Zhukov's Dogs (44 page)

“Guess they thought I was more useful if they kept me alive,” he said with a shrug.

They couldn’t have been more wrong. If Val had really been dead, I’d still be sitting on my cot, waiting patiently for my execution. I smiled as I imagined Dr. Halliburton’s reaction to the news we’d both escaped.

I released Val’s shirt and pulled the Grey Man’s gun from my waistband. “Take this. There’s no silencer, so only pull the trigger if things get out of hand.”

“How likely are thing to get out of hand?” Val asked, taking the gun and familiarizing himself with it.

It occurred to me he might not realize where we were, let alone who was holding us captive. It was a risky move, telling the truth, but I was through lying to him. “We are on the fifth and top floor of the Eisenhower Building, home to all three branches of Special Forces, and located in Washington, D.C. I’d say we stand a fifty-fifty chance of shit hitting the fan.”

To his credit, Val only paled slightly. “Right. Lead the way, then.”

Fifth Floor Holding, Eisenhower Building—Washington, D.C.
Thursday, November 26th, 2076—3:18 a.m.

here was no immediate danger. The same lights were on under the same, shut doors, meaning, in theory, we weren’t about to be ambushed. I beckoned for Val to follow and pulled the steel door shut behind him. The trek down the hall toward the stairs felt longer, more perilous, but we made it, and the first creaky step came with a wave of premature relief.

Over my shoulder, Val looked around in all directions, and not just for enemies. The old building was new to him and fascinating, despite our peril. I would’ve liked to share this part of my life with him, at least some aspects of it—the yard where I’d commanded my first squadron; the storage bay Aiden and I turned into our personal obstacle course; my barely-used office, packed with random objects I’d collected during missions around the world. The only thing the Eisenhower Building had for me now was an execution order.

We reemerged on the third floor. A pair of patrolling grunts were halfway down the hall, walking away from us, preoccupied with their own conversation.

“Why not go all the way down?” Val asked, nodding toward the descending stairs as we lingered on the landing.

“Because we’re famous fugitives, and there are Grey Men stationed in the lobby,” I explained.

The patrol turned down a separate hall, giving us a clear shot at the medical ward. I seized Val’s hand and pulled him through the double doors. He froze in his tracks when he saw three Grey Men splayed on the floor, clutching the gun tighter to his chest.

“I’ve been busy,” I said, coaxing him out of shock with a small squeeze of hand. “Come on, we need to keep moving.”

“Is there an exit somewhere in here?” Val asked as he followed at my heels, scanning the enormous medical ward and taking in its pristine vastness. His awe crumpled as I led him into the morgue, eyes locking on the six slabs of sheet and steel.

I tightened my grip on his hand and guided his stare back to mine. “Don’t.”

Don’t think about them. Those aren’t our friends. They’re not.

Val pulled free and walked over to the nearest slab. I didn’t stop him. He wanted answers I wasn’t prepared to face. He laid the gun on the short medical station, took hold of the sheet, and drew it back to reveal an older dog with gray hair and skin. Val laid the sheet back over him without a word then moved to the next slab.

It cost us precious seconds we didn’t have, but I said nothing while Val examined each face. As he revealed the sixth corpse, a slack-jawed Grey Man, I sighed. “They’re not here, Val,” I said, caught somewhere between relief and disappointment.

Val draped the sheet over the final face, smoothing the wrinkles out as though he knew the nameless individual. His hands gripped the edges of the table, downcast eyes out of focus on the corpse’s silhouette. I recognized the depressed stare; I’d seen it in the underground after he found out members of the eastern base were slaughtered on the train.

“You think any of them survived?” he asked, the sadness in his voice twisting something in my heart.

We both knew the truth, how unlikely it was anyone above or below ground made it out of Seattle. Without thinking, I crossed the room, wrapping my arms around his shoulders from behind and resting my chin atop his head. One of his hands closed tight around my forearm as the other drummed against the slab.

“We need to go,” was all I could say, any other response too difficult to voice.

Val took a deep breath and nodded. I released his shoulders and led him across the room to the same chute I’d used earlier. Val looked skeptical as I pulled it open. This was our only reasonable escape route, though, and he needed to understand that.

“This lets out in a garage below the building. We’ll land in… well, you can probably guess, but we’ll be able to find a ride out there. They don’t keep tabs on certain vehicles and—”

“Okay,” Val interrupted. “Let’s just do it.”

“You’re sure?” I asked.

Val nodded. “Yeah, I trust you.”

That was all I needed. I opened the chute the rest of the way and climbed up onto the ledge, holding a hand back to help Val in. He sat on the ledge, legs dangling into the void and grip tightening on my hand. He was thinking too much, and nothing I could say would set him at ease, so I slid forward, dragging him with me. Val went as stiff as the bodies that usually went down the chute. I pulled him closer as we picked up speed, freefalling in complete darkness.

It was a quick trip, and the smell warned us of the end right before we landed on a soft, uneven mound of black bags. Bones snapped, and flesh sagged underneath us. I didn’t want Val thinking about our surroundings, about what or who was cushioning our fall, so the second we landed, I scrambled to my feet and hauled him upright.

“See, there. Cars. Just like I said,” I told him, pointing at the countless rows of vehicles on the other side of the damp garage.

Val nodded, hands working at the sleeve of my jumpsuit. “Good. Let’s go,” he said, leading the way, just as eager to escape the rotting heap.

We climbed out of the bin and, once on solid ground, took off at a run. Nobody patrolled the garage since the only way to access it, aside from the morgue chute, was via an elevator, manned by a Grey Man at all times. On top of that, this area was off limits between the hours of 2:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m., even to the most elite officers. We had the entire place to ourselves.

There were only a handful of vehicles without GPS, mostly because they were so outdated nobody bothered using them anyway. Aiden used to joke they were begging to be stolen. I led Val through row after row, past tanks, motorcycles, sleek sports cars, and two helicopters until I spotted a navy Jeep.

“We’re just going to drive out of here in this thing?” Val asked, skepticism resurfacing as I jimmied open the faulty driver’s side door and unlocked the trunk.

“Aiden and I used to sneak out of here all the time, even after hours. It’s not as hard as you’d think,” I told him on my way back to the trunk.

Val followed close, arms crossed and fingers drumming. “Aiden’s your…?”

“Best friend, former CO, and the ginger who blew my cover back in Seattle,” I explained as I dug through a heavy toolbox in search of the correct screwdriver, then held it up for Val to see with a triumphant, “Ah-hah!”

“What’s that for?”

“One of the first things Special Forces teaches you,” I said, slamming the trunk shut before seizing the side of his face and pulling him into a quick kiss. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

Val and I piled into the wide front seat covered in a layer of worn leather and vinyl. A cloud of dust filled the cabin that had gone unoccupied for so long. I rolled down the window to air out the stuffy space before leaning over the steering wheel, taking great pride in showing off my foolproof, better-than-hotwiring technique of driving a flathead into the ignition.

“There’s no way that’s going to—”

Val ate his words as I turned the screwdriver and the engine revved to life. I looked at him, grinning a little at his puzzled expression. I wasn’t cruel enough to mock him after everything we’d been through. Instead, I gave his leg a pat and pulled out of the parking space.

There was only one way in or out of the garage, a massive series of panels that opened when authorized vehicle keycards were swiped. It was a risky move, swiping the card tucked in the glove compartment. When Val and I were discovered missing in a few hours, someone would check the garage logs and put it all together. We’d have to change vehicles after we put some distance between us and D.C.

The panels rolled back with a low, muffled grind of metal. It was a sound nobody upstairs would think twice about, so I tried not to either. Cold, night air flooded the car and filled my lungs with relief as we pulled onto a long strip of tarmac. Val turned in his seat to get a look at the Eisenhower Building. I angled the rearview mirror so I didn’t have to look at it.

I kept the lights off to prevent drawing attention until we were off the property. We were almost free; I wasn’t about to risk capture so close to the end, so close to winning. The same keycard unlocked the steel bars surrounding the complex. As I leaned out the window to swipe the card, a flashing red recording light reminded me we would never truly be free.

We could run, we could leave the country and change our identities, and the S.O.R. would still pursue. I knew too much. I was a liability, a threat to national security who’d sell government secrets. At least that’s what they’d say. Even those who believed otherwise would come after me. And Val…

The card registered, the gates began to part, and I slumped into my seat.

Val wasn’t a threat. Val was a tool, something the S.O.R. and The Council could exploit me with. They’d done so before; they’d try to do so again. He was in danger because of me. His friends, our friends, were probably dead because of me. His home was gone because of me.

“You okay over there?” he asked.

He’d nearly died because of me.

Frozen fingers wound between mind, pulling me out of my haze and back into the bleak reality of our current situation. Val was there, though, smiling for some unknown reason in a way that tricked me into doing the same. He scooted closer and reminded me of the two most important things I seemed to be forgetting.

We were alive. We were together.

I let go of his hand, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. The morphine hadn’t worn off yet, and I planned to enjoy every second of our freedom, no matter how fleeting. Val curled into my side, making himself comfortable and glancing up to make sure he wasn’t aggravating any of my numbed injuries.

A
clank
told me the gate was open, our path clear. I turned on the lights and pulled into the street, squeezing Val’s shoulder.

He wasted his first breath of freedom on a laugh, of all things. “So… What now?”

“Well,” I began, “We head south. I’ve got some estranged contacts that don’t know about the Y.I.D. They’ll be able to help us past the border.”

“You want to go to Mexico?” Val asked, tilting his head up to see if I was joking.

“Not particularly, but we need to get out of the States, at least for a while.”