by JE Gurley
“North, where they are going.”
Brother Malachi’s breath caught in his chest. Perhaps the three were angels after all. “Why are they going north?”
Ahiga shook his head. “I don’t know. They do not speak.”
Brother Malachi noticed the wound on Ahiga’s side. “You’re injured.”
Ahiga lightly touched his wound shrugged. The rain had washed away most of the blood. “Maybe it is why they did not kill me.”
“Come. We will see to you wound.”
“There is no time. You must follow me. There is a house nearby where you can seek shelter.” He looked at the sky. “The rains will last many more hours and flood the washes.”
Brother Ezekiel grabbed Brother Malachi’s arm. “No, we mustn’t,” he warned.
Brother Malachi patted his arm gently. “He’s right, Brother. We have no choice. Besides, I see God’s hand in this.”
He planted his staff in the muddy soil and began to walk toward the Children of God with renewed vigor. Rain streamed down his face and dripped from his beard. They stared at him until he reached them. Then they turned and walked down the opposite slope. Brother Malachi followed them, his heart now light in spite of the rain. God had performed yet another miracle. They would minister to the Children of God as teachers, redeeming the motley group of survivors of the apocalypse in God’s eyes and redeeming his own heart.
Redemption, he cried silently, is so sweet.
23
Mace was eager to resume his search for Harris, but he waited patiently as Erin Costner tended to Elliot’s wounds. She cleaned and wrapped the scratch in his arm, but clucked like a mother hen as she examined the bullet wound in his neck. Tears rolled down the corner of her eyes from beneath her glasses. She showed even more concern after Mace explained how he had received the wound. She raised her eyebrows at Elliot and scolded him like a child.
“Elliot,” she said, “why did you do something so foolish? You’re no soldier.”
Elliot grinned up at her through his bushy mustache. “We’re all soldiers, babe.”
“I’m a doctor,” she insisted.
“I’m afraid you may have to fire that rifle I gave you soon.”
“Later, later,” she cooed as she picked up a pair of forceps. “This may hurt.”
She had earlier administered a local anesthetic, but as she probed for the bullet, Elliot clenched his jaw and closed his eye from the pain. Mace held his breath in sympathy for Elliot’s discomfort until she withdrew the bullet and dropped it on the floor.
“There,” she said. “It missed your carotid artery by ten centimeters.”
“Damn,” Elliot groaned. “It hurt worse coming out than it did going in.”
She placed her bloody hands on her hips. “You’re collar bone is broken, you know.”
He tried to rise from the table, but she pushed him back down.
“Patch me up. I’ve got to help Mace.”
“You’re bleeding,” she told him. “Lie there and let me suture your wound. You’re not going anywhere.”
Mace had had enough. Elliot would live and was in capable hands. “Listen to her, sport. I can do this.”
“You need help,” Elliot argued.
“You’re in no shape to help anybody. Listen to the woman before she knocks you out.”
Erin smiled at Mace. “He’ll be all right, but he needs rest.”
Mace nodded and left. He was pleased to see men behind the machine guns on the roof and in sandbagged positions on the berm surrounding the domes. He wished he had a few more large-caliber weapons, but things had kept coming up. Securing more weapons was always next on his long ‘To Do’ list. He saw Jeb directing boxes of water to the men and walked over.
“How’s Samuels?” Jeb asked. “Someone said he’d been shot.”
“He’ll live. Mendoza’s dead, but we haven’t located Harris or Sikes.”
“I hope Sikes comes in. He has to realize Harris or Mendoza killed Janis.”
Mace shrugged. “He’s not very bright. Maybe he’s afraid of getting shot.”
“Wait a few minutes and I’ll go with you.”
“No. You’re needed here. I can do it alone.”
Jeb looked at him for a moment. “All right, but for God’s sake, be careful. Renda will kill me if something happens to you.”
More people came up demanding Jeb’s attention. Mace slipped away unnoticed.
Back in the basement, he decided the safest way to avoid being shot from ambush was to turn off all the basement lights. He found the power panel and threw the switches, careful to keep the fans and air handles running. He taped a flashlight to the barrel of his rifle but kept it switched off. Now, he and Harris were both blind, evening the odds slightly. He found his way mostly by feel and by the soft glow of machinery power panels. Every sound gave him pause. He moved silently, as he had learned while hunting. He was hunting again, but this time his prey was also armed.
In his pocket, he carried his secret weapon, two boxes of snappers. He strewed the tiny, round percussive firecrackers behind him as he worked his way down the corridors. Anyone stepping on them would explode the snappers, alerting him to their presence. He had covered about half the basement when he heard a metal door clanging.
The helicopter, he thought. The Russian Mi17 helicopter they had used in their escape from San Diego was too big and obvious to park outside. They had removed part of one of the structures known as lungs, which kept the domes pressurized with the changing temperatures, and parked it inside, replacing the removed section. Harris would know about it from his wanderings. Mace didn’t know if he could fly a helicopter, but he could disable it.
The metal hatch leading into the tunnel connecting the South lung was closed. It should have remained open at all times for the free flow of air. Moving carefully, he crawled across the floor toward it, scattering poppers behind him. As he swung the door open, one of the snappers exploded. He rolled to one side just as a bullet ricocheted off the metal, missing him by inches. He fired blindly into the darkness, hoping to hit Harris or Sikes, whoever had shot at him. He decided it was Harris. Sikes would never have thought of setting a trap for him. Footsteps receded down the corridor. He followed. More snappers popped as someone raced up the stairs toward the rainforest.
He moved cautiously, fearing another trap, until he reached the door. Opening it, he waited until his eyes adjusted to the light and then dove for cover behind a cypress tree. He caught a flash of clothing behind a bush and fired but he missed. He knew he had to kill Harris before the shots drew someone else. Harris wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who approached. Jeb would need everyone to defend the habitat. Working his way through the underbrush, using the tree trunks as cover, he moved toward the walkway. To escape, Harris would have to use the walkway to reach the doors.
“Harris,” he called. “Give it up. You can’t get away. Mendoza’s dead.”
“Good. He murdered Janis Heath. Why not leave me?”
“He killed her on your orders.”
Harris laughed. “That stupid bitch thought she could blackmail me into taking her with me when I left. You should thank me for doing you a favor.”
While Harris talked, Mace crawled nearer. If he got close enough, he could rush Harris. Suddenly, Harris stood and raked the ground with a burst from his M16, pinning Mace behind the skimpy cover of a water valve. His closest cover was a tree three yards away. He knew he would never make it. He was trapped.
“This is your last chance, Harris,” he yelled.
Harris’s laughter erupted from beyond the walkway. “I don’t intend to leave. My friends are coming soon. Maybe you had better give up.”
A voice yelled from above Mace’s head. “You killed Janis!”
He rolled over and looked up. It was Sikes hiding in the girders. “Sikes, you’re innocent. Get the hell down from there!”
“He tried to frame me. I heard what you said about him. He’s a Hunter. He deserves to
die.”
Sikes fired. His shot chipped chunks of wood from the wooden walkway. Harris didn’t hesitate. He raised his rifle and returned fire. His aim was more accurate. Sikes screamed in pain and plummeted to the ground amid broken shards of glass roof panels. He bounced off tree branches and landed a few yards from Mace, broken and dying. Sikes’s gaze lingered on him for several moments before his eyes closed and his head lolled to one side. Angered by Sikes’s senseless death, Mace took a shot, knowing he had no chance of hitting him. His shot showered Harris with wooden splinters. He laughed and moved slowly from behind the walkway keeping the trees between him and Mace. Mace knew he had only one chance to kill Harris. When he rose to fire, Harris, who knew his exact position, would have a clear shot, while he would first have to locate Harris then fire. From thirty feet away, Harris could not miss.
“Nice try, Ridell. You’re a persistent bastard. I’ll give you that.”
Mace hesitated. He had not expected Harris to bother talking. If he dropped his guard for a split second, Mace had him.
“That’s a compliment coming from you. I knew I should have shot you the first time I saw you. I could tell then you were a piece of shit.”
Harris frowned and his finger tightened on the trigger, but he still did not fire. Why was he hesitating? “And I could tell you were trouble, but you weren’t too bright.”
“I’ve been accused of that,” Mace conceded. “It’s a flaw in my otherwise sterling character.”
Harris cocked his head to one side. Then Mace heard it. Helicopters.
“Sounds like my friends have arrived.”
“I doubt you have any friends, Harris. You’re too big of a prick.”
“Enough talk, Ridell. I’ve got things to do.”
Mace loosened his knees to roll across the ground and come up firing. The odds were slim but better than waiting for Harris’s bullet. Harris’s expression changed to one of surprise at the same time the report of a .45 filled the dome. He lowered his rifle and glanced down at the hole in his chest. He turned his head to stare at Billy Idol standing on the walkway. Billy no longer wore one of his ubiquitous Billy Idol t-shirts. He still had black jeans and his piercings, but he now wore a blue cambric work shirt borrowed from Renda.
“You, Billy?” Harris asked.
Mace didn’t wait. He fired two more rounds into Harris and watched him topple lifeless to the ground.
“He was going to kill you,” he said. “I couldn’t let him. You’re Renda’s husband.”
“Thanks.”
“He lied to me. He said I wasn’t immune. I am. He was a bad man.”
Mace walked under the walkway and looked down at Harris’s body. He was without a doubt dead.
“That he was.” He looked up at the two Blackhawk helicopters in the distance, heard the .50 caliber on the roof cut loose. “Come on, Billy. We’ve got more to do.”
He climbed up on the walkway, placed an arm around Billy’s shoulder, and guided him away from Harris.
Billy said, “My name’s not Billy. It’s Cy Adler.”
“Come on, Cy.”
Chaos was the term that came to Mace’s mind when he walked into the habitat area. A dozen people surrounded Jeb screaming questions and voicing complaints. Jeb brushed their questions aside and issued orders, which were ignored in the melee.
Mace strode through the crowd, stood beside Jeb and barked out a gruff, “Shut the hell up!”
Jeb smiled at him, but a few others ignored Mace and clamored to be heard above the din. Mace had no tolerance for idiots. He grabbed one man by the collar and slapped him hard across the face. This produced a sudden silence. He broke that silence by pulling back the bolt on his AK47.
“This isn’t a discussion. If you keep standing around, so help me, I’ll….”
Jeb broke in. “The enemy is at our door. If you munies want to surrender, I would advise you do it quickly, but remember, this time no one will come for you. They have no interest in you others. They’ll simply kill you.”
“Maybe we can reason with them?” one man whined.
Mace grabbed the man’s rifle. “Then you won’t need this. Go ahead. See how far you get.” He shoved the rifle into the man’s chest and turned to stare at the others.
“They want to take us alive,” Jeb reminded them, “or else they would simply destroy the dome. They’ll send in men first. If we repel them, we’ll have time.”
“Time for what?” one asked.
“To evacuate.”
The idea stunned them. Jeb’s suggestion caught Mace by surprise. It made sense. Their position was untenable in the end. They could not hold out against a well-armed, superior force. Their security had depended on secrecy. Harris had broken that secrecy. His death changed nothing.
“He’s right. We hold out as long as possible, then leave.”
“To where?”
Good question. He wished he had an answer. “We can decide that later. Right now, we have to fight or die.”
More shots rang filtered in from outside. A few seconds later, a woman ran in and announced, “They’ve landed down by the main gate. There must be a fifty of them!”
Everyone’s voice exploded in panicked cries. Mace raised his hands to quiet them.
“With two choppers, they can only bring in about twenty men at a time.” He didn’t add that more helicopters were probably on the way. “Everyone, get to your positions. Be prepared to retreat to the habitat when we tell you to.”
They left, some reluctantly, all of them afraid. He didn’t blame them. A few had killed zombies before, but very few had ever killed a living person. They would have to learn quickly or die. Some would die anyway. Maybe too many. That was the nature of battles. Surrender would amount to the same thing, only death would be slower.
When the room had cleared, he confronted Jeb. “Harris is dead. So is Sikes.”
Jeb nodded. “Good.”
“Billy shot Harris.”
Jeb looked startled. “Billy?”
“Yeah, but he goes by Cy now.”
Jeb looked around. “Where is Bill… er, Cy?”
“He went with the others. I think he’s trying to make up for what he did.”
“We can use all the help we can get.”
The two machine guns on the roof began firing. “Who’s manning the 30 mm and .50 caliber?”
“McAdams and Pradesh.”
Mace nodded. McAdams was an Iraqi vet, Pradesh an Indian teacher on a study visa stranded in America by the plague. Both were competent with the large caliber weapons. “I’ll go join them.”
“I’ll join you in a few minutes. I need to check on Karen.”
Mace waited for Jeb to leave but he remained. “Is there something else?” he asked.
“If something happens to me, take care of Karen. Get as many in the Russian chopper as you can and head into the mountains.”
He reached out his hand. Mace clasped his hand and shook it. “I’ll do that. You’ll do the same for Renda?”
Jeb laughed. “Renda? She’ll probably be watching out for both of us.”
Mace watched Jeb leave and hoped that he would see him again.
* * * *
Jeb went directly to find Karen. He shouldn’t spare the time but he owed her. He found her standing in the corridor looking lost. People milled about her on their way outside. He pushed his way through the crowd and took her hand. She looked up at him and smiled.
“Are we going somewhere?”
“Maybe later.”
“Home?”
Her voice was plaintive, hopeful. He squeezed her hand gently. “Not just now. The army is outside. We have to fight them.”
She narrowed her eyes and frowned. “Why? Let them kill us all. We have no life.”
Jeb’s heart sank. “The others don’t agree. They want to live. Why don’t you?”
She turned away and stared at the wall. “Our son is dead. I was dead. You resurrected me. I didn’t want to be resurrected.
”
“You weren’t dead; you were drugged.”
She shook her head. “No. I was dead. I liked it.”
“Let me take you some place safe.”
She pulled away from him. “I don’t want to be safe. “ She stopped a woman rushing past and pushed her face just inches away from the frightened woman’s. “You’re going to die, you know.”
The woman stared at Karen blankly and hurried on.
“I could smell death on her like cheap perfume,” Karen said.
More fighting erupted outside. He couldn’t wait and he couldn’t seem to reach her. “Go to our room and wait for me,” he said.
She gazed at him with undisguised contempt and walked away without saying another word. He didn’t know if she would comply or even if she understood. He could do nothing more. If they managed to repel the attackers, he could deal with her later. If not, she would probably get her wish.
The twin Black Hawks had disgorged their loads of troops out of firing range. Jeb quickly counted heads and saw that there were only twenty soldiers. They would not attack with so small a force. These few were a reconnaissance team sent ahead to judge the enemy’s strength. Unless Harris had radioed detailed information, they might have come in overconfident, expecting only a token resistance and been defeated. Now, they knew about the machine guns and would approach cautiously or wait on reinforcements. The defenders would have to go on the offense.
He located Mace on the roof of the Visitor Center and joined him. Mace was watching the troops through a pair of binoculars.
“We have to take the fight to them,” he said.
Mace lowered the binoculars. “I’ve been watching them. They’re not very experienced and they’re not using the cover very well. The .50 caliber scared them.” He smiled at Jeb. “Let’s scare them some more.”
He picked up a small remote control unit lying beside him on the roof. Jeb recognized it as the M57 firing device for the several Claymore mines they had placed around the ground several months earlier. Trip wires would have been too obvious in the open areas, necessitating the remote trigger.
