Day by Day Armageddon: Shattered Hourglass (21 page)

“I’ll give you that,” said Larsen.

“I don’t want anything
given,
Captain—I ask for no quarter and I
give
none.”

•   •   •

The four-man team stood on the rocking deck of the surfaced submarine, looking out over the moonlit Hawaiian waters. The waves were typically higher this time of year; they were fortunate that the night’s sea state was manageable. Also on deck was the UAV crew setting up the equipment for launch.

Rex, Huck, Griff, and Rico were their names. Not their real ones per se, but some military customs never went away, even during Armageddon. Names didn’t matter much these days, and even so, they’d still hail each other by their call signs.

The boat’s Chinese interpreter climbed out of the hatch with his backpack of classified manuals on the cave facility. He gave a friendly nod to the team, already staging their gear. Although his real name was Benjamin, the team quickly dubbed him Commie, even though he was a twenty-four-year-old white boy from Boston that had never even set foot on Chinese soil or any other communist country for that matter. He had learned his Chinese in Monterey, California, after being selected to serve as a linguist for the navy’s cryptologic services.

Before coming topside this evening, the operators sat down with the officer they flew in with and his partner, a Middle Eastern man.

“First and foremost I’d like to say that I’m not trying to tell you all how to run your mission. I’m simply going to go over some of the problems I encountered and pass along some of the basics on how I survived my time on foot in the undead Louisiana and Texas badlands. Some of this stuff will be second nature to you, because of who and what you are. Even so, I took a few notes in the solitude of my travels that might be helpful en route to the cave facility.”

Kil was careful not to hint that he kept a detailed journal of his accounts, referring to his scribbles as notes.

He began to recite some of the main lessons learned, some of which were literally written in blood.

“Move at night—obviously you all know this one, but I need to stress it, as it is at the top of my list. Like us, they can’t see well at night and your NVGs will give you the advantage. Press check your carbines. I won’t elaborate on that one. Sleep well off of the ground. Unless you have a platoon of people standing guard around you, it’s dangerous to sleep anywhere within reach of the creatures. They’ll find you. Stop and listen often. Parallel the roads and stay off any highway. For some reason, these creatures are drawn to main roadways. Store water inside your body, meaning drink it if you have it. Keep your weapons lubed as if you will be in a firefight any minute. I had to use motor oil on my gun, escaping from a helicopter crash. It was all I had and believe me, I used it. Move fast in the open. Protect your eyes—face splatter probably means infection.”

The team listened politely, but Kil felt as if they were humoring him to an extent.

“If you have no choice but to take shelter on the ground level, do so on top of a hill and inside of a car or truck with your hand on the e-brake. That way if you get overrun, you can pull the brake and roll down, away from the threat. In small numbers they’re no challenge, but when you start looking at numbers over ten, they can bash a car in and pick you out of it like lobster meat from a shell. Now I can’t explain the reason for this, but some of the things I’ve killed required two shots to the head.”

One of the guys on the team cut in with a question. “How many did you say you encountered at once?”

Kil was annoyed at the question; the man obviously hadn’t thoroughly read the reports. Kil drew a breath and said, “Huck, was it?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Well, Huck, me and Saien over there encountered a swarm on our way back. The organization we were in contact with at the time relayed to me that the swarm was over five hundred thousand in strength.”

“How the fuck did you survive that?” asked Huck skeptically.

“Long story. It involves an Abrams tank, Reaper UCAV with
five-hundred-pound laser-guided bombs, a bridge, and luck. Another time.”

The incursion team was suddenly attentive to what Kil was saying. The magnitude of trouble that he and Saien survived on the mainland rarely yielded survivors.

“A few more minor things. All dogs are likely now feral. I’d avoid them. I’ve seen them attack the dead on sight. They may attack you, too, I don’t know. If they do, you could get infected by the rotten flesh they carry in their jaws. Last but not least, and pay close attention to this, Honolulu was hit by a nuke months ago. Captain Larsen thinks the Hawaiian weather cycle might have washed some of the radiation particles into the Pacific. I’d still avoid anything large and metallic like school busses or tractor-trailers if they were in line of sight of the nuclear blast. They’ll likely be hot like a Chernobyl fire truck. That’s really the least of your worries. For unknown reasons, radiation has a profound effect on the creatures.”

Huck interrupted again. “We have read the intel about them being a little faster. We can deal with that.”

“Okay, Huck, since you have this thing suitcased, why don’t you just head out on the mission? My work here is done—good luck.”

“Huck, shut the fuck up and let the man speak,” one of the other men said. “I’m taking notes and I don’t give a damn what you think about the intel. I’m listening. Sir, please stay and finish.”

Kil expected that and turned around to continue as if nothing happened. “All right, as I was saying, radiation makes them very fast, and smarter. It’s not just the speed you’ll need to worry about though. Call me crazy, I don’t care, but on the night of . . . wait a second, let me find it.”

Kil flipped through his notes, looking for the specific encounter that might turn on the lightbulb for Huck. “Here it is. I was on the run, taking shelter in an abandoned house. While scavenging the downstairs, I dropped something out of my pack, alerting a creature outside to my presence. The thing began using a hatchet on the door to get to me. I escaped out the upstairs window that night. The next day I was climbing on the hood of a school bus to stow my gear when the same creature took a swing at me with
the hatchet. I knew it was the same corpse because I risked a look through the peephole inside the house the day before. It was definitely different from the others. I’ve seen them run and sometimes reason, at least on a rudimentary level. I’ve seen them play dead after being shot, too. I lost a marine to one of them onboard a coast guard cutter, a ship that was taken down by only a few radiated undead. I call the ones with skill the talented tenth, because I’ve found that one in ten are different. I’d also like to add something that I can’t really prove but might come into play. This island was nuked at its population center. I’d be willing to bet that my mainland talented tenth theory does not apply here on the island; the ratio is likely much higher in favor of the radiated creatures. Maybe as many as three or four in ten could be radiated here.”

The same man who had defended him against Huck minutes earlier jumped in with his own question. “I’m Rex, you may not remember. I’d like to ask you about your experience with movement and evasion. Is there anything different about moving that we’ll need to know about?”

“Good question. A ten-foot bubble around me was the best way to avoid surprises. You know, the kind of surprises that pull you into an open car window or the kind that bite your hand off from inside a freezer in an abandoned convenience store.”

“Huh?” Rex uttered, confused.

Kil went on, “This might be counterintuitive to what you did before the dead walked. You might be inclined to stick close to cover, walls and such. That might get you killed against these creatures. What kind of NVGs are you running?”

“We’re running PVS-15s and PVS-23s. We also have a scope that’s sensor fusion capable, night vision with a thermal overlay. Good for getting a visual ID on warm bodies. Why?”

“You probably know this already, but the eyes of the undead don’t reflect in your goggles like living eyes. Just a little something for you guys not running thermal.”

“Gotcha.”

Kil walked closer to the men and shook their hands. “Good luck, men. I mean that.”

“Thanks, Commander.”

Their gear had already been taken topside and the RHIB was
ready to take them to shore. The chaplain entered the SOF staging area and asked to speak to the men before they departed.

“I know that some of you don’t believe in God anymore, but some of you still do, and I know I do, and I’d like to lead a prayer for you men, if you don’t mind. A prayer of safe return.”

“Go ahead, Chaps,” Rex said.

“Let us pray.” The men bowed their heads. The chaplain continued, “Lord, though these men will soon walk through the valley of the shadow of death, please give them the strength to fear no evil. Please guide them on their mission and see them safely back to the USS
Virginia
. We know that if it is in your will, they will succeed. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”

There were a few scattered
amen
s in the group, but even those were feeble. Seeing the dead go after everyone you ever loved had a tendency to ruin your religious perspective and convert you quickly to the Flying Spaghetti Monster religion. Even so, military chaplains were always given the time they requested; you might be wrong about God, after all. Best to humor the chaplain and avoid any stray lightning bolts.

“Okay, men, godspeed,” said Larsen.

After a nod to the captain, Rex led his men to the dive locker to suit up in their protective garments before going topside.

Kil knew that these men were probably not coming back alive, at least not all of them.
There must be another motive,
he thought. Although his duties kept him off shore and safe inside the sub, he still eyeballed the small arms rack. He caught Saien doing the same thing.
You never know.

•   •   •

“Rico, how’s the RHIB?” Rex said, his voice muffled through his protective hood.

“It’s loaded, fueled, and ready.”

“Get it in the water.”

Rico and Huck shoved the front of the RHIB from the submarine deck into the ocean. Behind the sail, the UAV ground crew launched their small surveillance aircraft into the night sky from a temporary catapult system. The sound of the tiny gas engine was
barely audible over the thundering creatures on the shore. The UAV climbed away into the Oahu skies.

Rex moved back behind the mast to speak to the UAV crew. “Thanks, guys, we appreciate it. Give the pilots below our best and our thanks as well for keeping an eye on us.”

“Will do, sir, good luck.”

“You, too. Have a good ’un.”

Rex boarded the RHIB. It started on the first pull, a good sign.

Task Force Phoenix slipped into a comfortable rhythm. This was not necessarily a bad thing, just something that Doc felt might prove dangerous if they became complacent. Their current location was secure and there was no sign that Remote Six knew of their occupation. No one in Task Force Phoenix had much knowledge about Remote Six; they all read the reports, noting the huge gaps in the intel.

A week ago, Doc had started the launch drills. At first the exercises were very unpopular to the other three men—Doc woke them up at all hours for a practice launch against a notional target. They were starting to get acclimated to the drills and understood the reasons behind them. Doc was right all along—they could have very short notice to strike.

•   •   •

Last night, Disco and Hawse headed outside the wire to check the launch doors. On arrival, they observed that the doors were overgrown with foliage, and covered with weathered and cracked camouflage netting.

“Hawse, rip that shit off the doors. I’ll cover.”

“What? You think I’m gonna trust an army guy to watch my ass while I play minimum-wage landscaper?” Hawse said, laughing.

“Whatever, swabby meat-gazer. How happy are you that don’t-ask-don’t-tell was abolished before the shit hit the fan?” Disco said.

“Pretty fuckin’ happy—leaves me more women. As long as it
doesn’t scare the horses, I don’t give a damn what another dude does in his house.”

“Just clear the launch door so we can get the hell—”

Both men heard a noise—something too loud to be wind.

“What was that?” Disco said in a near whisper.

“Shit. Get ’em up, Disco, I’ll take east, you take west.”

“Yep.”

They scanned their areas for any movement.

“Not too far, stay near the missile doors,” Disco said.

Minutes passed as the wind picked up some, swaying the trees back and forth ten meters out.

“I got something,” Disco said quietly over his shoulder to Hawse.

Hawse was instantly shoulder-to-shoulder with Disco. He brought his carbine up and activated the IR laser. “Where is it, man?” he asked.

Disco brought his own carbine up to high ready and activated his laser. “There, that. What the fuck is that?”

A cloud passed, revealing a full moon, illuminating the expanse. Minds of men have a tendency to degrade and flounder in stressful situations like this. So naturally, Hawse’s first instinct was to pull his trigger.

FUMP, FUMP, FUMP.

The rounds struck meat; the sound was tragically too familiar. The creature came at them from the darkness of the tree line. Disco and Hawse instinctively put three rounds into the creature’s skull; its head exploded, sending rotting chunks of the top third into the night sky. It fell to the ground ten feet from them, the sound of skull pieces falling through the foliage coming shortly after.

“Holy fucking hell!” Hawse exclaimed.

“Dude, don’t. Want more coming? Save it.”

“Sorry, man, that was way fucking close. Was that thing stalking us? That sound—and I only took the shot because I felt something looking at me.”

“I heard it, too,” Disco said.

“Okay, fuck. Cover me again. I’m gonna clear the launch doors and then we’ll haul ass. It might be nerves, but I feel like I’m being watched again.”