The Gathering Dead (21 page)

Or looking for a way to get to us.

“Terminator, Rapier. Yeah, about the city. It’s not looking good. Looks like all the federal forces that could be inserted were there at the start. That force was pretty much annihilated, which is why the lightfighters are marching down. There are pockets that haven’t been overrun just yet, mostly skyscrapers like the one you’re in, but nothing with no real organization behind it. We understand the mayor and his staff are still at the Office of Emergency Management, but most of the police and emergency services are history on Manhattan island. No locals will be able to help you. Over.”

“You’re just full of the good news tonight, Rapier.” McDaniels readjusted his M4 and kept an eye on the stairway leading to the floor below. “The maintenance worker who’s with us, he said there’s an armored car downstairs in the basement garage. I have no idea if it’s a true armored car or just a limo that’s been made a little more ballistically tolerant, but it’s something. If we had anyone with us who could fly a helicopter, maybe we could go back into the Park and see what we could find, but that’s out of the question. We might be able to get out of the immediate vicinity, but we need somewhere to go. Are Queens and Brooklyn still open for business? Over.”

“They are, but getting there’s going to be tough, Terminator. The order’s gone out to blow the bridges. We hear that the barricades on the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges have been overrun on the Manhattan side, and that means the stenches are going to hit the ones on the other side of the spans. Over.”

Fuck!
“You’re not making this any easier, Rapier. Maybe you should hold off on that activity. We might be able to get across. Over.”

“It’s not us, Terminator. It’s the CinC who made the decision. Air Force is going to carry it out, probably with JDAMs or something from really high up.” There was a pause. “Terminator, stand by for a moment.”

“Roger, Rapier. Doesn’t seem like I have a lot else to do at the moment.” More silence on the other end of the radio, and McDaniels did another visual recon of the roof. The glow from the fire was definitely diminishing, and as he watched, the lights of several midtown skyscrapers flickered and went out. Most notable was the Empire State Building, which until then was still illuminated in red and white lights. Now it was just a dark sentinel towering over everything around it. McDaniels’ mouth went dry. As bad as things were, they could only get worse in the dark. Yes, his building still had power... but for how long? Even though he and the rest of the military men had all been trained in night operations and all carried night vision devices that made up for the lack of light, the prospect of fighting the dead in total darkness was somehow quite terrifying.

“Terminator, Rapier. Back with you. We were just checking some of the boards, and we might have something for you. You’re about what, a mile from the East River?”

“Give or take a few hundred feet, roger that. What do you have, Rapier?”

“A Coast Guard cutter, off the coast of southern Long Island. The ship was on its way back to its home port in Boston when this op started. We grabbed it just in case, and it looks like we’re still holding onto it. We’re going to try and get that ship into the East River, and if we can, we might have something to work with sooner rather than later.”

McDaniels considered that. He didn’t care if the old Cousteau research vessel
Calypso
showed up with some leaky dinghies, anything was better than what they had right now.

“Rapier, Terminator. I like it a lot better than a burning MV-22. Can you find out how long it will take for the ship to get here? We have some preparations to make, and we still have to verify the presence of the vehicle. Over.”

“Understood, Terminator. We’re reaching out to the ship’s commander now. Stand by for us.”

“Roger that,” McDaniels replied. Not that there was anything else he could do.

###

“Skipper, District One HQ on the encrypted channel.”

Commander William Hassle had just stepped off the bridge of the USCG
Escanaba
no more than fourteen minutes ago and returned to his small, single cabin for a quick nap. He hadn’t done more than hit the head and wash his face before the intercom buzzed, bringing with it this latest news.

“I’ll be right up,” Hassle said. There was no point in bitching to anyone about the fact he hadn’t closed his eyes in over twenty hours, not when so many of the
Nob
’s crew had been awake for just as long. Besides, the commanding officer of a ship didn’t bitch. It was just unseemly.

Hassle was back on the bridge of the ship known informally to her crew simply as the
Nob
in less than two minutes. He returned the duty officer’s salute and came to a halt beside him. Lieutenant (junior grade) Petersen was ready to brief the
Nob
’s boss.

“We’ve got a tasking, relayed to us by HQ. Comes from Special Operations Command,” Petersen said, sounding reasonably impressed. “They need us in the East River, somewhere around East 79th Street.”

Hassle picked up the headset for secure comms and identified himself as the
Escanaba
’s master. As he spoke, he looked at the chart on the plotter before him. Without waiting for any further details, he plotted a course to where Petersen had said they needed to go.

The operator at District One—the
Escanaba
’s usual command authority—put on the special operations guys right away.

“
Escanaba
, this is Rapier. We’re the component command running the operation in question. We show you as being off the coast of East Moriches, is that correct?” the voice on the radio asked, absolutely butchering the name of East Moriches.

“Rapier, this is the
Escanaba
. Roger, we are off the coast of southern Long Island. I understand you have a need for us to move into the East River and position ourselves in the vicinity of East 79th Street. Is this correct? Over.”

“You have it right,
Escanaba
. We have a team in the area that needs to be evacuated, and they have with them a very high profile customer who has been deemed a national asset. We need to recover all souls as soon as humanly possible, over.”

Hassle tapped the chart before him and looked at Petersen. “Let’s get this in the plotter and see what kind of times we can give these guys,” he said. Petersen nodded and set about it.

“Rapier,
Escanaba
. Understand all. But uh, isn’t Manhattan a containment zone? Over.”

“
Escanaba
, that is correct, but we still need you to move your vessel into the East River. Over.”

“Rapier, understand that we do not have a helicopter onboard, so whoever needs to be picked up is going to have to try and make it to us. We can pick them up at the shoreline, but we don’t have the kind of manpower to go in and get them if they’re inside the city. Over.”

“
Escanaba
, Rapier. Understood. How long will it take you to get into position, over?”

Hassle checked the electronic chart plotter’s LCD display, then compared it with his own plot. There was only a few minutes difference between the two. It would be a 52 nautical mile jaunt, and the
Nob
could make about 22 knots flat out. But the seas were hardly glassy at the moment.

“Rapier,
Escanaba
. Given the current sea state, it’s going to take us about four hours to get into position, more if we hit anything unforeseen. We understand air attacks might be launched against the bridges... is that to bring them down completely, or just leave a hole in the span? Over.”

“
Escanaba
, Rapier. The word is the Air Force is only going to blow holes in the bridges so the... the OPFOR can’t cross them. We’re hoping this will still leave you enough room to navigate, but the attacks should be concluded in an hour or so. We’ll get back to you with the battle damage assessment and let you know if your course will be blocked. Over.”

“Roger that, Rapier.
Escanaba
is on the way. We’ll report our status once we pass Governor’s Island and the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Will this frequency be good? Over.”

“Roger,
Escanaba
. This frequency is good. We’ll look forward to hearing from you at 0100 hours, over.”

“Helm, steer course two six three, call for twenty knots,” Hassle said.

“Sir, steer course two six three at twenty knots, aye aye,” the helmsman said. The
Escanaba
’s twin diesel engines picked up, and the large white vessel surged into the rising seas.

“Rapier,
Escanaba
. Talk to you at 0100 hours.
Escanaba
, out.”

“So the Coast Guard is going to save our bacon, huh?” Gartrell shook his head. “My God. What has the world come to?”

McDaniels had to grin a little at the first sergeant’s total deadpan delivery. He had joined Gartrell in the kitchen, where both of them smoked cigarettes they had liberated from poor Earl Brown.

“Seems like the Coasties are the only show left in town,” McDaniels said. “They should be out in the East River in about four hours.”

“All we have to do is get out to East River Drive and throw ourselves into the river, and the Coast Guard will take care of things from that moment on, is that it?” Gartrell took a long drag off his cigarette. When he pulled it away from his mouth, he held it before him and examined it thoroughly. He exhaled smoke from his nostrils.

“We’ve got maybe eight hundred rounds of various types of ammunition. And there are maybe a hundred thousand zeds between us and the East River. Total piece of cake, major.”

“Why, First Sergeant Gartrell, do I detect the tremor of fear in your voice?”

“What you hear is eager anticipation. All we need to do is get down below, secure the vehicle, and figure out how we’re going to make all those stenches line up in nice neat files so we can kill eight at a time with one shot. Once we clear those hurdles, well hell, I might just break out my teddy bear and security blanket and take a nap.” Gartrell looked at McDaniels directly. “What’s the word on our families,” he said.

McDaniels slowly shook his head. “Nothing yet. But four zeds were shot on Normandy Drive, near the middle school. Fort Bragg is in lock down.”

Gartrell looked back to his cigarette. “Yowza. You know, I’m thinking one or two of those beers might taste pretty damned good right about now.”

McDaniels finished his smoke and tossed it into the sink. “I think they’ll probably taste a hell of a lot better on the
Escanaba
,” he said. “That’s the name of the cutter.”

“Well, then. Let’s pack some of the brewskis up and get them ready for transit. Looks like we should get down to the garage and scope out this so-called armored car.”

McDaniels nodded. “It does indeed.”

Gartrell finished his cigarette and tossed it into the sink next to McDaniels’. “You know why it takes twelve Coast Guardsman to hold a burial at sea?”

“Do tell.”

“Six to dump the deceased overboard, and six to jump up and down on the casket to push it under the mud.”

McDaniels chuckled. That was a good one.

###

“Earl, tell us more about the garage. How big is it? Is there usually someone down there? Is it usually closed up, or can people get into it easily?” McDaniels asked. He and Gartrell had taken Earl to one of the tables in the far corner of the cafeteria so they could talk to him more easily. McDaniels didn’t want to upset Earl’s youngest daughter any further; Zoe was still having a difficult time coping with the fact that she had just seen six people die.

“Well, it’s almost always closed... only reason the door ever went up an’ down is if’n someone was leavin’,” Earl explained. “The security guys would have to open the gate. No remotes or anythin’ like that. Sometimes, the big guys would park their personal cars down there, but not too many a those. Not enough room, really.”

“How would you get there?” McDaniels asked.

“Either the freight elevator, or the normal elevators to the garage level. Me, I always use the freight elevator to get around, almost no one else uses it ‘cept us maintenance guys if there ain’t a delivery.”

“When was the last time you were down in the garage?” This came from Gartrell.

“Oh, this week, maybe. Friday night, dumpin’ garbage in the dumpster.”

“So you haven’t been down there since? Which means you don’t know if the garage door is open or closed.”

“That’s right, I don’t know for sure.”

“And what kind of vehicle is it?” Gartrell asked. “You said it was an armored car. Did you mean like the kind used when money is delivered to a bank, or an up-armored limousine?”

“Neither,” Earl said. “It’s like a... van, I guess. It’s white, but no windows. Seats inside, though. I guess you’d have to see it to know what I’m talkin’ about.” Earl paused, then added, “It’s made by Ford.”

“A white Ford van. Okay, that should be easy enough,” Gartrell said. He looked at McDaniels. “We should scope that out ASAP, sir. I’ll take Rittenour with me, you and the deaf guy can stay up here.”

McDaniels chuckled, but Earl frowned.

“That’s not nice to say that,” he scolded Gartrell.

“Sorry, Earl. Sorry.”

“Earl, do you happen to have any rope around here?” McDaniels asked. Gartrell looked at him quizzically, but the major ignored his unspoken question for the moment.

“Sure. We got ‘bout five hunnert feet a nylon rope on every floor, next to where the emergency packs are kept.” He pointed off into the darkness. “There’s a coil in the closet over there. Why you want it?”

“The city’s starting to lose power,” he said, looking at Gartrell as he spoke. “I figure if an elevator gets caught between floors, then the rope might come in handy. What do you think, First Sergeant?”

“I think you’re exactly right, and that we should probably get our hands on as much as we possibly can. No telling when we might need it, but if we get into a jam, I’d rather we had it as opposed to just wished for it.”

McDaniels nodded. “Then take it with you, First Sergeant. We’ll see if there’s a way to get the coils from some of the other floors later, if possible.” He rose. “I’m going to go check on Finelly and Derwitz. You go ahead and hit the garage, I’ll leave Leary up here.”