Chapter 14
Duncan was huddled next to Mike, trying to
keep him conscious while Kulovitz covered the stairwell two doors down. Based
upon the radio chatter, he knew that the roar below was probably due to
Carlie’s hasty arrival in the lobby. He leaned towards Mike, whose eyes were
half-open. “The helos will be here in five minutes, buddy—just hang on.”
He rose up slightly from his kneeling
position and checked the skyline.
Got ’em. Inbound at three o’clock
. He
helped Mike to his feet and carried most of the man’s weight on his left
shoulder. Duncan moved into the hallway only to see Eliza and Brinkman burst
onto the third-floor landing. “Carlie’s right behind us,” said Eliza, who was
panting.
Duncan was already moving towards them and
pointed upward. “We gotta go now.” He passed Mike over to Brinkman, who along
with Kulovitz supported the barely alert man as they trotted down the hallway.
They climbed up the rear staircase, which was nothing more than a ladder going
into a square hatchway in the ceiling. Duncan heard gunfire coming from the
opposite stairwell followed by the overwhelming sounds of shrieks permeating
the air. As the rest of the group hurried up the steps, he covered the hallway,
finally seeing Carlie emerge and head towards the now-vacant room. He whistled
and directed her over.
“Down,” he yelled as he shot three zombies
emerging behind her from the landing. She looked behind her to make sure it was
clear then sprang forward and continued running towards him.
“You’re almost late for the party—where
are your manners?” he said.
Carlie frowned and almost motioned for him
to go up but then realized this wasn’t her mission and that he would just deny
her request. She slung her rifle and ascended then covered him as he did the
same. Duncan secured the latch on the opening just as necrotic faces came into
view below.
As they turned to join the others, he saw
the welcome arrival of the Chinook descending to the
helipad in the corner near the rest of the
frazzled group.
Chapter 15
Two hours later, Duncan, Carlie and
several other team leaders met with Secretary of Defense Conrad Lavine in the
briefing room in A-Wing at Fort Lewis.
“This was a well-planned attack, on many
levels,” said Duncan to the group before him. He waved his hand along a map of southeast
Washington pulled up on the overhead monitor. “This had to have been launched
by the group out of the military prison in Walla Walla that Eliza informed us about
upon her arrival here several months ago.”
“For what purpose?” said the sec-def. “Our
outpost was not rich in natural resources and the base itself had little to
offer in terms of supplies.”
“I think the reason for attack was
two-fold,” continued Duncan. “One was to eliminate any potential security threat
south of the Grand Coulee Dam and the other was to test our tactical response.
I believe they are planning to make a move on the dam.”
“If they take that facility, won’t they
have control over the existing power grid in the Pacific Northwest?” said Shane,
who was seated at the far end of the table.
“We are dependent on the dam for much of
our power needs but we already have a unit of troops manning that place,” said
Lavine. The small towns in that region fell long ago and there’s very little
security threat in the immediate area.”
“If they are planning an assault on the
dam, it’s going to be a major logistical effort, not to mention the time
factor, to move our troops there and set up defensive measures. In years past,
with unlimited air resources and numerous convoys, we could have pulled this
off like clockwork but we just don’t have the manpower, fuel, and helo capabilities.”
Carlie studied the spiderweb of roads in
that region. “What if we send in small teams along the highways and secondary
roads to take out the bridges?”
“That’s a good call but once those bridges
are blown then the routes are shut off permanently which will only hamstring us
in the future,” said Duncan. “Before we commit any resources, we need to get
boots on the ground around the prison and gather real-world intel. Our limited
SAT capabilities can only reveal so much and I need to know what we’re up
against.”
Lavine walked around the front of the room
and looked up at the screen, enhancing the map around the dam, and then back
down to Walla Walla, a hundred and fifty miles to the southeast. “At present, what
do we know about the group at the prison—their numbers, capabilities, and leadership?”
“Nothing on precise numbers, other than
what we’ve gleaned from Eliza, Mike, and a few other survivors from those
parts,” said Carlie. “Supposedly it’s a few hundred men that roam in small
parties through the tri-state area pillaging and taking captives. Eliza said
that they use the undead in their initial assaults to divide the forces of
small groups before they sweep in with their thugs, probably like what we just
witnessed.”
“An army of undead troops, how the hell is
that even possible?” said Shane.
“I took down a mutant that had some kind
of radio collar attached to the back of its neck,” said Carlie. “Must’ve been a
tracking or controlling device so they must have some means of routing the creatures
into an area.”
Duncan folded his arms and canted his head
up at the map. “I don’t have any specifics on the prison yet. I’ll get someone
going on that. The last person I debriefed who had escaped from that region
mentioned their leader went by the title ‘Colonel.’” He hunched over a laptop
and began pulling up files.
“I’ll have a satellite image taken of the
area when we can arrange it. We’ve been having significant issues with our
technical SAT-com links on this end,” said Lavine. “They are sure to have a lot
of supplies there that we could use though. Given how many acquisition flights
we’ve been doing for Pavel’s research, we are running low on fuel, which will
greatly hamper sending teams out to gather more research materials. No fuel, no
cure.”
“I’ve pulled up a roster of some of the prisoners
and their backgrounds. The facial recognition software narrowed it down to a
handful of former army personnel with that rank. There was only one colonel
there.” Duncan flipped to the next slide, which pulled up the convict’s mugshot.
Lavine shook his head slightly and moved
closer to the image. “Mitchell—Ryan Mitchell.”
“Wasn’t he the guy who tortured all those
prisoners in Kabul?” said Shane.
“The one and only—he headed up a
successful covert operation during the early years following 9/11,” replied
Lavine with a deep exhale. “Just when you think a problem has been swept under
the rug, it rears its ugly head again.”
“Did you know him?” said Duncan.
“Mmm…not exactly.”
“You mean, not officially,” said Carlie.
“So, was his operation funded by DOD?”
Lavine rubbed the back of his neck. “Difficult
times called for difficult measures and Mitchell was very good at getting
results.” He turned away from the image and looked at the others. “This raises
the stakes if he’s running the show over there. This guy’s IQ, ability to
manipulate others, and his cunning are off the charts.” Lavine shuddered at the
memory of Mitchell and all he had put the DOD through during his trial. How the
man had tried to drag his superiors into the quagmire he had created. The
evasive maneuvers that Lavine had taken ensured his name was not connected to
Mitchell but the interrogator was known for holding a grudge and Lavine
suspected any move against Lewis or the dam would be motivated by personal
desires as much as tactical considerations.
“Well, this seems like another good reason
to recon the prison like you mentioned,” said Shane. “And I have just the team
in mind.”
Duncan rested his hands on the table ready
to OK the request but reluctantly looked back at Lavine for the final go-ahead.
The sec-def nodded. “Shane and his team
will head to the prison. The rest of you I want poring over the routes from the
prison to the dam. Get back to me with a full tactical assessment of our
options and countermeasures for defense of that region. I will be in my office
configuring our manpower, fuel, and resources.” He placed his hands on his hips
and craned his neck back to look at the image of Grand Coulee. “It looks like
we’re back to open warfare with our own kind again over resources and geography.”
While the others flowed out of the room,
Carlie moved to the front beside Duncan and Lavine. “I’d like to take a small
recon team to Yakima, which is ninety miles away from the prison. That’s the
region Eliza was holed up in a few months ago in early winter. She described
that group as being well-versed in the lay of the land there—it might provide
us with a forward staging area or at least locals who know the routes between
there and the dam.”
The two men looked at the region on the
map and then towards each other. “With Shane’s group departing, I don’t have
the resources to muster a full recon op until our other helos are back in from
their sweeps for research equipment around the west coast.”
“I wouldn’t need a full ground element—just
one helo for six of us.” She inserted herself between the two, pointing her
finger at Yakima. “If the group from the prison is headed north, then the route
through Yakima is going to be of significant strategic value as it’s the only
primary road heading to the dam. That mountain encampment of survivors would
provide an excellent resistance force of guerrilla fighters if we can convince
them to join us.”
Lavine exhaled and ran a hand through his
wavy silver hair. “Alright, but keep in close contact with Duncan and
coordinate any efforts there with our troop movements headed to the dam. This
is going to be a hasty operation if we’re to fortify that facility.”
***
Two hours later, Carlie passed Shane in
the hallway as he headed to the airfield. “You just had to jump at the
opportunity to go recon the prison, didn’t you?” she said with a grin.
“Duty calls.” He paused and looked softly into
her eyes. “I guess Matias is with you again. Looks like they’re short on
chopper pilots with all the other helo crews out along the west coast.”
“Yep.” Her mind was racing, overwhelmed by
a barely contained flood of passion constrained by the walls of her
trepidation. Her thoughts were foggy and she struggled to convey her feelings
from their previous encounter.
Shane tugged on the shoulder strap of his
pack and nodded, looking down at the floor and then back up. “I’ll see you
soon, eh.”
As he walked away, she abruptly grabbed
his shirt sleeve. “Hey, you, uh, get back here in one piece, OK.” He let out a
half-smile and squeezed her hand then turned, walking away through the dimly
lit corridor.
Carlie pressed her back against the
concrete wall, thrusting her hands in her pockets and shaking her head as she
let out a sigh.
Why couldn’t I say something
—
tell him what I feel and
really want? Why did this have to be so damn hard? He was right there
—
a
foot away from me
! She bit her lower lip and squinted.
Screw these
feelings. I don’t need this right now. I’ve got a mission to prep for
—
another
mission.
She stood upright and threw her shoulders back, then stomped off
in the opposite direction back towards the armory.
For crying out loud, get
your head in the game, Carlie
—
back into something you’re good at
—
focus
on the op ahead.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her cheeks flushing, then
turned and looked down the hallway that Shane had just disappeared into.
I
should tell him, now, just grab him and throw my arms around his neck. What if
we don’t see each other again
—
if something happens? He’ll never know
and…
She balled her fists as her shoulders tensed.
This is bullshit
—
get
it together! Things aren’t like they used to be in more carefree days
—
you’ve
got a job to do and a team to lead. Now get your shit wired tight for crying
out loud.
She pivoted back around and stormed down
the hallway, resuming her former direction to the armory as the furious sound
of her boots resounded off the walls.
Chapter 16
In a detached warehouse at the rear of the
prison grounds in Walla Walla, Jimmy Pulaski was completing the removal of the
cylindrical back section of a large fuel truck obtained from the recent outpost
attack. His work crew had spent the previous day draining the eighteen-wheeler
of its precious payload and mopping up the interior. With the 8600-gallon tanker
dried out and the insides rubbed down with fire retardant to eliminate the risk
of igniting any residual vapors, Pulaski was confident he could safely cut away
the rear panel.
He stood on a ladder above the tank he was
going to modify. His leather-gloved hands gripped a portable chop saw whose
abrasive metal-cutting blade was slicing through the thick walls of the tanker,
the storm of sparks cascading onto the cement below. With only two feet of
metal left to cut through, he paused, pulling up his tinted helmet to call over
five men who were inspecting recently acquired rifles.
“This section is nearly ready to come off.
Brace the underside with your hands and get ready to lower it once I make the
final cut. And fellas, keep your fucking eyes closed.”
After the burly crew was in place, he
flipped his helmet down and continued cutting, the blade shrieking as it slowly
tore through the smoking layer of metal. As the last few inches disappeared the
men below grunted and strained, lowering the six-foot-diameter section to the
ground, the metal clanking against the cement like a church bell.
Pulaski stepped down from the ladder. He
placed the heavy saw on a rolling workbench and then removed his protective
equipment. The short man’s black hair was matted and greasy from sweat. He
dragged a filthy rag across his forehead and peered inside the rear like he was
examining the mouth of a metal eel.
A skinny man in his mid-twenties clad in a
jean jacket moved alongside him. “What you gonna do with this now, chief?”
“The colonel wants me to weld in a steel baffle
separating the last two-thirds of the cylinder from the front part where the
fuel will go then insulate the inside so it’s soundproof. After that, I’ll put
in a separate entrance hatch at the bottom and conceal it with a panel of
gauges.”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean, ‘then what’? How the
hell should I know—I didn’t ask the old man. I just do what he says so I can
continue enjoying solid food each night.”
Pulaski went back to the workbench and
swigged down half a liter of water then donned his gear again. “You guys scribe
the metal section we just removed onto a flat piece of steel. I’ll cut that out
next and shape it to fit the interior.”