by Dirk Patton
“We’ve got a ladder,” I said, pulling my head back into the hall. “I’m going up, then the doc and Martinez. You OK holding the doors while you get on the ladder?” I asked Scott.
“No problem.” He answered. I nodded and slung my rifle with the muzzle and flashlight pointing up so I could see what I was climbing into.
I may have mentioned I don’t like heights. I can jump out of a perfectly good airplane. I can fast rope out of a helicopter. I can even repel down very tall buildings or cliff faces. Just don’t ask me to climb a ladder and clean out the gutters or check the roof. Yes, it’s an unreasonable fear, and for a moment I actually considered going back to the stairwell and fighting my way through the infected rather than stepping across that open space and onto the narrow iron rung.
Forcing myself to only look at where I was going to place my hands and feet, I reached into the shaft, grabbed a rung then stuck a leg in and stepped onto the ladder. Taking a deep breath I started climbing, every step feeling like I was going to miss and fall into the yawning darkness beneath me. But I didn’t slip, and I didn’t fall. I kept climbing until I was above the top of the elevator car. Beneath me I could hear the others on the ladder.
“Does your light really need to be shining directly up my skirt?”
“Relax, Doc. Nothing I haven’t seen before, and not my cup of tea.” Martinez answered.
“Knock the shit off and stay focused!” I hissed at them. This wasn’t the time or place to be worrying about personal dignity and whether or not someone was getting an eyeful of your goodies.
I started climbing again, worried about the infected that were on the ground level. When we had called the elevator to come down, we had heard screams from females in response to the ding from the call button. Had we gotten away cleanly and they moved on in search of us, or were they waiting to pounce as soon as the doors slid open? There’s only one way to find out, I thought as I continued to climb.
36
I reached the doors at ground level, having climbed the last few rungs as quietly as I could. If I wasn’t cautious my boots would make a ringing sound when I took a step, and I was worried about my rifle or other piece of equipment banging into something. With both feet on the same level, I hooked an arm through a rung and stood perfectly still, listening. After a few minutes of hearing nothing I reached out and tripped the door’s release lever. This didn’t open them, just released the mechanism that kept them securely closed when a car wasn’t in position.
Pausing again to listen, I kept my hand on the lever, ready to relock the doors if I heard any indication of infected waiting for us in the hallway. I gave it a few minutes, but other than the doc’s heavy breathing below me in the darkness I didn’t hear anything. Taking a deep breath and making sure I had a solid grip on the ladder, I grasped one of the braces on the shaft side of the doors and very slowly pulled it open a few inches.
Still no sounds, and with a death grip on the iron rung I swung one foot off the ladder and onto the narrow concrete ledge in front of the doors. Stretching my body I tried to see through the opening, but it was pitch black on the other side of the doors, light from my flashlight not penetrating into the hall. Staying in that position I listened hard for a few more minutes, still hearing nothing. Reaching above my head I fumbled around until the flashlight was in my hand, detached it from the rifle and aimed the beam through into the darkness.
Shiny, linoleum flooring and a white painted wall opposite the elevator was all I could see through the gap which was no more than three inches wide. Still no sound. No females lunging at the sudden appearance of a light. No males stumbling and scraping their way down the hall. Where the hell were they? The only way to answer that question was to keep going, so I placed the flashlight on the floor, aimed to illuminate the hall, and pulled the doors farther open.
When I had them open wide enough to pass through, I stopped pulling, picked up the flashlight and leaned into the hall. I quickly scanned in each direction, not finding anything to worry me, then took a more careful look around. The hall was just as stark and empty as it had been when we had entered the facility.
I swung my other foot off the ladder and stepped fully into the hall, reattaching the flashlight and raising my rifle. Silently, I padded to each of the corners, carefully checking the other halls that ran perpendicular to the one I was in, but still found no sign of any infected. Back at the door I poked my upper body through the opening and waved the team up.
Doctor Monroe was first and was moving gingerly on the iron rungs in her bare feet. When she was level with the door I reached into the shaft and firmly grasped her upper arm to help her transition off the ladder and into the hall. The lab coat she wore was bulky, and I was mildly surprised when I felt the hard muscle in her arm. She smiled her thanks and stepped nimbly into the hall.
Martinez and Scott followed quickly, moving to set up a crude perimeter. Now we just needed to get the nukes out of the elevator car and up, but before we started that I wanted to make sure we’d be able to get them to the waiting MRAP. Retracing our earlier steps along the line painted on the floor we quickly reached the large loading area. Peering through the tall, narrow window in the door I couldn’t see any problems waiting for us, so I stepped in with rifle up and scanning.
The room was still empty, which was good news, and I checked the metal rolling door that separated us from the shed where the MRAP was parked. It was still open six feet, just like I’d left it which was even more good news. I started to think this was going to work out, quickly shutting down the thought before I jinxed us.
We moved across the open space and ducked into the shed. Scott and I each took a side of the MRAP and cleared the area as Martinez checked underneath the big vehicle. All clear, I motioned them to come into a tight group so we could talk quietly.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I started, speaking in a very low voice. “Doc in the MRAP where it’s safe. The rest of us are going to take two of those carts and go get the nukes. Scott and I will bring them up the ladder one at a time. Martinez, you’ll be on security at the top of the shaft. Questions?”
I half expected Doctor Monroe to protest being left behind in the vehicle, but she seemed more than happy with the arrangement. She was a scientist, not a soldier, and had probably seen enough blood and mayhem to last a lifetime. Scott and Martinez nodded and we quickly got the doc situated, cautioning her not to touch anything.
Back inside, Scott and I each grabbed a hand cart. I abandoned mine and selected another when the wheels squealed as it started to move. The carts were large and flat with four wheels and a metal loop that stuck up at one end to make a handle. If they were painted orange instead of white I would have thought the US Government had swiped them from a Home Depot.
I was the first one back in the shaft, climbing down and stepping onto the roof of the stalled elevator car. A hatch that could be used for emergency rescues was held closed with a simple spring lock and I popped it open and raised the door, carefully letting it rest against the wall of the shaft. Aiming my rifle into the opening, the flashlight lit up the inside of the car and I saw the nine remaining SADMs sitting where we’d left them.
Glancing up to make sure Scott was on his way down the shaft, I squatted next to the open hatch, grasped the frame on either side of it and swung my legs into the opening, dropping to the floor of the car. A moment later I heard Scott’s boots on the roof and I grabbed one of the bombs, hoisted it over my head and held it up to the opening. He pulled it through and set it to the side as I reached for another one. Soon we had all of them on the roof.
Unslinging my rifle, I passed it up and gave Scott a moment to get out of the way. Arms extended, I jumped and grasped the hatch frame, pulling myself up until my upper body was through and on the roof. Scrambling the rest of the way, I got on my feet and took my rifle back. Scott already had one of the bombs on his back and he swung onto the ladder and climbed for the opening above. Grabbing another one
, I followed.
We were on our third trip down the shaft, six bombs spread between the two carts, when Martinez’ voice came over the radio.
“Contact! Multiple males.” Scott and I froze for a moment. Each of us had a bomb in hand, preparing to swing the pack onto our backs, but if we had to go fight we didn’t want to be weighed down by the nukes. A heartbeat later I heard Martinez start firing, her suppressed rifle quiet but still clearly audible in the tomblike silence of the building.
I dropped the bomb I was holding and grabbed onto the ladder, quickly climbing and stepping into the hallway behind Martinez. I glanced in the direction she was firing and saw a fairly large group of males heading our way. She was dropping them efficiently, making each shot count, but they just kept coming around the corner. Rifle up I scanned the other direction, towards the loading bay, and for the moment it was clear.
Fuck it. We had six bombs. Better to leave now, with six, than try to get the last three and wind up trapped with dwindling ammunition and no other way out. Scott had made it back into the hall and had added his fire to our defense. For the moment the two of them were holding the infected at a static point, but it was taking a lot of ammo.
“OK, we’re moving to the MRAP! Scott, grab a cart. Martinez on security.” I grabbed one of the carts and rested my rifle over the handle so it was pointing in the same direction I was pushing.
Moving fast, I didn’t slow for the turn into the hallway to the loading bay. There was four feet of metal in front of me with almost 300 pounds of bombs on it. If there were any infected waiting around the corner I would take their legs out before they could attack. Making the turn, I took a big chunk out of the wall with the front corner of the cart, but kept pushing hard as I dashed for the loading bay. Behind me I could hear Scott making the turn and the nearly continuous fire from Martinez’ rifle.
Sliding on the floor I got the cart stopped and yanked the door into the loading bay wide open. Scott had room to get past and I waved him through, shoved my cart through one handed and turned to back up Martinez. She was right behind us, running backwards and firing into the group of infected that completely filled the width of the hallway.
“Behind you.” I said before placing my hand flat on her upper back to guide her to the door. She fired three more rounds then stepped through the door, rifle bolt locking open on an empty magazine.
Following her through, I pulled on the door’s crash bar to close it. At first I didn’t think the pneumatic closer was going to allow me to close the door before the infected reached us, but it released its pressure when the opening was down to two feet. I held the bar with both hands and looked around, but Scott was already on the job.
He had dashed across the room to get another cart. When I spotted him he was running towards me, pushing the cart with the squeaky wheels. Arriving, he flipped it onto its side and shoved it across the door I was still holding. The cart was longer than the width of the door and he jammed it tight against the metal door frame.
The infected had arrived, en masse. Loud thumps started up as they pounded on the door, and in the dim light from my flashlight I could see snarling, bloody faces pressed up against the small window. Stepping back, Scott dropped his pack and dug out his roll of duct tape. Pulling a couple of very long strips off the roll he quickly compressed them into a shape resembling a rope. Feeding these through the crash bar he wrapped them around the body of the cart, pulled them taut and tied them off. I had no idea how strong duct tape was when used like this, but I knew it was damn tough stuff.
Releasing the door I took a step away. Again, securing a door so the infected couldn’t pull it open was probably unnecessary, but I sure felt better knowing they didn’t have an easy path to get to us. Scott and I trotted across the room, carts wobbling slightly as we moved them faster then they were intended to travel. I was the first into the shed, ducking slightly so I didn’t scramble what little brains I had on the bottom edge of the rolling door.
Scott came through right behind me, followed closely by Martinez. The back doors to the MRAP were open and waiting for us, not what I expected. Doctor Monroe should have been buttoned up tight inside. I pulled on the cart’s handle, dragging it to a stop as she stepped around the back corner of the big vehicle. Scott and Martinez slid to a stop on either side of me. I cursed when two more figures stepped into view on the far side of the vehicle.
I still had Doctor Monroe’s rifle magazine tucked away in my vest, but she had found a fresh one in the MRAP. She stood next to the heavily armored bumper and aimed her rifle directly at my face. The other two figures were wearing uniforms in a camouflage pattern I didn’t immediately recognize, but I did recognize the AKMS rifles held steady on Martinez and Scott.
“Yobanaya suka!” I said to Monroe. Fucking bitch in Russian.
“Da.” She answered with a sweet smile.
37
Rachel couldn’t sleep. Heavy storm clouds had moved into the West Memphis area just before sundown, trapping the day’s heat and humidity. The air was heavy and try as she might to relax on the cot she was using, she couldn’t get comfortable or turn off her racing mind. Dog lay next to her, panting in the dark. He wasn’t enjoying the weather either. She was in the same hangar John and Jackson had slept in before he went off to New Mexico, and Jackson was sacked out a few feet away. His snoring, which reminded Rachel of a poorly idling Harley, wasn’t helping her situation either.
Finally she surrendered. Sitting up, she slipped her feet into her boots without tying them and headed outside for some fresh air. Dog fell in beside her, nails clicking on the concrete floor. Rachel stepped outside, but was disappointed that the air was just as oppressive. There wasn’t even a breeze to help cool her off and fresh sweat popped out on the back of her neck. Taking a moment, she whipped her long hair up into a pony tail, trying to get even a bit of relief. She looked up, hoping to see stars, but the sky was black. No star or moonlight could penetrate the thick layer of clouds.
Strolling aimlessly, she wondered if John was OK. She had gotten Jackson to tell her the details of the mission John was on. To be accurate, she’d gotten him to tell her where John was and how he had gotten there. He wouldn’t tell her the details of what he was going to be doing while he was there, or if he was coming back. She didn’t know if she’d ever see him again, and her heart ached. She had hoped that confessing her feelings to him would have somehow let her resolve the conflict she was dealing with. Frustration that she loved a man who was married and couldn’t return her love. Genuine hope that his quest to find his wife would be successful, yet also wanting him all to herself.
“What a fucking stupid little girl you are.” She muttered to herself in the dark.
“Good evening, ma’am.” Rachel jumped and let out a small shriek when Colonel Crawford spoke to her. It was so dark she hadn’t seen him approach, and still couldn’t recognize him by sight even though he was standing right next to her. Only his distinctive voice told her who was speaking. Why did these fucking Army guys enjoy sneaking up on her so much? They were like little boys who’d never grown up in so many respects.
“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He said, sounding anything but sorry. She heard a rasping sound that was Dog getting his head scratched.
“Can’t sleep either?” Rachel asked.
“No. Waiting for word on our boy. I heard from the bomber crew that they jumped about two hours ago.” Jackson had let the Colonel know he’d given Rachel more details.
“When do you expect to hear something?”
“Could be an hour. Could be a day. These types of operations are fairly fluid. He could be having to deal with any number of things that will cause a delay, so we just wait.” A match flared as the Colonel lit a cigarette, the light seemingly brilliant and clearly illuminating his face.
For a moment Rachel could see the tired eyes and stress etched into his features, then he shook the match out and darkness descended again. She asked for a cigarette
, not really wanting one as they stunk and tasted like shit, but she had found that smoking helped her relax. No wonder the damn things were so addictive.
“Is he coming back here?” Rachel couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“You know I can’t tell you that.” He sounded genuinely sorry. Rachel reached out towards him and put her hand on his arm.
“Who am I going to tell?” She asked, a pleading tone in her voice. She hated herself for sounding like she did, but couldn’t help it. Crawford was silent for a moment before taking a deep drag on his cigarette and blowing out a big plume of smoke.
“You’ll most likely see him again.” He finally said. “Not here, we’re going to move soon, but if all the plans work out he should be waiting for us at our destination.”
Rachel stood silent for a moment, then started crying. She tried to stop, but the harder she tried, the harder she cried. Finally, Crawford reached out and folded her into a fatherly hug. She buried her face in his shoulder and let the emotions come out. The fear of the past weeks of constant fighting and running. The pain over the death of Nora, the young girl who had died helping her save John from The Reverend. The guilt she still carried over how she had behaved towards Melanie Fitzgerald, the brave woman who had died on the train saving her life when the infected attacked. The heartache of love given that couldn’t be returned.
