no matter how much she struggled, the person behind her was stronger and was taking her wherever he wanted to.
Suddenly, they were free of the alley, the narrow gap between buildings pulled away, and a wide back lane running up and down Main Street at the rear of the buildings stretched left and right. It was rough pavement, a bit darker than the main stretch of road had been, but she felt like she had at least a little breathing room, and as the hand relaxed on her mouth, she drew in a deep breath of air and opened her mouth to scream.
“Melinda, don’t!”
Her lips clamped shut and she turned her head.
“Jackson!”
He knelt by her, holding his finger to his lips, gesturing for her to be quiet as they huddled behind the buildings lining Main Street.
“I saw you as I was coming into town,” he whispered, “and I saw those military dudes with guns. That didn’t look right at all.”
“It’s not right, Jackson, it’s totally not right. They’re after me!”
“Why on Earth are they after you?”
“I kicked Mayor Harris in the shin and ran away, and made him mad, but I don’t care, he looks all broken inside, and I think he was going to do something bad to me, so—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jackson said quietly, gesturing for her to slow down. “Take it easy, Mel, honey, okay? Just take it easy. Tell me slow. Start from the beginning.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, trying to think back. “After you left… after we dropped you off, some guys in a jeep came by. They had guns. They shot up the truck and took us into town, locked us up in some jail.”
“Locked who up? All of you? Broderick, Clark, Priscilla and Javier?”
Mel nodded. “And Lisa. Oh! Yeah. Lisa! Your Lisa. She’s there with the rest.”
“My Lisa? Lisa Martin?” Jackson’s eyes went wide and glowered strangely, as if trying to translate a foreign language. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Clark recognized her. Said she lived in your building, right?”
Jackson nodded uncertainly. “Why is she in there?”
“The Mayor says she beat up some guys. Got herself in hot water.”
Jackson couldn’t help but chuckle. That was definitely not out of the realm of possibility. He halted in mid laugh and looked back at the young girl again. “You keep saying the Mayor. Mayor Harris? Bruce Harris?”
“Yeah. He’s got a bunch of friends. Army guys who he’s recruited. He wants to make the town some kind of stronghold or something. Says he knew guys from the National Guard really well, called in some favors or something. Now the town is crawling with soldiers.”
“I saw them.”
“I don’t like them, Jackson,” Mel whispered. “Soldiers are supposed to protect us, but these guys look mean.”
Jackson put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “The world is a scary place right now, honey. Everyone is feeling a little mean. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left. I should have stayed with you guys.”
Melinda shook her head. “Then they would have caught you, too.”
“Maybe,” Jackson shrugged. “So where is this jail? Are you talking about those holding cells in the town hall?
Mel nodded and jerked her head back toward the narrow alley and Jackson followed her into it, barely fitting between the walls, moving slow but certainly over the uneven ground, letting the darkened shadows drape over them, hopefully keeping them hidden. They walked for a few moments, then arrived back at the opening at the other side, being sure to hold back, out of the light. Mel pointed across Main Street toward the town hall and Jackson moved up next to her, looking at the two-floor structure, the underground basement, the simple stairway leading up to the front door.
“They’re in the holding cells?” he asked.
Mel nodded. “I guess so.”
As they watched, a military jeep rolled slowly down Main Street, then pulled over near the sidewalk, three camouflage garbed soldiers spilling out onto the road, each one carrying an automatic weapon. A few more scattered about the street and around the Town Hall building.
“Lived in this town my whole life,” Jackson said softly. “Never seen anything like this.”
“We need to get them out, Jack,” Melinda whispered. “We need to get away.”
Still looking out across the road, Jackson had a hard time disagreeing, but what he couldn’t quite figure out was how to do it without getting shot to pieces. Seemed to him that was the main challenge. A challenge he wasn’t sure he and a ten-year-old girl could overcome.
Chapter 8
Boots squeaked on cleanly polished floor as the Marine team worked their way through narrow hallways, still white and gleaming from the overhead lights.
“Straight past two hallways, third one on the right!” Craig barked, looking at the map in his hand as the camouflaged group moved in unison, shoulder to shoulder, Davis and Holbrook bringing up the rear with the M27’s.
A swift flash and pop burst from the hallway they just left, the sound of smashing glass ringing in the previous silence, glittering shards scattered along the white floor.
“They’re through the man trap!” Davis shouted. “They’ll be on us in five!” He turned toward Holbrook and nodded curtly. “You ready?”
Holbrook drummed his fingers on the handle of the automatic weapon, then moved his finger from the trigger guard to the trigger.
“Always ready, Sarge. Always ready.” Holbrook was the prototypical Marine. Davis was one hundred percent certain Holbrook’s hair was high and tight under the helmet, his face broad-chinned to match his broad shoulders. He filled out the uniform to max, leaving the fabric taut over his muscular frame. He was a workout warrior, Davis could tell, but he moved smooth and skilled, more skilled than he would have given a corporal credit for.
There was a second swift snap from overhead, followed by a pop, flash, and suddenly the hallway was coated in shadow and darkness.
�
��I think the generator finally popped!” shouted Campbell from inside the group. “These things are built to survive, but when nobody’s alive to top off the fuel tanks…”
Gunfire roared as the black clad commandos curled around the hall, swiveling to aim their AK-47’s and AK-74’s. They knew the Marines were there and started firing before coming around, most of their shots peppering the walls and ceiling, spraying broken fluorescents down on the soldiers’ heads. Sparks danced over their heads and shoulders, spraying down from the broken lights as bullets pummeled the already dim bars, driving up into the ceiling and belching it like blood. Davis immediately opened up with the 27 and the first man crossing the threshold thrashed left to right as he was struck by the onslaught of 7.62 millimeter, then flew backwards, skidding along the polished tile.
“They’re on us!” Davis shouted as one of the other commandos peeked around the corner, pulling himself sharply backwards as Holbrook unloaded on the corner of the wall, smashing the formerly straight edge into ragged rubble and spraying chunks.
“Corporal, that first hallway, cover, now!”
The other gunner understood and pulled back, bolting for the next hallway on the right, swinging around the wall as more gunfire danced across the smooth surface, peppering it with jagged, round holes. Davis returned fire as he back-pedaled, crossing past the hallway, then he nodded to Holbrook who leaned out and fired a rattling roar, spraying bullets in a wide arc. As the hallway filled with fire, Davis whirled and dashed for the second hallway, looking ahead to see the rest of the group moving right toward the data center cages they were hunting for.
Around the corner, Davis heard more haggard shouting in a language he couldn’t quite translate, but certainly nothing resembling English.
