The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking

by Daniel Greene

  Steele couldn’t afford to be anything except alert, ready, and a coldly efficient killer. Emotions were for peace time. Mission first. Digest how he felt about his actions later. What if I don’t feel anything? What if I just stop feeling everything altogether.

  The moment he thought too much would be the moment he grew soft … and might be his last moment on Earth. Maybe then she would realize her fallacy. The sound of forty vehicles idling reverberated the air. The tall McCone airport mobile lounge rested in the center of the convoy like they were escorting a Presidential mobile home.

  The convoy was geared up and ready to go. Steele had negotiated with Jackson the use of the mover to help transport over sixty of his soldiers through the city of Pittsburgh under the guarantee that Steele and the rest of his party could retain use of the mover after they safely reached Youngstown Air Field. Steele knew he was getting the shit end of the stick, but the colonel had given him free reign of his supplies and a promise.

  He eyed the soldiers. A few of them still moved with purpose. A few still had some swagger. They weren’t done yet. Strength in numbers.

  It gave him a slight peace of mind that Gwen would be surrounded by a couple hundred soldiers as she went into the Steel City’s hornets’ nest. Probably a better shot than he and Mauser could give her. They sure as hell couldn’t stay here. The whole front of the base was a pile of rubble.

  Steele grimaced, thinking about the loss of life to only survive the assault of infected. Colonel Jackson’s quick but harsh commands had saved everyone. A volatile man, but he got his job done. In the end the front of the base was gone, and without its protective base, the military was forced into a westward retreat.

  Steele checked his watch. The second hand pointed a few minutes past the four. Her thirty minutes were up. The last of the wounded were being handed up into the mobile lounge, now a modified troop transport. He stopped a soldier carrying another man around his shoulders.

  “Did you see a woman in the tent?” he said. The man nodded his head yes. Come on, Gwen.

  Moments later, in her typical fashion, Gwen walked gracefully from the tent entrance. Her gold hair was tied back in a ponytail that bobbed as she walked. She wore Army fatigues adorned with no patches, nor name tags, just a loan from the colonel. She was shadowed by a National Guardsman on either side. The colonel wasn’t stupid. He had his insurance policy in place. “Protect” Gwen until Steele upheld his end of the bargain.

  If I get close, I can draw the tomahawk out. With a diagonal strike I can catch the one on the left with the blade. It will bite through the meat of his neck. I will use the hook of the blade to pull him down to the ground. Spin the tomahawk. Underhand the spike into the other’s throat and we can make a run for it. No. The soldiers on the fifty’s turret will chew us up before we made it ten feet. Mauser will definitely never make it. Joseph will be captured. Everyone will die in a hail of inglorious gunfire.

  Steele couldn’t help but smile, a sad smile, as she approached him. Her cold shoulder was still the best shoulder in his world. Although he was tired, and tormented by her disapproval of him, she always managed to bring a smile to his lips. But it was short-lived. She is never going to forgive me.

  Gwen walked brazenly past him, not so much as acknowledging him as she passed. Steele’s mouth dropped open. I did not expect that. This was no time to let life get in the way of telling her how he felt, but maybe it was better for her to make a clean break. A tall private helped her upward into the mobile lounge.

  Inside the doorway of the mobile lounge, she spoke to Joseph and Eddie, who were already aboard the mover. Mauser crutched up alongside him.

  “Finally, got you some crutches,” Steele said. Mauser leaned on them, letting his armpits and triceps hold up his body. His arms and face were bruised and scratched.

  “Probably crutch faster than I can run, but Joseph says it will help me heal faster. And they were just going to leave them behind.”

  They stood together for a moment. Mauser eyed his friend, and Steele gazed at Gwen.

  Mauser spoke to him. “This is hard on everyone. Just give her some time.” Steele found himself tugging at his beard.

  “I don’t know how much time we have,” he said. He looked at his old friend and colleague. Sadness crept into Mauser’s eyes. Steele couldn’t tell if it was sadness about not being in the fight, or for the farewell they were about to make.

  Mauser straightened his back a bit. “I can make it, brother. Let me come with you,” he said, his face hopeful.

  “Your leg is all busted up. You know you would be more of a liability out there than help,” Steele said, searching his friend’s eyes. Mauser’s ankle counted him out of the mission that Steele needed him for.

  “It’s the right thing sticking with Jackson. It’s the best chance we have,” Mauser said. He nodded his head as if it settled the issue. Steele was skeptical, but he was at the colonel’s mercy.

  The sky darkened as the sun lost the battle for the sky. Perfect. All I need is some rain to finish off how I feel. He gave a cautious glance at Ahmed standing nearby with a pack on his back. Ahmed had volunteered to take Mauser’s place. Steele was immediately against the idea, but they needed a third person for the mission, and since Mauser was out, Steele could not deny Ahmed a chance to get eaten alive. After all, it was a suicide mission and at least Ahmed wouldn’t get to be with Gwen after Steele was killed.

  Steele walked alongside Mauser in silence. Mauser’s crutches creaked with each lunge. They stopped near the mobile lounge.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Steele said.

  “Yeah, you will.”

  “You’ll keep Gwen out of trouble?” Steele kicked at the ground a bit.

  “As much as anyone can.”

  Steele smiled at that. They both knew Gwen was stubborn.

  “Stay vigilant out there.”

  “You too, brother.”

  They clasped hands. The age-old symbol of trust, brotherhood, and respect between men. Firm yet not over the top. Never trust a man who tried to strong arm a handshake. Strong yet understanding. A gentlemen’s bond used by warriors, politicians, and criminals alike.

  He helped Mauser up into the people mover, handing up his crutches.

  “Steele,” Mauser said from atop the mover.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  Steele gave him a mock salute and trudged his way back to where Ahmed waited. His pack weighed him down every step of the way. A Humvee rolled up next to the men.

  Colonel Jackson appraised them from inside. His expression smug. Donning a combat helmet, he looked ready for war. He met Steele’s eyes. They were two bulls locking horns. Except Jackson had the high ground and Steele was no more than a calf. He had what Steele wanted, therefore he had Steele by the balls. Jackson broke eye contact with Steele, not out of deference, but from comfort in his position. Colonel Jackson’s eyes moved up to the mobile lounge. His lips spread in a thin smile.

  Steele’s heart jumped. Colonel Jackson had promised her well-being if he completed the mission. He had no choice. Steele’s jaw clenched.

  Colonel Jackson looked back at Steele. “Good luck, Agent Steele. For all of our sakes. Good luck.” He waved his arm in a crisp forward movement, his hand the shape of a knife.

  “Convoy, move out,” he shouted.

  Steele gave a long look at Gwen. She stared down at him from the window of the mobile lounge. Realization washed over her face. I don’t want to hurt you. He hefted his pack over his shoulder, feeling the weight of supplies and ordinance dig into his neck and back. He glanced up at her again. Please forgive me, it’s the only way. Her mouth remained flat, but her bottom lip quivered. Her fist punched the glass over and over.

  He mouthed “I love you,” and turned and walked for the Duquesne Incline. Every major bridge into and out of Pittsburgh needed to be destroyed. Operation Anaconda was underway.

  KINNICK

  Mount Eden Emergency Ope
rations Facility Bunker, VA

  Tactical lights combed the corridor. Emergency lighting unleashed an eerie glow in the bunker hallway. Kinnick was scrunched between Sergeant Lewis, the point man, and Master Sergeant Hunter. Their footsteps echoed loudly off the sterile white walls. They were only a hundred yards from the laboratory before everything went to hell.

  “Ahhh puta,” Esparza spit forth. Kinnick whipped his tactical light backward. The white light revealed a surprised Esparza. He dropped to his knees and his hands leapt to his neck. Dark red blood gurgled from a giant hole that his hands couldn’t plug. More flashlights whipped backward.

  “What the fuck?” Bowman shouted. He wrestled with Fannin in the rear, holding his gun low, not ready to fire on his own man. Fannin drove Bowman into the wall, pinning him and his rifle between them. Fannin chewed into the Marine’s face and arms. Pieces of skin and muscles were pulled free by his teeth and jaws. Kinnick was slower than dirt to get his gun up on Fannin, and Master Sergeant Hunter stepped between them.

  Master Sergeant Hunter leapt at the two. He extended his arm, Beretta 9mm inches from Fannin’s face. The explosion deafened everyone. Fannin’s head rocked to the side and he collapsed. Too loud, Kinnick thought. More of those things would be upon them soon, and now they were down two men. Maybe three.

  Kinnick scanned the hallway behind him. Nobody yet. Bowman breathed heavy, a ragged rattle coming in spurts. He’d been bitten.

  Kinnick crouched near him. They never had the chance to get to know one another, having only worked together for about three hours. The man stared into Kinnick’s eyes, no words able to come forth.

  “It’s gonna be okay, brother,” Kinnick said softly. He took the man’s hand. Bowman was going to die. All Kinnick knew was that this man was a Marine. A Devil Dog. Bowman went to war where his country asked him to go, with men he called brothers, to fight its own citizens. He didn’t ask questions, he only answered them. Now, he lay dying at Kinnick’s feet. No medical treatment known to man could save him as his life blood leaked from his body.

  Bowman closed his eyes and began to shake. Kinnick released the man’s hand and stood.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Sergeant Lewis said. The large man stared down on Bowman like he was a wounded deer, needing to be put out of its misery.

  Master Sergeant Hunter was bent over next to Esparza. Frothy blood flowed from Esparza’s lips. Kinnick could hear Hunter whispering to the man. He placed a small crucifix in Esparza’s hand. Then he stood up. Esparza stared at them, his body involuntarily shaking.

  Kinnick knew what came next.

  “Don’t. Let. Me turn, Puta,” Esparza growled.

  “See you in hell,” Master Sergeant Hunter said and sent a bullet through Esparza’s frontal lobe. Then he bent down and took one of Esparza’s dog tags.

  Kinnick counted the team. One short. “Where is Pollard?” he asked.

  Master Sergeant Hunter shined his tactical light twenty yards back. Pollard lay in a growing puddle of his own blood. Hunter walked up and put another round through his skull.

  “Bowman?”

  “I took care of it,” Lewis said.

  “What the fuck, just happened?” Master Sergeant Hunter growled.

  “Somehow they were infected? But, how?” Kinnick muttered. “Fannin’s hand. Do you think the doctor infected him?”

  Moans answered him by drifting down the hallway. The soldiers stopped talking and stared into the dark.

  “We gotta move,” Master Sergeant Hunter yelled. “They’re coming.” They were off. Speed was their only friend now. They all knew what came in the dark, and the pounding of their boots echoed off the floor as they sprinted.

  They ran through rooms with big orange X’s on them. Kinnick sprinted right behind Lewis, who quickly checked corners on the run. A good habit if they were in a scenario where their enemy made tactical moves. Kinnick didn’t know how vital it would be against an enemy who didn’t think. But old habits die hard, and the squad of three raced for the elevators.

  At the end of the corridor sat the elevators. Kinnick let himself exhale. No one was there, and the elevators rested with the doors open. Finally, Kinnick thought. A break.

  His heart beat ferociously in his chest. You are getting to old for this. Old men die just as easy as young men, but they have a better idea of when to step out of the way.

  They rushed into the elevator, and Kinnick punched the button labeled “1.” Nothing lit up. The doors did not close. They did not move from the bottom floor of the underground facility. No sophisticated pulley system hauled them to the surface. Kinnick smushed the button again with two fingers, bending them painfully. Nothing happened. Crap. He crushed the button beneath his fingers again and again.

  “Come on,” he said beneath his breath.

  “Colonel, we got contact front.”

  “So soon?” Kinnick said.

  “Are we cleared to engage?” Lewis said out of the side of his mouth.

  “You do not need to ask, Sergeant.”

  “Just clarifying. You wanted us to be careful of the civilians,” Lewis said.

  “What civilians?” Kinnick said.

  “I can’t tell,” Lewis said.

  Kinnick stepped to the side and peered down the hall. Shadows hobbled their way getting closer with each step to Kinnick and his team. They were still a good hundred and fifty feet from the elevator and in the shadows of emergency lighting. He couldn’t tell friend from foe. Kinnick pressed the button again.

  “Master Sergeant Hunter, we need power to these elevators,” Kinnick said, and Master Sergeant Hunter was all over the comms.

  “Sir, hostiles front,” Lewis said.

  “Fuck, Lewis, light them up,” Kinnick said. You could be ordering the death of Jackowski. Does it matter if we find the doctor and we are dead?

  Lewis licked his lips, zeroing in his sights. Within seconds, he unleashed a barrage of lead into the shadows in the dark. The forms staggered and fell. Kinnick had a gut feeling that this was going not be the last time he gave the order to potentially kill live American citizens. Their families could sue him when this was over and he wasn’t dead.

  Lewis stopped firing and fingered a tin out of his pants pocket. “Chew, sir?” he asked Kinnick.

  Kinnick shook his head no. He had given that up years ago. Lewis shoved a tin-sized chew in his mouth and spit onto a body on the ground.

  “Master Sergeant; status on the elevators?” Kinnick asked.

  “I got nothing,” Hunter said. They were going to have to climb out of the tomb.

  “Look for a way up. There should be a ladder around here,” Kinnick said.

  “Sir, you gotta take a look at this,” Sergeant Lewis said.

  Jesus, what now?

  Kinnick momentarily stopped pushing on ceiling tiles. Flashlights illuminated the end of the hall. He could see a mass of shapes moving his way led by a flashlight in front. The light did not move at the frantic pace of someone running from a horde of infected, but the much calmer gait of someone leading. Kinnick could vaguely make out the doctor and his followers goading the dead along.

  “What the hell is that guy doing?” he asked.

  “Dunno, sir. Don’t want to know. Permission to fire?” Lewis said, setting the SAW to his shoulders.

  “Permission granted,” Kinnick was all too happy to say. A figure broke from the pack and started sprinting for them.

  “Wait, Sergeant,” Kinnick said, staying his arm. “It’s one of the girls. Hold your fire until she is clear.”

  “Sir, that Zulu horde is going to be extremely close for fire by the time she gets here.”

  “Understood, soldier. As soon as she is clear, let ’em have it,” he said.

  She sprinted down the hall, crying out. “Wait,” she screamed. She slipped, falling on the tile corridor and banging her head off the ground. She crawled for them, but would never make it.

  “Goddamn it,” Kinnick whispered. He didn’t think, he onl
y acted.

  He pushed past Lewis and ran for the woman. The dead struggled for them both, loud moans clouding the corridor. He sprayed his M4 on full auto into the horde with minimal effect. The dead only absorbed the rounds. The M4 clicked dry. The dead continued onward.

  She stared up at him in a daze as if she was trying to tell if he was real or not.

  “Take my hand.”

  She grasped his hand and he pulled her upright. They sprinted back, the infected on their heels.

  “Go, go, go,” he yelled as they ran.

  As soon as they cleared Lewis’s sights, he opened up with the SAW. Kinnick grabbed the girl, shaking her by her shoulders. She looked at him with teary eyes.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he screamed in between momentary stoppages of Lewis’s light machine gun.

  “Please, let me go,” she sobbed, her thin form trembling. He pushed her to the corner of the elevator. Master Sergeant Hunter was gone.

  “Where the hell is Hunter?” His master sergeant had disappeared.

  “Sir, up here. Hand up the girl,” Master Sergeant Hunter said. His bearded face peeked at them from a gap in the ceiling of the elevator. Kinnick wasted no time helping her up. Lewis fired away but hardly put a dent into the horde moving murderously in their direction.

  “Sergeant, we’re going,” Kinnick yelled at Lewis. He slung his M4 to his back and jumped for the opening.

  Kinnick grabbed hands with Hunter and felt himself lifted upwards. He cleared the ceiling. They both reached down for Lewis, who slung his SAW and latched onto their hands. Kinnick pulled as hard as he could, hardly moving the man. Sergeant Lewis’s massive weight pulled the men down, and he dangled in the air.

  The elevator filled with the dead. Lewis grunted, his face red, while he kicked down at their grasping hands and ugly faces, and then he was through. The infected reached for the opening, but they did not have the dexterity to make the jump. The three men sat there panting, the young woman pressed into the corner. The distant light of the top floor gleamed at the top of the elevator shaft. Kinnick looked at his men. Lewis’s face was turning white. He spit a few times onto the top of the elevator.