21
Danny was watching a DVD of Shrek 2 with Joe the puppy and the little kids. They were only five and five and five and four. He was eight, and way bigger, but he wasn’t bossy or mean. They were scared all the time, but he only got scared when the rotters came.
They were ugly, the rotters. They walked funny, and they didn’t talk, they
growled.
The worst part of the rotters wasn’t their looks or the way they walked or even that they growled. It was that they ate people. They didn’t use stoves or even a campfire to cook people either, they just ate them. Ate them
alive
. Danny had seen it happen a few times and it was horrible and gross. There was screaming and lots of blood. Those things didn’t even need to kill you for you to die either. All they had to do was get in a bite, or even a scratch and you would die. He had seen that even more.
What with travelling and the rotters, there wasn’t much time for Danny to play with his dad anymore. Dad was always busy. Always helping people, or fighting the rotters, or planning. So when Dad came to see him and said that there was a game of catch going on down in the service bay, Danny jumped at the chance. He told the kids that they should all play, but little Stevie wanted to watch Shrek. Stevie didn’t have anybody, his mom and dad got eaten, and he was shy.
Danny, Robbie, Rosie, and little Savanna wanted to play though, so they all followed Dad and one of the new people down the stairs and into the garage. The garage was big! It had three things that could lift up a whole truck, and right now Calvin was under one of the trucks and black stuff was coming out of the bottom into a bucket. Danny thought it was oil, but he wasn’t sure.
Rosie had told Danny that the new guy was a policeman. Rosie said she knew a bunch of cops, but Danny didn’t know any. The policeman threw the ball to Danny (underhanded) and Danny whipped it at his dad, who caught it and threw it to Robbie, (underhanded, lame). Robbie dropped it and it went rolling so he ran after it. He picked it up and threw it to Rosie, and they went around in a circle for a while, throwing it back and forth. Robbie only caught one ball. Danny thought it was funny to see Robbie laugh when he chased the ball after he dropped it. If it was Danny who kept dropping it, he would have gotten mad, but Robbie laughed and so did everyone else.
Danny threw the ball extra hard to Robbie so he would drop it again, but this time he caught it and threw it back to Danny, who wasn’t expecting it. The ball sailed over his head and went rolling against the wall. Thinking that maybe it was kind of fun to chase the ball, Danny ran for it. It rolled under a metal shelf-thing with all sorts of car parts on it. “I’ll get it,” he yelled and crawled under the table next to the shelves. He couldn’t reach it, so he had to crawl behind the storage system. He got the ball, but when he stood up he bumped his head on something. It was a doorknob. He came out from behind the shelf and under the table rubbing his head. The bump had hurt but it wasn’t terrible, and he was done crying. Danny would never cry again.
“You okay, kiddo?” his dad asked.
“Yeah, I bumped my head on the doorknob.”
“Doorknob? There’s a door back there?”
“Yeah, it’s metal.”
Teems looked at Rick with raised eyebrows.
“Can we play now?” asked Danny.
“In a minute. Rick, gimme a hand?”
Rick and Teems strode to the shelving system and pulled on it. It wouldn’t budge. Rick put his hand through the shelves and felt smooth concrete on the back. The table was bolted down so Rick got on one knee and was about to crawl under when he noticed a slight semi-circular wear-mark on the floor. “Look at this. This shelf must swing out, look at that mark.”
“I told you, nobody calls me Mark.”
“No, the dig in the floor!”
“Oh, yeah.”
It took a few minutes, but Teems found a small catch on the inside of one of the shelf brackets, and pushed it. The unit unlocked from the wall behind it, and they swung it out. There was indeed a door behind it. There wasn’t a knob, but a metal handle. It was locked. “Calvin! Calvin come here!”
Calvin showed up quickly, “Why is it every time I’m working you gotta bug me?” He saw the door and pointed at it. “What’s that?”
“A locked door, can you open it?”
“Uh…what if there are three hundred rotters on the other side?”
“Dammit, Calvin, the wall is only six feet thick, there can’t be. All the same, let’s get the kids upstairs and bust out the poles and guns.”
When the children were safely staring at the group through a window on the second floor, and there were eight rifles six pistols and nine T-poles pointed at the door, Calvin looked at the lock. He scratched his head.
“Can you open it?” demanded Teems.
“Yup, gimme a sec.” He ran off and came back with a giant sledge hammer. Before anybody could say anything, he swung the hammer and smashed the handle off the door in one blow. The handle went flying and the door stood ajar about two inches.
“Jesus, did you have to break it?”
“Do you have a key?”
Weapons were raised as Rick cautiously moved to the door and pulled it wide. A six-by-six-foot room was behind the door, empty save for an open hatch in the floor. Standing at the edge of the hole, he peered down with his tac-light. A ladder that descended fifteen or so feet down into another room.
He circled around to the back of the hatch cover and shone the light at it. There was nothing printed to indicate what was down the ladder.
After some discussion, Teems decided he needed to know what was down there, especially since they had broken the lock off of the door. He took a flashlight and a pistol and climbed halfway down the ladder. There was a larger room below with a military style heavy door on massive hinges. The door was slightly ajar and had a box of something in front of it. Teems climbed the rest of the way down and found an old push-button light switch which he pressed. With the room bathed in light, they couldn’t discern anything spectacular about it. The box contained old magazines as far as he could tell. He called for Rick and Calvin to come down, and soon there were six people in the small room.
Rick wiped dirt off of the heavy door, and there was printing under a dusty aluminum American flag.
It read simply, LF 66.
22
“What mission? What are you talking about?”
“Your friends in the LAV were tight-lipped about the mission as well,” replied the Captain. “All I could get out of them was that there
is
a mission.”
Dallas also knew that there was trouble here. “What in the hell is an LAV?”
“It takes a soldier to know a soldier, sir, and you aren’t one. I was speaking to him,” he looked at Seyfert. “The United States is in peril, son, and I have been given leave by the current government to save it by any means necessary.” The captain stood and walked to a privacy curtain. He whipped it back so Seyfert and Dallas could see what was on the other side. At first Seyfert couldn’t recognize the man in the chair, but as he studied him further, he could tell it was Stark. Zip tied to a metal chair, he had been beaten to a bloody pulp, and was unconscious, his swollen face lolling backward slightly.
Dallas looked at their captor. “You son of a bitch.”
“Sergeant, if this man opens his mouth again, close it for him,” He looked back at the SEAL and pointed to Stark. “This man and his lieutenant came through here yesterday in the armored vehicle you see out front. The proximity of time in which you came here today is indicative to me that you are together. In addition, your sniper team on the water tower was another dead giveaway. They are in custody now and will be questioned later.” The man walked up to Seyfert and pulled the SEAL’s left T-shirt sleeve up. The tattoo that was there gave him away completely. “Navy. Figures. Now are you going to tell me what I want to know, or do you want to join him?” Again, he pointed to Stark. “He has proven himself an enemy of the Triumvirate, and of the United States.”
“I noticed you put the Triumvirate first.
Sir
.”
“We are in charge. This is going nowhere. Sergeant, bind
him
,” he pointed at Dallas, “to one of the chairs. We’ll see how long it takes the SEAL to give in while his friend is questioned.” The sergeant stepped forward, and snipped Dallas’s zip tie with a cutter and moved him to another seat with arms. He was in the process of trussing the burly southerner up when another man came in and whispered something in the Captain’s ear.
The captain looked unperturbed. “ETA?”
“Three minutes.”
“Very well, prepare to receive him. Dismissed.”
The man hurried out after issuing a
Yes, sir
, and the captain began a new tactic, “You are very lucky. One of the elite will be here shortly. One of The Three. He’s coming to question you personally, but I wouldn’t want to give him the impression we weren’t trying.” He slipped a black glove on and moved to Dallas. Looking over his shoulder, he asked with an air of finality, “Last chance, SEAL.”
Seyfert looked helplessly at Dallas, who smiled and spat on the captain’s boot. “You could use a shine there, Private Gump.”
The man back-handed Dallas, punched him in the stomach, and then in the face. Dallas spat blood. “You hit like an ole’ woman. Speakin’ of ole’ wimmin, your mom says hi. She was hangin’ out with me—” The man punched him twice more.
“Captain, you could kill him, he has a concussion.”
“Then you should probably tell me what I want to know soon.” He punched again. And again.
“So this is your new world order, killing civilians?”
“To save my country?” the man asked incredulously. “I would kill as many as I needed. So should you.” Dallas was unconscious, so the Captain slapped him, disgusted. “Typical.”
Seyfert could hear the engine and rotors of a large helicopter. His captor perked up when he heard them as well. “I tried to be nice,” was all he said, and he began removing his gloves. He strode from the tent, and Seyfert was left alone with two unconscious men, two guards and his thoughts. The captain had never even asked him his name.
After repeated futile attempts to rouse Dallas by calling to him, Seyfert pleaded to one of his guards to check for a pulse. The guard acquiesced, and told the SEAL that his friend was still alive. Then he and the other guard apologized for the terrible treatment they had received. One man slung his weapon and brought forth a wet cloth to wipe the Texan’s face. Dallas’s eyes fluttered, but he didn’t wake.
The noise from the helicopter had grown extreme, and then diminished as the machine powered down. The captain returned ten minutes or so later with another group in tow. In addition to the returning soldier, there was a shorter man, older than the captain also in black camouflage, with the embroidered golden III on his breast. This man had a black beret, which he promptly removed when he entered the tent. He was armed with a pistol. Flanking him were two more men, each with a P90 submachine gun, and behind them was a giant, six foot ten easy. He had to duck when he came into the tent. He stood to the rear, holding on to a bloody and disheveled, albeit conscious and walking Androwski. His mouth was taped with duct tape.
Seyfert breathed a sigh of relief. At least they hadn’t killed anyone yet.
The shorter man stepped forward. “You’ve been busy, Captain.”
“Yes, sir, I have been trying to get them to reveal the mission specifics about their operation, but they have been…resolute.”
“As well they should be.” He looked at Seyfert. “This is the other SEAL?”
“Yes, sir, we haven’t questioned him yet.”
“Don’t bother, it would be a waste of time.” He glanced at Dallas and said matter-of-factly, “This man isn’t military.”
“No sir, he came in with this one just an hour ago.”
“You worked him over pretty hard, Brooks would be impressed.”
The captain half-smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“But I’m not.” The new man pulled his pistol and shot the captain in the face. Two more suppressed
Pap
! noises came from behind him, and the two men with the submachine guns dropped to the floor. The leader aimed his weapon at the two guards. “Where did you serve before the plague?” The huge man had picked up the P90s from his fallen companions, and had one in each massive hand.
The guards looked nervous. “Uh…seventh infantry under Doherty. Sir.”
He holstered his suppressed weapon. “Regular Army. Good, you can come with us. If you had been National Guard, I would have shot you both. Release this man, we need to get out of here. There’s a sizable force of undead on the way, half an hour out. Five or six hundred at least, and they will follow the noise of the helo.” As if to punctuate his statement, several rifle shots were heard from outside.
One of the guards stepped up and cut Seyfert’s bonds. Rubbing his wrists, he stood and looked at the newcomer. He was confused. “What just happened?”
“I shot a brutal bastard, and Barry shot two more.” He nodded toward the giant. “Look, son, I don’t have time for bullshit, if we’re still here in a half hour, we’re all dead. There isn’t enough ammo for the pack I saw on the way. I hear tell that LAV is yours?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take it and your injured friends and get out of here. I will ride in the Abrams with what soldiers are loyal to me that can fit, and Barry will drive one of the buses with the civilians and the rest. The other bus will have to stay here. We’ll follow you, and assist you on your way to Boston, depositing the civvies in a safe place.”
Seyfert was flabbergasted. “Sir, I…how did…when…?”
“You weren’t the only group that was contacted by MIT. In fact, you are the back-up plan. We can discuss this along the way.”
Seyfert folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “Sir, I don’t trust you.”
“Good,” the man said without hesitation and drew his weapon, “My name is Colonel John Lester Bourne, and we are coming with you, or more to the point, you with us.” He turned the weapon around and handed the butt end to Seyfert. “Change of plans, Barry you drive the tank, I will go with them.” He then took Stark and threw him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, Stark easily outweighing him by sixty pounds. “I will ride with you in the LAV and tell you what’s going on, I can be your hostage if you want to call it that. Once I’ve given you the details of your mission, you will understand we are on the same side.” Seyfert didn’t move. “He’s heavy, son,” was all the colonel said, and he strode from the tent.
The giant soldier named Barry cut the zip tie on Androwski’s wrists and passed him a P90. “You two,” he said to the guards in a baritone voice, “with me.”
The three left the tent with Androwski and Seyfert staring at each other, speechless.