by Tom Calen
The voices were nearer now, perhaps just outside the door. She took a shuddering breath, fearing that even if she and Erik made it past these guards, it was unlikely they would survive much beyond that. She could see shadows moving at the bottom of the door, and Erik eased himself into a crouch with his gun arm extended. This is it, she thought. I love you, Andrew.
She almost yelped when an ear splitting squeal erupted. The sound, a repeating siren, was interrupted as a mechanical voice called out.
“Code Blue. Code Blue. All personnel report to secure location. Code Blue. Code Blue.”
Michelle looked to Erik, but only saw the same confusion in his eyes. Brief words of profanity from the men outside were immediately followed by the sound of their boots retreating down the hall. Before the voices became inaudible, Michelle heard one last guard speak, “Are they really letting ‘em loose inside?”
Comprehension bombarded her, and she whispered with a knowing fear, “Erik, the Tils!”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you follow me through the… the cells, or whatever they were?” she asked.
“Yeah, which almost got both of us caught. How could you expose yourself like that?”
She discarded his recriminations. “Erik, they’re releasing the Tils to hunt for us!”
Fear mixed with doubt, as he replied, “That’s suicide! The Tils will kill them as quickly as they’d kill us.”
She knew he made sense, but her instincts still believed him to be wrong. “Erik, you saw them. They were just standing, watching, staring like… I don’t know, like a cat watching a mouse. Knowing it could kill it, but biding its time.”
“They’re infected, Michelle. They can’t think.”
“Erik, they created the virus, the doctors down there. If they can create it, who knows what they can do to manipulate it. Even before we got to Cuba, Mike thought that the Tils back home were different, changing in some way.” She knew her tone was pleading, but she did not know how else to convince him to trust her feelings while all facts contradicted them.
“They created…” Erik stammered, and for the first time that night she saw true fear grip him.
Damn, Michelle thought. She had not realized what she said until the words were already out of her mouth. If he takes it half as hard as I did, we’ll be stuck here too long!
“Erik, we can’t think about that right now. I’ll explain when we get out of here, but for now you have to trust me. There are Tils hunting us,” she said. She had no time to ponder the role reversal as she tried to stir him from his shock.
Blinking his eyes in rapid succession, she could almost see the cloudy disorientation lift from him, “Okay, let’s go.” He rose to his feet and headed for the door, Michelle matching him stride for stride. The hallway beyond the office was deserted, and they half-jogged down the carpeted floor, past the first office that had provided so many revelations. She was tempted to stop and try to print or download evidence, but a muffled growl from an unseen Til kept her moving.
They passed an elevator but immediately discounted it for fear of being trapped. The pace was slowed whenever a camera was spotted, and Erik would slide up to it, as unseen as possible, and rip out the cords powering it. Michelle began to think that the steady progression of dead cameras would give away their position just as seeing the pair might, but she held her tongue.
Michelle lost track of how many turns the two had taken before they eventually found another staircase. Taking steps two at a time, she and Erik raced lower until reaching a long corridor, dimly lit in red. The growls and snarls still trailed after them, and she believed the sounds were gaining on them. The path soon came to an end at a large steel door. Pressing the bar and pushing the door outward, their progress was impeded by thick chains that locked the door from the outside. With barely a hand width of space, Michelle reached through the crack and could feel the lock that secured the chain. Handing her improvised lock pick to Erik, his hand replaced hers while he blindly fumbled to unlock their way to freedom.
“Hurry,” she implored as several sets of foot falls echoed off the concrete walls.
“I’m trying,” Erik replied, the edge of anxiety clear in his voice.
Michelle battled the panic that was threatening to consume her. “They’re coming, Erik!” she shouted, the need for stealth overridden by terror. Her hands shook as she held her weapon before her. Even in the feeble light, the shadows of the approaching Tils danced in the distance.
“Damn it! I can’t unlock it,” Erik said as he stood from his crouch. “Stand back!”
With a glance over her shoulder, she saw him level his own weapon at the slim crack between door and frame. He had managed to shift the chain slightly allowing direct access to the lock. The sound of the gun shot was deafening in the hallway, and Michelle’s ears still rang when he finished unraveling the chain and fully opened the door. The air beyond the door was thick and moist, a hazy fog had rolled in off the bay during her time in the facility. Erik quickly looped the chain to secure the door shut, though without a lock she wondered if the Tils would be stopped.
Unsure of their location, the pair beat a fast path to the tree line some dozen yards away. Erik spun in a circle trying to get his bearings, the process made difficult by the fog that obscured their view. Angry snarls tore through the night as the Tils in pursuit discovered the chained door. Michelle could almost picture the attackers slamming against the door, each push loosening the chain barrier. Though they could no longer see the door, the sound of the chain hitting the ground was evidence enough that the Tils were loose.
“Come on,” Erik said, returning again to the whisper of hiding. Michelle followed him further into the trees. The fog swirled around their legs with each stride they took. She would have cursed the white mist, but she knew that though it blocked their vision, it most certainly did the same to the Tils. Erik’s running seemed less haphazard and she was about to ask him if he knew where he was going when her left foot hooked itself under an exposed tree root. The ground rushed up to meet her, and her ankle exploded in pain as her body twisted in the fall. Erik was at her side before she was able to take a breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked with concern.
“My ankle,” Michelle said through gritted teeth. The immediate pain was subsiding to a dull throb, but she doubted if the ankle would support her when she stood. Muted through the fog, the sounds of the Tils drew closer. Wordlessly, Erik looped her left arm around his shoulders and pulled her to her feet. He began a steady trot, as she hopped beside him. She gingerly tried to put some weight on her injured ankle, but the earlier intense pain was immediately renewed.
The bestial sounds of the Tils reached their ears through the darkness, seeming to come from all sides. Hobbling along, she could feel her boot rapidly tightening around her foot and ankle as her injury swelled. Erik’s jaw was set in grim determination as he pulled her along.
“Erik,” she said in a hush, “Where are we going? If they found my car…”
“I have a bike,” he replied in a similar tone. Even as he spoke to her, his eyes darted hurriedly from side to side, squinting into the pitch. Michelle shook herself for foolishness. Of course he has a way out, she chided herself, he couldn’t have followed me on foot.
“How far?
“A mile or so,” he told her. She could hear in his voice that same doubt that ran through her mind. Can we make it that far?
“We have to stop,” she said as the painful pressure of her boot intensified.
Clearly wanting to argue the need for haste, Erik slowed the progress as he propped Michelle against a tree. From his labored breathing she knew his agreement had come from his own body’s need for a respite. Unlacing her boots, Michelle bit back a scream as she tugged off the footwear. Even in the faint light, she could see the garish purple hue of the puffed flesh around her ankle. Pushing the sight and pain from her mind, she reached for Erik to resume their flight. As she did, a dark shadow d
arted among the trees to the right.
“Erik…” she gasped softly.
“I know, I see them.”
Them? Michelle thought. Her eyes had only seen one shape, but when she turned her head left and then to the rear, she could see others sliding from tree to tree. Without speaking again, the two lurched into a shambling run. Each time she glanced behind, the shadowed figures continued to stalk them, and each time she glanced behind, she could see they were gaining ground.
“You can make it if you leave me,” she told him.
“Shut up and keep moving,” was his reply, each word cut short with annoyance.
Minutes seemed to both drag and race before the shapes tracking them became more solid and distinct. They’re almost on us, her voice screamed internally. Knowing that her aim would be off, she still fired a shot off to her right. The bullet struck a tree, missing the Til by several feet. Howls flew up in all directions, breaking the silence the Tils had assumed as they stalked through the woods.
“Hang on!” Erik shouted as he spun them around. Startled, Michelle almost lost her footing in the action, but immediately began firing into the distance. Erik’s shots had greater accuracy and two of his bullets plunged into the neck and chest of an exposed Til. Even as it fell dead to the ground, the others slid behind trees, disappearing from view. Turning again, Erik and Michelle raced forward as the sounds of the Tils’ footsteps followed.
Time and distance began to blur as they ran through the night. Whenever the skulking shadows drew too near, Erik and Michelle would shoot erratically in their direction before continuing to flee. Since their companion was felled, the Tils kept themselves well hidden while drawing ever closer to their prey.
“Get on!” Erik shouted the order at her. Comprehension broke through confusion as she saw the motorcycle resting alongside a tree. Throwing her bad foot over the bike, Michelle slid into place as he mounted in front of her. Though built for two, she had to fight for room between the large pair of gas jugs that were strapped alongside the bike.
As the engine roared to life, Michelle slid her arms around Erik’s waist and pressed herself against his back. “Hang on,” he called to her over his shoulder. For the first time that night, she caught the whiff of alcohol. The words slipped past her lips before realizing how foolish it sounded.
“You smell drunk!”
His response reached her ears a half-second before the motorcycle sped into the darkness.
“Then hang on tighter!”
Chapter Eleven
“The old man had the location right, if not the number,” Hicks said.
Paul only grunted in acknowledgement. His mind was more focused on the mud and rain that was steadily seeping into his clothes and boots. The rain had started early in the afternoon, and the downpour had not eased since. Perched atop a low hill, he, Hicks, and three others from the team scanned the valley below, the valley which held the Horde’s base. In truth, Carl had only been able to provide a general direction, northeast, but it had been enough to pinpoint possible locations which could serve to hold a vast host.
The camp, if it could be called such, fanned out in a large mile-wide circle. Even at their safe distance, Paul could see several buildings, mobile homes if his eyes were correct, at the center. Various tents and make-shift cabins spiraled out from the heart of the ring. Hicks’ initial assessment derided the lack of order the camp’s layout exposed. If this band of rogues had a leader, Hicks doubted he had received any military training, or if he did then he held little control over his followers. At the eastern edge of the camp, dozens of motorcycles and all-terrain vehicles formed rows, the rows were perhaps the most organized aspect of the camp. As they watched, several cook fires struggled to stay lit in the storm.
Paul shifted to bring himself higher onto the hilltop, but in doing so only managed to drive his right elbow into the inches of mud beneath him. With a muttered curse, he dislodged himself from the suctioning ground and decided against reaching a better vantage point. More irritating than the rain and mud was Hicks’ seemingly unaffected mood. The man had easily navigated up the hill, while he and the others had slipped and fought their way up. His body now rested in the mud with a casual grace Paul doubted he could mimic in the best of conditions.
“What’s your count?” he asked Hicks in an attempt to divert his attention from wanting to strangle the man.
“One, maybe two hundred. Not counting the prisoners,” Hicks replied with his usual clipped words.
It was the prisoners that had shocked Paul, or rather the sheer number of them. Not far from the buildings, several wooden pens had been erected, pens that were filled with the people Carl had said the Horde was infamous for abducting. Paul had seen chicken coops with more room to maneuver than what the pens offered. The human livestock were so crowded, he did not think there was room for even one person to lie down. The most troubling finding was that the pens were unguarded.
Though by far not an architectural expert, even he could see from the hill how poorly the prisons were constructed. Working in unison, the captives could have most certainly broken free of their bonds. That they had not led Paul to believe that the Horde had terrified them to such an extent that a failed escape attempt was a worse fate than their current one. The pity he felt warred with his anger towards the Horde. Hicks, however, made no effort to hide his disgust.
“They should be fighting back,” he said. “There’s probably a hundred or more in those pens. They could escape if they fought.”
“They’re women and children, Hicks, not soldiers. We don’t know what they have been through.” Carl’s related stories of the sadistic proclivities of the Horde had turned Paul’s stomach when he had heard them.
“I’d rather die with a bullet in me, than be caged like an animal,” the hardened Hicks replied with a ferocity that made Paul wonder what exactly lay in the other man’s past.
“Leave it be, Hicks,” he said with warning. He knew the edge to his voice came from his silent agreement with the other man’s pronouncement.
For the briefest of moments, he could see a challenge in Hicks’ eyes. With a shrug, he instead turned his attention back to the camp below.
“So, what’s the plan, sir?” Hicks asked, as he peered down the hill. The sarcastic inflection on the last word set Paul’s teeth to a grind.
Swallowing his anger, he surveyed the camp again, however his eyes stayed longest on the neat rows of bikes and ATVs. With only five, he knew that any direct assault against the Horde would be brief and futile. He did not, however, intend to leave them unscathed.
“What do we have for explosives?” he asked, ignoring the surprised look on Hicks’ face. He expected me to suggest leaving, Paul thought with irritation, though he forced his face to remain expressionless.
“Dozen or so grenades between us, two bricks of C-4… the heavy power is back with the Stryker.”
They had been forced to leave the Stryker command vehicle some three miles back due to the extremely narrow passages and the steep incline of the rain drenched hill.
“Detonator range on the C-4?” Paul asked as his plan crystallized in his mind.
“Seven hundred yards, less than a half mile,” Hicks informed him.
The distance was about what he expected, though he worried about the three mile race back to the Stryker. If panic and confusion did not hold the Horde to its camp, a patrol would likely overtake the five men before reaching the safety of the vehicle.
“It’ll have to do,” he decided aloud. Turning to the three others, he ordered, “Head back to the Stryker. When you hear the explosion, wait twenty minutes. If we’re not there by then, get back to the hotel.”
“Sir, that’s cutting it close, we can—” began Nieves, the intelligence officer, before Paul cut him off.
“That’s an order, Chris. Hicks and I can find another way back if we get there late.” Even as he said it, he knew that if they did not make it back to the Stryker in time, it was lik
ely due to being killed or worse yet, captured by the Horde.
After the three men departed, Hicks and Paul began their own descent. The steady drumming of the rain hid the sounds of their movements, as well as the occasional curse, as both men found themselves sliding rather than walking down the hillside. There was little satisfaction in the few occasions Hicks lost his footing. The glow of the camp’s cook fires tossed ever-moving shadows across the valley, and Paul hoped the lights were damaging the renegades’ night vision as much as it hampered his own.
Tense minutes passed before the pair was level with the valley camp. From the volume of the camp dwellers, Paul could tell that much of the Horde was well into their drinking. Wordlessly, he and Hicks traced the perimeter of the site, drawing ever closer to the line of vehicles. As his eyes scanned back the way they had come, he startled slightly when Hicks placed a barring hand on his shoulder. Turning his vision to the direction Hicks now studied, he could see the cause of the man’s warning. A large figure stumbled drunkenly to the edge of the camp, only some fifteen feet from where the two men crouched.
Mouthing the word stay, Hicks moved further into the shadows and disappeared from sight before Paul could order the man otherwise. As he waited in agitation, he could tell by the drunken man’s stance that he was relieving his bladder, even while he pressed a bottle to his lips. After drinking his fill, the man lowered his arm and his slight humming could be heard over the downpour. Whether he was armed, Paul could not tell as the darkness of the night obscured such details. If he had blinked, he would have missed the faint movement in the darkness as a figure rose up behind the man. Immediately, both shapes vanished.
Hicks returned seconds later, long blade in hand, and motioned for Paul to follow. As they inched along, the ranger almost stumbled as his feet found the newly made corpse. With vacant eyes, the man’s face stared into the night above while rain mixed with the blood seeping from a deep gash across his throat.
