Graveyard

by William C. Dietz

  “That sucks, for us, and the people who live here.”

  “Exactly,” Ferris agreed. “But we can’t stop it, so it’s important to pull out at 0300. Keep your eyes peeled—and holler if you see something.”

  Ferris left and, as Lee scanned the horizon, she saw that some lights were on to the north. A sure sign that repairs were under way.

  But when she turned to the south, everything was dark except for the neighborhoods that were on fire. Then a series of explosions lit up the night. Were the marines shelling the ’tecs? If so, they were shelling the residents of LA, too. Each salvo sounded like thunder, and Lee thought about what Ferris had said. The beach was a mile or two away . . . And the sooner they arrived the better.

  The coffee was gone by then, so Lee pulled the blanket in around her body and began to walk the roof’s perimeter. Time passed, albeit slowly since there wasn’t much action. But then, a little after 0100, she heard the rumble of engines. Was it the motorcycle gang? Going home for the night? No, as dozens of headlights appeared off to the west, Lee knew she was looking at some sort of convoy.

  She raised the rifle and peered through the scope. It didn’t help, so she lowered it again. Was she looking at a gang? A citizen militia? Or a sizeable force of ’tecs? It felt as if cold fingers were wrapped around her gut. She opened her mike. “Bear . . . Tell Ferris that at least a dozen vehicles are coming in from the west. I don’t know if they will turn in here, but if they do, we’ll be in some deep shit.”

  “Roger that,” Bear replied.

  As Lee watched the lights come closer, the engine noise grew louder. Now she could see that the convoy included a menagerie of delivery vans, pickup trucks, and cars. Keep going, she prayed. Pass us by . . . Don’t stop here.

  “What you got?” Ferris said as he appeared next to her. “That,” Lee said as she pointed at the line of vehicles.

  Ferris swore under his breath. “Just what we don’t need . . . But why stop here? They’ll pass us by.”

  But the convoy didn’t pass them by. The first car slowed, turned into the mostly empty parking lot, and the next vehicle followed. Both maneuvered to put their headlights on the front of the building, and that’s when the troops poured out of the vehicles behind them. The Aztecs had arrived.

  FOUR

  LEE FELT HER heart sink as soldiers poured out of their vehicles and a squad-sized detachment of ’tecs started toward the building. “We need to buy time,” Ferris told her. “Kill as many of them as you can. That will slow the bastards down.”

  Ferris was yelling into his mike as he turned and ran. There was a tightness in Lee’s gut as she crawled to the edge of the roof and peered down into the parking lot. Thanks to someone’s stupidity, the squad was backlit by the headlights aimed at the building. Lee chose the first man in the column of soldiers and shot him in the head. And that was best because it was safe to assume that the ’tecs were wearing body armor.

  Lee was already pumping another cartridge into the chamber and firing as the body fell. Another head snapped back, and another ’tec died. Then all hell broke loose. Orders were shouted in Spanish, whistles sounded, and the headlights were extinguished. That was followed by a ferocious hail of bullets that shattered the hotel’s windows and dug divots out of the brick façade.

  The fire wasn’t aimed at any particular spot because the mutants had no idea where the shots had originated. Lee knew that wouldn’t last and was determined to cash in on it. She chose a muzzle flash, aimed at a point just above it, and triggered three shots. It was too dark to confirm a kill, but that weapon fell silent.

  But what goes around comes around as the old saying goes, and the muzzle flash from the Remington quickly drew fire. That forced Lee to back away from the edge of the roof as bullets tore into the area where she’d been. Maybe they’ll pull out now, she thought to herself. After all, why fight for this hotel, when there are others?

  Unfortunately, it soon became apparent that the mutants were going to fight for the hotel. Maybe they were tired of being pushed around, maybe they thought they were in contact with a group of marines, or maybe anything. What was, was. And if they continued to attack, the bastards would win. Ferris spoke in her ear. “Good job, Lee. Come on down. I put in a call for air support and, if we get it, these people will be toast.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “We’ll take a lot of them with us.”

  Lee felt a lump in her throat but managed to swallow it. “Roger that . . . I’m on my way.”

  Lee took the stairs two at a time as she made her way down to the ground floor. “Here I am,” Lee said as she entered the reception area. “Where do you want me?”

  Ferris and Bear were positioned near the front door. There was a loud boom, the building shook, and dust rained down from the false ceiling. Ferris pointed. “Grab Worley’s shotgun and head thataway . . . I think the hotel has a new door. Seal it off.”

  The twelve-gauge was sitting on a counter, along with a plastic bag filled with shells. Lee took both and hurried down the hall that ran east and west along the front of the building. Moments later, she came to the jagged hole that Ferris had referred to. It looked as though an RPG had been used to create a new entry. A tactic that would split the defenders in two. They’re getting smarter, Lee thought to herself, as she took cover behind a pile of rubble. And that isn’t good.

  The Aztecs were still firing but without the previous intensity. That suggested they would attack soon. So Lee took the opportunity to ensure that the shotgun was loaded. It was.

  Now she had a moment to feel thirsty and think about Kane. What was he doing, she wondered? Sleeping? Maybe so. Maybe . . . And that was when the attack began.

  The ’tecs were using their heads this time. Rather than run headlong into a wall of defensive fire, they sent two trucks forward to crash into the waist-high planter box that fronted the building. It was tempting to open fire, but Lee chose to wait rather than waste some of her precious ammo. A whistle blew, and a squad of mutants surged through the gap between the trucks.

  Lee threw one of her two grenades at them. It took a bounce and exploded a foot off the ground. Shrapnel cut the legs out from under two mutants and dumped them screaming onto the ground. That was the good news. The bad news was that more of the bastards were on the way, and she didn’t have enough time to pick targets.

  Lee grabbed the shotgun and fired it into a big noncom with ruby red eyes and a snout instead of a nose. The force of the blast hurled him back and slowed those who were trying to drive forward.

  Lee took advantage of the slight pause to fire seven additional shots. And since each shell was packed with the equivalent of eight .38 caliber bullets, they tore the next wave of attackers apart. A grenade landed in front of her and Lee was forced to throw herself sideways in an effort to escape the force of the explosion. There was a loud bang, and her ears were ringing as she sat up.

  The twelve-gauge was empty, which gave her a choice of reloading or going for the Glock. But with hazy forms still charging through the gap, the choice was no choice at all. Lee drew the Glock and felt it jump in her hand. It was like an old friend who knew exactly where to point and when to fire. As it did, the pile of dead and dying bodies continued to grow. Then a shrill whistle blew, and the attack came to an end. That’s it! Lee thought to herself as she hurried to reload both the Glock and the shotgun. They’ve had enough. They’re going to leave.

  “Uh-oh,” Ferris said over the radio. “More troops are coming in off Rosecrans . . . And there are two light tanks with them.”

  Lee felt a sense of disappointment. To come so far, to fight so hard, and to die in a hotel . . . That sucked.

  “Lee!” Ferris shouted into her ear. “Two air-force planes are coming our way! Get up on the roof and pop red smoke. This ain’t over yet.”

  Lee felt a sudden surge of hope as she grabbed the long gun
s and made a mad dash down the hall. Bullets continued to ping the front of the building as mutant snipers tried to keep the defenders on edge. She saw the bodies piled up at the front door as she turned the corner and realized that Ferris and Bear had been up to their asses in ’tecs as well. And Bear had a piece of bloodstained curtain wrapped around his right bicep.

  From there Lee ran down a hall and entered the stairwell. There were lots of stairs to climb. But Lee was so charged with adrenaline that she barely noticed, and as she burst out onto the roof, Lee saw what looked like pink frosting. The sun was rising in the east.

  She hurried forward, pulled the pin on the grenade, and threw it toward the center of the roof. The canister rolled as it landed, and red smoke began to spiral out. An ocean breeze carried the red mist off to the east. Lee didn’t know what the ’tecs would make of the smoke and didn’t care.

  As she waited for the planes, Lee crawled forward to the edge of the roof so she could watch what was going on. The tanks were positioned side by side. One of them fired, and Lee heard a loud boom as a shell hit the hotel. The whole building shook, and she was in the process of backing away from the edge when a female voice filled her ears. Someone had been able to patch the zoomies in. “This is Skyraider Three and Four. We have your smoke . . . Stand by . . . We’re rolling in hot. Over.”

  No more than fifteen seconds passed before an air-force A-12 roared overhead. The twin-engine jet was a direct descendant of the famous A-10 and was intended for the sole purpose of attacking ground targets like tanks. The mutants fired at the plane as it flashed overhead and began to circle back. But they were wasting their time. The A-12 was firing flares intended to pull shoulder-launched missiles off target, and the plane was extremely sturdy.

  Lee ducked as the second plane passed over the hotel and entered a sweeping turn. The first A-12 was making a run by then, and she saw rockets flash off its wings as the 30mm cannon mounted in the nose began to fire. The weapon made an ominous sound, and the effects were spectacular.

  It was stupid to stand on the roof and watch, but Lee couldn’t resist. So she had a front-row seat as the rockets struck one of the tanks—and the cannon shells turned the rest of the enemy convoy into a scattering of burning hulks. Then the pilot pulled back on her stick, and the Warthog entered a steep climb.

  Now it was the second A-12’s turn. It made its run in from the west with the same devastating results. And by the time it roared past, there was nothing left to attack. Lee heard Ferris thank the pilots, who promised to fly cover as the police officers made their way to the beach. Lee hurried down the stairs and made her way into the lobby. Ferris was there, along with Bear, and Quigley. But Maxim was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?” Lee inquired. “Where’s Max?”

  “He didn’t make it,” Quigley answered. “The muties broke in through the back door. Max nailed the first guy, through . . . But he wasn’t wearing armor. They shot him in the chest.”

  Lee didn’t ask what happened to the ’tecs. The fact that Quigley was standing there said it all. “That sucks,” she said sadly. “I liked him. He deserved better.”

  “Yeah,” Ferris agreed. “I liked him, too. Come on . . . Those birds can’t circle forever. Let’s haul ass.”

  The ensuing journey had a surreal quality. First came the trip out into the hotel’s parking lot, where bodies, and parts of bodies, lay scattered like pieces in a grisly puzzle. Meanwhile, vehicles continued to burn—and the smoke hung over the scene like a gray shroud. Lee could hear the cries of wounded soldiers and felt sorry for them. Suddenly a man lurched out of the haze with his hands raised. “Don’t shoot! I’m a doctor.”

  “Then act like a doctor,” Lee said harshly, “and cover your nose and mouth. And order the wounded to do so as well. Otherwise, the next group of norms who happens along will kill you.”

  The doctor had protuberant eyes and a lopsided face. He nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

  Then they were out on the street and jogging west. There were no people to be seen. And no wonder . . . People who had witnessed the devastating air attack weren’t about to come out so long as the A-12s continued to fly lazy eights overhead. With the exception of some scavenging dogs, the team had West Rosecrans to themselves as they ran single file.

  Lee got her first glimpse of the glittering ocean twenty minutes later as they crossed Highland Drive. This was the area where a retro band called the Beach Boys had originated—and at least half of the restaurants, bars, and tee-shirt shops bore names related to their music.

  Then the team crossed Ocean Drive and was soon jogging through soft sand. Two police officers could be seen guarding the RIB boat that awaited them.

  Ferris thanked Skyraider Three and her wingman, and both planes waggled their wings as they banked toward the east. Then the team waded into the water to help launch the boat. Once the outboard was running, it was time to climb in and hang on as the inflatable bucked its way out through light surf. Lee took a soaking as the boat broke through a wave but didn’t care. She was alive, and took a moment to savor that, as the RIB boat cleared the rollers and roared toward the fifty-foot police launch half a mile beyond.

  Once aboard the larger boat, the team was fed coffee and enormous sandwiches as the patrol boat made the trip to Marina Del Rey. Upon arriving ashore, they discovered that two squad cars had been sent to ferry them back to the secured zone.

  During the trip, Lee had an opportunity to see that a great deal of progress had been made in the last day or so. The traffic lights were working, the fires had been extinguished, and a lot of the city’s businesses were open. Lee saw burned-out buildings, though . . . As well as a line of crude crosses in front of a crater—and the message that had been spray painted onto a wall: “Pray for the fallen . . .” And, “Kill the freaks.” Lee figured that was just a hint of the hatred that was simmering in the city of angels.

  There were a lot of soldiers, though. They were directing traffic, standing guard in front of key buildings, and patrolling the streets. And when Lee mentioned that fact, their driver nodded. “People have started to trickle back into the city,” he said. “And while the army pushes the muties south, the marines are driving them north. Mayor Getty says we’ll have the city back by sundown.” Images blipped through Lee’s mind. Quigley shooting the dog. Worley falling. Getty waiting at the door. Maxim in his boxer shorts. The flamethrower exploding. Marching west. And Getty running for the helicopter. The bitch.

  Once inside the security zone, the police officers were taken to the Olmsby Hotel, which had been commandeered for use by city workers of every possible description. “Grab some sleep,” Ferris told the team, as they entered the lobby. “And let’s meet at the Street Services Garage at six. Oh, and one more thing . . . You people did one helluva job. Thank you.”

  After going through a perfunctory registration process, the group broke up and went their separate ways. The hotel was anything but posh. It was clean, though . . . And that was enough for Lee. Her room was on the third floor with an excellent view of a ventilation shaft. Lee dropped the vest in a corner, cleared the long guns, and laid them on the floor. Would Quigley clean his weapons before going to bed? It wouldn’t surprise her.

  Her clothes were filthy, but she wouldn’t have access to her suitcase until later in the day. But Lee could take the hot shower that she’d been dreaming of, and it was heavenly. Then, with a cold Diet Coke at hand, she perched on the edge of the bed. Her cell was off, and she turned it on. She figured Kane would be at the hospital and wanted to hear his voice. But after four rings the call went to voice mail: “The voice-mail box associated with this number is full. Please try your call again later.”

  Lee felt a mild sense of alarm as she hurried to check her voice mail. Kane was more than a little OCD where things like checking voice mail, returning e-mails, and arriving on time were concerned. So much so that she teased him about it.

  Th
ere were lots of messages, and Lee skipped through them until she found the one from Kane. His voice was strange, as if he was trying to sound casual, but under considerable pressure. “Hi, hon . . . It’s me. Sorry to bother you, but I’m in jail. No, this isn’t a joke. I was arrested for murder about an hour after you left for work. They’re holding me at the MDC, and I need some help. Okay, I guess that’s all. Love you.” And that was followed by a click.

  Lee could hardly believe her ears and listened to the message again before calling the MDC. She knew at least a dozen people there—and it didn’t take long to hook up with a clerk who could confirm that yes, they did have a prisoner named Lawrence Kane, and yes, he was being held on a murder charge.

  Lee’s hand shook as she dialed Marvin Codicil’s number. Codicil was her attorney and had been able to resolve a number of legal problems in the past. And, since he knew Kane, Codicil seemed like the right person to turn to. He answered on the second ring. “Hello, Cassandra . . . I wondered when you’d call.”

  “I was working,” Lee replied. “It sounds like you already know about Lawrence.”

  “Yes,” Codicil said. “He called me as soon as he could.”

  “So what the hell is going on?”

  “I’m due in court five minutes from now,” Codicil said, “so I can’t go into a lot of detail. Suffice it to say that Lawrence had left his condo, and was on his way to St. John’s, when he saw two men accost a young woman on the street. He stopped, got out of his car, and ordered them to stop. They turned, and one of the men fired a shot at Lawrence. He returned fire using the .45 that you gave him. The man with the gun fell dead.

  “And even though cops were almost impossible to find in all of the chaos, a patrol car happened along seconds later. The surviving suspect took the dead man’s pistol and ran. The police officers ordered Lawrence to surrender his weapon, and he did so. Then, when they asked him to explain the shooting, he realized that the young woman had disappeared. And when Lawrence asked the police if they’d seen her, they said ‘no.’ End of story.”