Her floating consciousness spirals lower and rests near the semicircle of people gathered in one corner of the basement. Her four companions are joined by three strangers. They stand around a long rectangular desk with a map unfolded on its surface.
“That was six days ago,” the woman concludes.
She appears to be her in mid-thirties, maybe older, and wears a red-and-black plaid jacket with black jeans and black leather riding boots. Her face is pretty but hardened, and her hair is platinum blonde and poker straight pulled back in a tight ponytail. She is a slight woman, like Luna, with big almond brown eyes and a voice that’s coarse and smoky.
“And you’ve been down here ever since?” asks Noah.
“That’s right,” replies the man with the gruff voice. “We’re prepared to make this our last stand if we have to. If those things come down here, we will lock ourselves in the Birdcage and unleash bloody hell.”
“And you three are the only ones who weren’t killed?” demands Maaka. “What happened to Superintendent Hurst? Or Sergeant Manning?”
“They’re all dead.”
“And how do you know for certain?”
“I said, they’re
all dead,
” the older man growls. His delivery is level and no-nonsense. He is short and stocky, with cold beady eyes. The stranger next to him is taller and leaner and appears twenty years younger, with sandy brown hair full of loose curls and big blue eyes.
“Inspector
Harris
, these things you keep referring to — what are they exactly?” Hiroshi asks.
“Call me Mace. I don’t go by ‘Inspector.’ Not anymore.”
“How about sheriff?” Maaka jabs, smiling fiendishly.
The older man shoots Maaka a cold glare. “As far as we can tell, they’re human. Or at least they were human. And I suspect they were infected by something that changed them, somehow.”
“The pandemic did
this
?” Noah asks.
Mace nods. “That’s what was being reported anyway. People were getting sick and then attacking others without provocation. Although I can’t be sure. But I’ll tell you one thing, if you ever have the misfortune to see one in the flesh, it will haunt you for the rest of your days. If it doesn’t kill you first.”
“Woooooooooooooooo,” jests Maaka, playfully waving his hands and dangling his fingers in mockery. “This sounds like a load of horseshit, if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you!” snaps the woman. “But go out there and see for yourself if you don’t believe us.”
“How’d you think we bloody got here, lady?” Maaka demands. “We’ve been out there for days and haven’t seen a pot of piss let alone these bogeymen you keep going on about. And for the record, your town is deserted.”
Noah nods. “He’s right. Whatever was out there is gone now.”
Mia knows he is lying, but she understands why — the need to get back to the others supersedes everything else.
“I have a friend who lives on the outskirts of Wakefield. It’s practically a fortress on a mountaintop. Now, I don’t know how long you planned on staying down here, but eventually you will run out of provisions, and I can tell you that we will all be safer there. He will have food and water. He has been self-sustaining for years.”
“Wakefield?” Mace questions. “Wakefield is overrun, mate. You’ll never make it there alive.”
“It’s not
in
Wakefield; it’s on the outskirts,” he repeats and points to a place on the map.
Mace looks at his companions. “There’re eight of us here. How many people do you have waiting for you?”
“
Ten
.”
Mace shakes his head. “Now how in the hell do you suggest we move
eighteen
people?”
“I know where there’s an eighteen-wheeler not far from here,” Mia announces. Everyone turns suddenly as Mia approaches the desk, yawning. Noah smiles at her and throws her a sly wink.
Chapter 22
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Noah watches the seconds tick away just before they leave the police station. He stands in a wide hallway near the back doors, accompanied by Hiroshi and the apparent outlaws, Maaka and Pango. Although the time he allotted to get back to the others has officially run out, his mission hasn’t changed. He knows full well that Evelyn won’t leave until first light, which should give him enough time to get back to her. He was clear with his instruction, but if there are extenuating circumstances, he knows she will use her judgment. And it is safe to assume that plans have changed. He is not sure how or why, but Max ended up away from the others. And Noah is dead certain that Evelyn won’t leave anyone behind.
And if she encounters what he saw a few minutes ago, he doubts that she will get the chance to. While the others packed their gear in preparation for departure, the inspector showed Hiroshi and Noah surveillance footage from a camera mounted on the top of the police station. They saw an eerie glimpse of the bloody hell that had transpired here just six days ago. And what he saw, in high-def digital clarity, was enough for him to know that they are impossibly prepared to face what’s out there.
The apparent humans moved lightning fast and as savagely as wild animals, displaying no sign of fear. But that’s not what most alarms him. A casual observer might view the sixty-six seconds of footage as nothing more than mob chaos; but Noah detects something else among the mayhem: The attacks were well coordinated, efficient, and worse, calculated. The marauders didn’t act independently, but worked in groups; and while he couldn’t be certain, it seems that some victims were killed immediately, their flesh torn from their bones, while others were beaten into submission and carried away. What happened to those unfortunate few he can’t begin to imagine. But the attacks were far more than an exercise in brutality.
The inspector enters the corridor in full riot gear. The tinted visor of his black matte helmet is flipped up, exposing only his eyes. His nose and mouth are hidden behind the helmet’s built-in gas mask. He’s armed to the teeth, with a Diemaco C7 assault rifle strapped to his shoulder harness. His RAM Riot shotgun is sleeved across his back, with its pistol grip jutting from his right shoulder. He wears a black jumpsuit of lightweight Kevlar body armor and his utility belt bulges with concussion grenades and tear gas canisters among which is nestled a .40 caliber pistol. He carries a large black tote bag in his right hand and in his left, he holds a retractable riot shield that has a variable width setting for maximum effectiveness. The shield has a gun turret that allows for firing from various angles and shooting positions, while providing an effective barrier from any incoming assault. But maybe the most ingenious function of the shield is its ability to send a paralyzing electric shock by way of contact or projectile.
Mace, as he prefers to be called, is trailed by Sergeant Daniel Lyons and his wife, Lindsay, who also carries large black tote bags and wears similar riot gear. Trailing behind them is Mia, plodding slowly in her heavy new wardrobe. She is unarmed, and it’s obvious to Noah that she is zapped of her strength, though doing her valiant best to push on.
The inspector drops the black tote bag at Noah’s feet. “Here are riot suits for the three of you,” he tells Noah, before turning to Pango. “Unfortunately I don’t have anything your size.”
“I never heard that before,” Pango shrugs.
“There are three Diemaco C7’s, a couple of Glocks, and a RAM Riot shotgun. It goes against my better judgment, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Noah grabs a C7 and points it to the door, testing its laser scope. It’s an older model, but it’s still lightweight, perfectly balanced, and lethal as hell. A secondary barrel underneath the main one can shoot tear gas cartridges or launch concussion grenades. Even though it’s only been a little more than a month since he last handled an assault rifle, it feels odd in his hands. He looks back to the inspector.
“Is this standard issue?”
“It is during wartime.”
War
, Noah thinks to himself.
Who knows more about that than me?
And here he is again, discarding his soot-stained jacket in favor of a shiny black riot suit. A twinge of guilt washes over him as he prepares to lead the others into the night and quite possibly to the wolves.
How ironic life is,
he thinks. He had left the military because he no longer wanted the responsibility of leading innocent men and women to their deaths. Now, as he straps on the riot helmet, he is yet again faced with the same uncertainty.
But what choice do I have?
His hand is forced — just as it had been on that fateful night.
It’s the first of May, 2022, a bad omen from the very start. That is, if you believe in those kinds of things. Noah stands before his squadron outfitted entirely in black, minutes before they jumped from their Dark Cloud 6-76 Stealth Helicopter. As he speaks to his squadron, he can’t know that it would be their final mission and the unfortunate end of the fabled Phantom Nine.
“It was on this very day eleven years ago that U.S. Navy SEALs carried out a daring mission involving a highly sought-after target in a densely populated civilian area. Under the cover of darkness, with the world completely unaware, the SEALs invaded a fortified compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan, and killed the rogue terrorist Osama Bin Laden. In under sixty minutes, the group of extraordinary men ended a decades-long manhunt for one of the most infamous outlaws the world had ever known, and in the process forever changed the art of war against terrorism.
“Which leads us to this night, as we prepare for an aerial assault under the cover of darkness, deep behind enemy lines. This unit stands on the precipice of history and, if we succeed, as we have so many times before, we will end this bloody war and extinguish the greatest threat to the free world.
“You are the shadows on the wall, and the ghosts in the night. You are the Phantom Nine. The most feared Special Forces outfit in the world and the pride of England.
“Hurrah!” Noah bellows the battle cry.
“Hurrah!” The Phantom Nine responds in unison.
Noah finishes his speech the way he always had, with one simple command. “Time!”
Blinking crimson lights flash on the platform, as the bay doors part like the Red Sea. Noah stands on the edge of the landing, five kilometers in the air and fifteen kilometers from their intended target. He takes a deep breath and looks out into a vast pool of open air, as his night vision turns the evening skies into day with a flick of a switch. He exhales and launches into the night, trailed by his squadron who follow like a quiver of arrows shot through the dark.
Noah locks and loads his C7 and then gives the inspector a thumbs-up, signaling he’s ready to go. Mace complies by sliding back the bar that releases the hold of the reinforced steel door. The barrier creaks open and an ashy breeze swirls in. Under the cover of total darkness, the ex-captain leads the others into the night.
*************
After running with reckless abandon, Max comes to a hard stop, trying to find his way through the black woods. He’s been running in circles, getting more and more lost, and his adrenaline is waning. In his panicked flight, he has had the wherewithal to not turn on his light; alas, it made no difference. His pursuer is out there and worse, it’s close. Hunched over and trying to catch his breath, hope awakens in him. He hears voices: the faint cries of his friends, calling out his name! But then, just as suddenly, his blood runs cold. He hears something else, something closer, the sound of muffled footsteps swiftly gaining ground. He sets off once again and the chase continues.
With renewed vigor he bolts toward the others and prays to anyone who cares to listen that he gets there before his legs betray him. Burning the last of his fuel, he hurtles as fast as he is able through the piles of fallout that slip his every step, his arms swinging madly for balance. Finally out of the woods, he kicks a dark cloud of dust behind him. The chase is on and he can almost feel her dragon breath on his back. Or at the very least, he can hear her screams, and they are the most terrifying sounds he has ever heard. Like a hyena, but altogether more evil, something otherworldly. Something you can hear inside you, that haunts you.
And then it hits him.
He’s been running for what feels like all night because Mia told him to. He heard her tell him to RUN like she had been standing next to him.
What the fuck was that?
And how the fuck did she do that?
She had warned him about this, just a few days ago, although she misunderstood the snow. But still, he should have recognized what was happening. The error in judgment was his, he realizes, and he knows he has been wrong about his sister all along, maybe more jealous than anything. He feels ashamed of his accusations and realizes his sister was making a desperate attempt to save his life, trying to protect him, just as she always has. He wonders if she knows what’s happening to him now, and he hopes to holy hot shit that she does.
*************
Noah presses his back against the wall of a building as he peers ever so slightly around the end of it at the intended target. And there she sits, an older model Volvo tractor-trailer at rest with nothing but empty road in front of it.
It’s perfect
, he thinks. The trailer stretches diagonally across a two-lane highway, effectively blocking traffic in both directions, as if intentionally set up as a barricade. It’s the only highway out of the town, and the pileup of cars behind the truck indicates the failed attempts of the populace to flee. Some had veered off the road into the ditch and some were entirely upended, and all of them are covered in drifts of thick grey ash.