Moments later, Arthur Beoshane filled the video screen as he dragged himself toward the door of the RV. We watched as he managed to swing the door wide, struggling to pull himself inside. Potter’s voice was low in our ears as he commented. “ETA ten seconds at his position, ma’am. He’s not going to make it inside.”
Kim squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She started to issue an order—one I felt sure would be to our snipers in the tower to neutralize him—but then she just shook her head. “I won’t make him a martyr or a savior or even a hero,” she said.
Though I agreed with her, I knew that had been a hard concession to make for her. She wasn’t the hard, cold, bloodthirsty bastard I’d apparently turned into. At least, not usually. We watched as the zombies finally caught up with Beoshane’s RV, and saw him trying to shut the door against them, a futile gesture not only for its slim chance of success, but also because, having been bitten, he would be one of them soon enough anyway.
Now, as the walkers converging on him mercifully blocked our detailed view of the proceedings, he was meeting his fate a bit earlier than perhaps he’d hoped. “Justice is served,” I said. Something inside me, some core of dark, grisly humor forced me to laugh, a short, sharp bark. “So to speak.”
“Blackhawk on station and firing, ma’am,” said Potter, and I glanced at one of the other monitors, showing our one Blackhawk helicopter hovering over the mountain road, its M134 Miniguns raining final death on the zombies from above at more than two thousand rounds per minute. Once the zealots had fled, Kim had ordered the launch of the chopper to support the defense against the zombies.
Though they died in droves, the herd reached the electrified fence. The front ranks were falling to their knees at the banquet we’d prepared, the walkers behind them moving forward to take their place. It was a self-perpetuating wave of the dead that began throwing themselves against the fence, and I could barely contain my nausea at the thought of what it must smell like out there. The dead began to pile up against the fence, and the lights dimmed for a second in Ops as the continual draw of the fence sucked power out of the reactors buried deep in the mountain.
For a time, I thought the fence would hold, but the weight of the charred bodies and the pressure of those behind them eventually caused even the reinforced steel of the fence to bend and, finally, break. It was only a few seconds later that they began setting off the mines buried under the dirt, turning the air to mist as their bodies were shredded. Alpha and Bravo teams were adding their own damage to the flood, as they fired from their protected holdouts built into the side of the mountain.
Soon enough, the flood had slowed to a trickle, and only occasional movement indicated any remaining walkers. These were dealt with swiftly, as were those still left on the road. What had seemed insurmountable, especially because of the loss of our sentry guns—they had run completely out of ammunition—had actually incurred only relatively minor damage to the facility, and no harm to any personnel.
The bloody marks on the main doors were disconcerting, though.
“Colonel, it’s Worthington, from JBLM,” said Potter, handing a headset to Kim. The look on his face made me wonder if I’d spoken too soon.
“Put him through, Captain,” she said, covering the earpiece with one hand. “Barnes here. Go ahead, Sergeant.” There was a pause, and Kim frowned. “I see. We’ll get backup and transpo out there immediately. Secure the area as best as you can. Barnes out.” Kim turned to Potter. “Captain, I want the Stryker, four Humvees and however many MTV’s they’ll need to transport all those survivors prepped and ready to go in ten minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Potter said, turning to relay her orders.
“David,” she said, one hand on my arm. “Myers… he… he’s not gonna make it.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “What? Why? What the hell—”
“He got surprised by a runner, from what Worthington said.”
“Why the hell was he out of the plane? You know what, it doesn’t matter.” I turned to Captain Potter. “Captain, have Samuels bring the chopper back into the hangar. Alpha is headed to JBLM.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kim just looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“I have to go, Kim. He’s my friend.” I gave her a quick kiss and squeeze, then left to jog to the hangar.
The other six members of Alpha Squad met me in the hangar, just as the Blackhawk was touching down. We hopped aboard, securing ourselves and gear, and Samuels took us right back up again.
Johnny Barnes looked over at me as we turned for the airstrip, a wide smile on his face. Thinking about Myers, it took me a moment to figure out what the hell he had to smile about. Then I laughed. “I already know, so don’t bother,” I said.
“What? How? When?”
“Mary let it slip when I was at Seven. Don’t let on to Kim, I have a surprise in mind for her for not telling me.”
“That oughta be fun.”
I glanced around the chopper, realizing that hardly anyone from the original Alpha Squad was left. Less than half, in fact. Gaines, Reynolds and I were the only three who’d been around from the beginning. The others had either been shipped off to other bunkers, or had died. I shook my head and sighed. I must be gettin’ old.
“ETA two minutes, sir,” said Samuels.
“Roger that.” I turned to the others. “We’ve got a confirmed report of a runner down. There’s likely others. Stay on your toes. We’re providing cover for them until the convoy gets here. I don’t want any more people dying today.” Curt nods and acknowledgments followed, and I checked my own gear as we came in for a landing. I could see in the afternoon sun where a group of people had gathered, several armed with improvised weapons, a few with pistols.
We jumped down from the chopper, and when we were clear, it lifted to provide us ongoing air cover. Like the fine machine we were, Alpha Squad moved over to the small group outside the plane, and I slung my rifle as I neared.
“All right, back, everyone. I need you all to get back on the plane and prepare everyone for evacuation. There will be trucks here in about twenty minutes. I want everyone on and gone within ten after they get here. Make it happen!” The crowd dispersed, and I turned to Gaines. “Take Powell and the others, set up a perimeter. Leave me Armstrong.”
Armstrong took up a cover position nearby, and I knelt next to Sergeant Myers, who’d been made comfortable by a familiar face—Li Guo.
She looked up at me with tears in her eyes. “He saved me,” she said. “I left the plane to use the restroom and he escorted me, and the fast zombie attacked us. He pushed me and I fell, so the zombie took him, instead.”
I shook my head, looking down at the wounded man. Blood covered one arm, and he was shaking and shivering, his face grave and pale. “Sergeant, you look like shit.”
He laughed, wincing. “Thank you, sir.”
“Had to play the hero, didn’t you? You know this whole getting yourself wounded to pick up chicks thing is a bit played out, right?”
“I’m thinking that’s probably true, sir. I’ll avoid it in future.”
“See that you do,” I said.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let me die like one of them, sir. I don’t want to come back.” He grasped the front of my uniform in his working hand, the other a useless wreck, the tendons and flesh of his arm shredded. He pulled me toward himself, giving him leverage to pull his head and shoulders off the ground. “Don’t let it be this way, sir.”
I managed to restrict my emotions to swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. “I promise, Sergeant.” I pulled my sidearm from its holster and helped him sit up against some rusted barrels nearby. “Ms. Li, please, go get ready with the others.”
“No!”
Myers held her hand for a moment, then shook his head. “You have to, Guo. Please. For me.”
She refused at first, but then bowed her head and kissed him on the forehead
, murmuring a prayer. She didn’t look back as she walked toward the plane.
“I thought I’d be safe, being a pilot,” Myers said, looking at the bright blue November sky of Seattle. “I never expected to have to deal with walkers at all, and now… well, I guess life is kinda funny sometimes, ain’t it?”
I nodded. “It is, at that. Look, I never said this, and I don’t know if the others did, but thanks. Without you, we’d never have made it back.”
Myers coughed out a laugh, then smiled. “You’re welcome, sir. It was a hell of a thi—” He trailed off as the blood loss finally caught up with him, and as his head slumped to one side, I saw his eyes glaze over.
“It certainly was, Sergeant. It certainly was.”
A moment later, the sound of the single shot echoed across the airfield. Then I holstered my pistol and pinched the bridge of my nose to keep the tears at bay as I closed my eyes.
Too many friends dead, I thought. Too many people lost to these fucking monsters. Myers deserved better. To go all that way and survive everything, only to die here? I kicked one of the crates nearby in fury, then picked it up and heaved it as far as I could.
“I am fucking sick of my friends dying!” I yelled.
Armstrong kept his distance, letting me have my grief.
As I turned around, my eye fell on Myers’s body, and I grew calmer. He was gone now, free from this Hell on Earth. He would never have to worry about zombies, or anything, ever again. He was at peace. Maybe in time I would find some, too.
“I’ll come back for you, see you’re taken care of right, Sergeant.” I meant to see him properly buried. I stood up and unslung my rifle, motioning for Armstrong to follow me. We rendezvoused with the others moments later.
Now to get all these people home. Then I get to deal with the monster in a cell. And maybe someday I’ll get to talk to my wife about our baby. When all the monsters are dead.
In the cold fluorescent light of the nearly-empty room, and without his characteristic black clothing, Driebach’s true nature was much more evident. His skin was pulled taut over the muscle underneath, though even that tissue was hideously twisted and deformed, as though all the moisture had been removed. The underlying bones protruded heavily, poking at the skin, though none had broken the skin yet.
One can always hope, thought Kim. She took a seat across from what had once been a man, the monster now chained down to the table and the wall with thick, heavy bolts, twice what they would use to restrain even the strongest of walkers. No sense in taking chances.
“Mr. Driebach, let me begin by—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss…”
“Blake. Kim Blake.”
Driebach’s eyes narrowed, then he smiled, his horrible visage getting somehow even more chilling. “Ah, excellent. I must presume you are as astute and erudite an interrogator as your husband is in his negotiations.” Driebach suddenly sniffed the air, and laid his head on one side. “And pregnant, too! Does he know?”
Kim very nearly slapped him, but she couldn’t bring herself to actually touch the monster. “Don’t you ever talk about my child!” she snapped.
Driebach nodded. “Noted. In any case, the fate of you and your husband are inextricably linked with mine, and the information I have to share will be most valuable. Of course, I will expect a small consideration in return for my valuable insight.”
“And what consideration would that be?”
“My life, such as it is. I would be set free.”
Kim snorted. “And why the hell would I do that? Just so you can come back and attack us again?”
“Hardly. I have no interest in you or your bunker. I never have.”
“Then why…?”
“It’s quite simple, really. I was under orders.”
“From Beoshane.”
Driebach laughed, a crusty, dry laugh that grated at Kim’s ears. “Beoshane? He was merely a pawn, a servant the same as I in this long game of ours. No, my orders, and his, came from a much different source.”
“Where?”
“Well, now, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? And we have yet to agree on my ‘consideration.’”
“Just a moment,” she said, then stepped through the room’s single door, carefully closing it behind her.
“Take your time,” muttered Driebach to himself. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I touched the Bluetooth earpiece as the call came in. “David, I need you to help with this interrogation. I’m having trouble not just killing him,” said Kim.
“On my way,” I replied, then ended the call and looked over at Reynolds, who had accompanied the ground vehicles when we returned from the airstrip. We’d only arrived moments before. “Take over for me,” I said, and he nodded as I jogged for the elevators. The interrogation room wasn’t far away, and it only took me a few minutes to reach it.
Kim met me just outside the door. “He says he’ll give us all the information he has, in exchange for letting him leave.”
I nodded. “So, let’s do it.”
She looked shocked. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. He’s not our problem. The people controlling him are.” She looked confused, and I slapped a hand against my forehead. “Fuck me, of course you don’t know what I’m talking about. We haven’t had a chance to… well, it doesn’t matter. I know more than he thinks I do—a lot more. Just follow my lead?”
She sighed and nodded, clearly not happy but unwilling to argue the point. “Fine.”
When we went back into the room, I sat down across from Driebach as Kim took the second chair, sitting back a ways. I could hardly blame her. The monster was a bit ripe.
“I wish they’d thought to give you a bath as well as change your clothes,” I said to Driebach, affecting a relaxed attitude. “Would’ve certainly improved the air quality in here.”
“Ever the winning host, Mr. Blake. You’re quite the card. Sadly, the… aroma… is one of the many side-effects from my current state.”
“Ah, you mean the trial prion bomb.” Driebach went very, very still, and I heard Kim gasp from behind me. I’ll admit, I could’ve softballed it, or given her something to go on, but I just didn’t have the patience anymore. “From Bunker Nine.”
Driebach sat back in his chair, appraising me anew. “I see you know more than you’ve let on, Mr. Blake.” He shook his finger at me from the table where it was chained. “Not very sporting of you.”
I smiled. “I know more than that, Driebach. Lots more. So, tell me again how your information can help us?”
“Its usefulness is now somewhat lessened, clearly, but not devalued completely. Has your lovely wife informed you of my request?”
“She has. And, I’m inclined to agree, if you can provide us with something worthwhile.”
“Oh, you can be sure of that, Mr. Blake.”
“Then I will agree. You may leave the bunker, free and clear, once you have delivered your information to us. All of your information.”
“I have your word on that?”
“You do.”
Driebach nodded. “Under the circumstances, I’m afraid that will have to do. I’ll spare you the handshake.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you have some paper, a pen? You may need to take notes.”
“Oh, don’t worry, this is all being recorded,” I said, pointing to the camera over my shoulder. “Now, let’s get started.”
“Very well. The first thing you should know is that Beoshane and I both received our orders from a man named Foster McMillan. As far as I was able to ascertain, he is a minor functionary at a facility similar to yours outside what remains of Charlotte, Iowa.”
“Go on.”
“Mr. McMillan has ambitions beyond his current role. He plans to install himself as ruler over the remainder of your bunkers, using the threat of a device known as an aerial-dispersal bomb, with which you are apparently familiar. He and his personnel have modified these to spread the prion in an ae
rial form, infecting anyone who breathes in the toxins, turning them into what you call walkers within days, if not hours.”
Maxwell and I’d guessed something like this was what was used on Bunkers Six and Nine, but to hear it confirmed… well, nausea was a good word for it. “That makes no sense. Why would he turn people if he meant to rule them?”
“Oh, it’s not the people in the bunkers he means to turn, it’s other survivors. Nearby cities. Well, towns at any rate. There aren’t any more cities. The threat of these people turning and being corralled into massive herds to be thrown against the defenses of a single bunker is quite effective, I imagine. Or will be.”
It would certainly intimidate the hell out of me, I thought. Mass-producing walkers? Sounds like Mengele’s tests back in WWII.
“I have to say, Driebach, you’re a bit more…” I fumbled for the word.
“Erudite?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. You’re more erudite than I would’ve thought.”
“Do you know what I did, before?”
When I looked at him blankly, he continued. “No, you wouldn’t. How could you? Believe it or not, Mr. Blake, I taught graduate-level English classes. Now, I’m relegated to… Well, this,” he said, twisting the chains that bound him to the table. “Something of a comeuppance, I’m sure my students would tell you. I was a bit of a bastard with grades, I’m afraid.”
“That I believe.” I studied him for a moment more. “There’s one thing I keep coming back to, though.”
“Just one? You’re smarter than you look.”
I flashed a smile at him, filled with lots of teeth. “Thanks. My question is this: what do you get out of this?”
“My freedom, of course. We’ve already covered this.”
“Oh, I remember that. But it doesn’t seem like enough, somehow.”
Driebach sat back against the chair, or at least as far as his restraints would let him. “You’re quite perceptive, for a normal human.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He sighed. “Very well. I want to kill a man, Mr. Blake.”
“Just one?”
The Dying of the Light: Interval Page 40
