The drive across town to his apartment was quick with no one else on the road and the traffic lights dead. The deserted streets reminded him of the time he served overseas and the eerie stillness of cities after the bombings. It was disconcerting to see it in his own backyard and he pressed harder on the gas.
It was only when he approached the small two lane bridge that spanned the stream that cut through the town that he saw the first signs of life. Two armoured SUVs were parked diagonally across the bridge, forming a blockade that was being guarded by a handful of soldiers in green fatigues. He pulled the car to a stop just before the bridge, eyeing the men who were watching him, weapons trained on the car. Their uniforms marked them as National Guard, most likely called up from reserve when a national emergency had been declared. They were young which meant they were inexperienced and that was an advantage he could work with.
He tucked his Glock in the back of his pants and pulled out his government issued ID, the smooth black leather cover a familiar comfort in his hand. It would be the only thing to protect him. He wasn’t a stupid man. He remembered Katrina. He was a big, black man. The chance of being marked as an aggressive looter that authorities had to gun down was high.
He climbed out of the car, holding his hands up, his ID open and visible.
“Special Agent Malcolm Evans, Central Intelligence Agency,” he called out. “I need to speak with your commanding officer.”
There was some murmuring from the gathered soldiers before a man stepped out from behind the SUVs, flanked by two soldiers with their weapons trained on him. Unless there were more soldiers hiding behind the SUVs, Malcolm counted nine total, including their CO.
As the CO got closer, Malcolm realized that he was young, no more than twenty five and his uniform told him his rank was only Corporal. The kid came to a stop a few feet in front of him and studied his ID, looking between Malcolm and his photo.
“Corporal Matthew Combs, Army National Guard,” he identified himself before nodding to Malcolm’s ID. “Says there you’re retired, Special Agent.”
“Retired doesn’t mean out of commission. There have been several agents called back to duty in the last two weeks. Due to extenuating circumstances, the Agency did not have time to print us new ID badges. I’m sure you understand those circumstances, Corporal.”
The kid actually laughed, his stance relaxing as he shook his head. “Hell yeah, I understand. Everything has gone to shit. We lost our CO four days ago. I’m the highest ranking officer here so I’m CO by default until we hear otherwise.”
“What’s been the response from HQ?”
Combs briefly glanced at the soldiers before answering. “We’re to maintain the checkpoints until our new CO arrives. He should be here any time.”
The kid was lying but Malcolm had the distinct impression that the lie was more for the benefit of the other soldiers. Fine by him, he had little concern for the internal conflict in this unit. His concern lay with his family and no one else.
“I’m sure he’ll be along soon enough,” he replied and the kid relaxed, obviously glad he hadn’t blown his cover. “In the meantime, I have been ordered to retrieve a package located beyond this checkpoint.”
“What kind of package?” Combs asked.
Malcolm gave him a tight lipped smile. “That information is classified.”
Combs smiled ruefully. “Of course it is. I can spare a couple men to back you up.”
“Not necessary. I should be in and out in less than twenty minutes.”
Combs nodded and called out orders for his men to stand down. Malcolm nodded his thanks as he walked past the SUVs. That was the beauty of being a spook. Everyone expected you not to answer questions and they were too scared of the Agency to push for answers.
The streets beyond the blockade were just as deserted as the others. All the storefronts were dark; some boarded up, others with windows smashed open. Glass shards littered the sidewalk, stray pieces crunching under his boots as he made his way towards his building.
The sound of shuffling feet from one of the alleys up ahead had him pulling out his gun and slowing his steps. When he reached the mouth of the alley, he pressed his back up against the wall before cautiously glancing around the corner.
Two men were on the ground with their backs to him, a pair of legs splayed between them, blood spattered across one calf. The men loomed over the injured person, blocking the victim from Malcolm’s view.
He pushed off the wall and entered the alley, gun trained on the two men.
“Hands in the air!”
The two men whipped around at the sound of his voice and Malcolm’s eyes widened as he took in their faces. Blood dripped from their chins, one of them still chewing on a bloody hunk of flesh. They studied him for a moment, heads quirking to the side before they let out an ungodly howl and took a run at him.
Malcolm didn’t hesitate as he pulled the trigger twice and both men crashed to the ground when the bullets tore through their legs. His attention turned to the other person in the alley and he had to fight down the bile that rose up his throat.
She was barely recognizable as a person, the only way he knew she had been a woman was the blood stained bra that was still fastened over what was once her chest but was now a bloody mess. Most of her face was missing and what was left resembled ground hamburger.
He remembered what Craig had told him, people attacking other people with teeth and nails until they were put down with a bullet to the brain. His focus went back to the two men on the ground who, despite their bullet wounds, were struggling to get to their feet. He kicked the bigger of the two in the head, sending him crashing back down to the pavement. The smaller one he grabbed by the arm, wrenching it behind his back to restrain him while his other hand took a fistful of hair and forced his head around to look at him.
The man gnashed his teeth, struggling against Malcolm’s grip, blood and saliva frothing together in his mouth and the nauseating smell of blood on his breath. His eyes were milky white, the pupils grey circles that reflected no humanity. This was not a man anymore. Whatever made them human was gone and what remained was nothing more than a mindless beast.
A hand wrapped around his ankle and Malcolm jolted, turning back to see the bigger one trying to drag himself within biting range. Malcolm kicked out, landing another blow to its head and it released him. He turned his attention to the freak in his hands and slammed his head against the pavement, a sickening squelch breaking through its groans as flesh and bone impacted with the concrete. Malcolm repeated the move, this time a loud pop sounded as its head caved in and it stopped struggling. He dropped the freak and palmed his gun, turning and firing a single shot in the centre of the bigger freak’s forehead. It slumped to the ground, milky eyes open and unseeing, blood trickling from the hole in its head.
Shit, this was bad. What the hell could do this?
He had seen a lot of fucked up things during his time with the CIA but nothing like this. Whatever this plague was, it didn’t ravage their bodies. No, it destroyed their minds and stripped them of every last shred of their humanity. Craig had been right, they really were
freaks
.
He pushed himself to his feet, wiping his bloody hands clean on one of the freaks’ pants. He took a moment to say a quick prayer over the dead woman, hoping that she had found peace after such a brutal end.
He was infinitely more cautious now as he left the alley and approached his apartment building. FEMA symbols were scrawled across the brick front and despite the high number of evacuees listed, he entered the building as quietly as possible. He flicked on the tiny Maglite on his keychain, the thin beam providing enough light for him to make his way up the stairs to his floor.
He found the door to his apartment forced open, markings showing that the evac team had found no one inside. He made quick work of ensuring the apartment was empty before he went into his bedroom and tossed his mattress off the box spring. He pulled out his pocket knife and sliced into the box spring, revealing the two black duffel bags hidden there. It was time to find out exactly how bad things had gotten out there.
He rooted through the contents of the bag, pushing aside the MREs and medical supplies until he found the satellite phone and powered it on. He waited as it searched for a signal and then pushed in his security code when prompted. It took only a few seconds before a message popped up on the small screen.
Omega Protocol in effect. All members to rendezvous at 45.557778-82.914787.
And that confirmed his worst fears: the government had lost control.
The Omega Protocol had been designed as a Hail Mary plan, the final option if they found themselves in a catastrophic situation. The protocol was beyond classified, known only to the Director of the CIA and those he had hand-picked to execute it. Even the White House had no idea of its existence as it had been intended to be put into effect when there was no one left to trust in DC. Or, in the case of a plague, there was no one left
alive
in the capitol.
He pulled out a map from the bag, unfolding it and searching for the coordinates. It was a tiny island, less than forty acres, situated in the northern portion Lake Huron. He stuffed the map back in the bag. He’d figure out the route later, right now, he had to get to Janet and the kids at Fort Lee.
He shouldered the duffel bags and headed out, moving quickly through the streets but keeping an eye out for any more surprises. As he neared the checkpoint, he could hear raised voices echoing down the empty streets.
“C’mon Combs, it’s been over twenty-four hours since the last transmission. There’s no one coming to relieve us.”
“Our orders are to maintain this checkpoint and that is what we’re going to do until we’re told otherwise.”
“Man, that’s bullshit. You know why they aren’t sending anyone? Because there’s no one to send. It’s over, done.”
There was a chorus of voices agreeing with the man and then he heard Combs shout them down.
“You saying you are going to abandon your post, McLean? Desertion will get you a court martial.”
“Man, are you fucking stupid? You think there’s anyone left who cares about that shit? This is the end of days. What don’t you understand about that?”
Malcolm cleared his throat as he approached the group, the men turning their attention to him, faces guarded as they studied him, obviously wondering what he had overheard. Combs broke off from the group to approach him.
“We heard some shots. You make out alright?”
“I ran into a couple of men that were sick. I had to put ’em down.”
Combs nodded solemnly. “Had to do the same more than a few times. It doesn’t get any easier. Even though you know that they are beyond any help, they were still a person once.”
Malcolm looked back at the others, taking in their young ages and fearful eyes. They were a bunch of kids honour bound by an oath they had taken to serve their country. McLean had been right when he said it was over and it wasn’t fair to these kids to leave them to wait for death at the hands of looters or freaks.
“I got the package,” Malcolm said, indicating the bags on his shoulders. “I’ve also got your next orders.”
Combs looked at him, confused. “Sir?”
“Your orders are to go home.”
Combs nodded and turned to his men. “All right, pack up. We’ve been given orders to head back to base.”
“No,” Malcolm interrupted, laying a hand on Combs’ shoulder. “You go home, wherever home may be. It
is
over. Go find your loved ones and keep them safe. That’s an order.”
Combs stared at him and he saw when the confusion turn to understanding. He nodded and pulled to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
Malcolm saluted back and Combs barked out orders to the remaining soldiers who jumped to obey.
“Good luck, Special Agent,” Combs said, holding out his hand and Malcolm shook it.
“Same to you, Corporal.”
He went to his car and tossed the bags in the passenger seat before climbing in and starting the engine. It shouldn’t take him more than an hour to get to Fort Lee. He just hoped he wasn’t too late.
Subject File # 749
Administrator: What is your greatest fear now?
Subject: Dying.
Administrator: That is a common fear even without these special circumstances.
Subject: It’s not that I fear death. I’m scared of leaving my children alone in this world.
“Mama, when we going home?”
Janet Cahill smiled down at her daughter, who was wrapped around her leg, gazing up at her with big brown eyes. “We’ve got to wait a little longer, Ruthie.”
“I’m hungry,” she whined, hitting the high register like only five year olds could manage.
“I know, baby girl,” Janet replied, scooping the little girl up in her arms. “Why don’t we go see if Ana has anymore of those granola bars?”
She nodded and buried her head in the crook of Janet’s shoulder as they made their way along the grassy embankment of the highway towards the small knot of people gathered at what they had started to call their camp.
It had been three days since they had packed up and headed to Fort Lee and they were no closer to the base than they were three days ago.