Divided We Fall (3 page)

Chapter
3

Cloud followed the airman
down the dimly lit corridors; the dampness of the hall affected his sinuses and
the cold sent aches through his tired body. With nearly everything powered off
to conserve energy, there was only enough ambient light to see the floor and
bits of the walls. The deep mountain bunker was beginning to feel more like a
tomb than a sanctuary.

Allowing the escort
to stay just ahead of him, Cloud turned a corner and followed the airman through
an open blast door. There were no other guards on duty in the lower chambers—not
anymore. Everyone had moved to the upper levels now. Most programs had ceased; there
was no longer a reason to keep the lower decks staffed. Security this low on
the operations deck was limited to the elevators and access shafts. The
corridors were silent other than the white noise created by the whirring of the
ventilation fans; nevertheless, it still allowed their footsteps to echo off
the walls hauntingly as they moved.

The escort stopped
at an alcove and touched a glowing green-lit keypad before quickly entering a
series of numbers. The door clicked with an electric buzz then the airman reached
for a handle and pulled it open. Cloud followed him into a tight four-foot by
eight-foot chamber, at the end of which stood another steel door with a camera
mounted above it. Cloud stepped forward so that he was side by side with the
escort and looked up at the camera. A red light mounted in the center of the
door moved to green and the door slid open with a burst of air as the positive
pressure leaked out. Cloud moved through the door and into a brightly lit
command center.

“Colonel, if you
need me I’ll be up front,” the airman said.

Embarrassed at having
to be escorted, Cloud sheepishly nodded his reply. He moved out ahead of the
escort to enter the great room, passing by empty workstations and cubicles; outdated
charts and old bulletins covered the walls. Large monitors hung in a neat row—most
powered off, others showing old situation maps or satellite photographs. As the
crisis escalated and the situation deteriorated out of control, most of the
staff were relieved or reassigned to other parts of the bunker. When the world
went dark, there was nothing for most of them to do, nothing left to track.

At the end of the
long row, the few remaining operators sat weary eyed, staring at flat screens
as they scrolled through endless satellite images or reviewed week-old reconnaissance
reports from the field. Cloud moved beyond them and entered a brightly lit,
glass cutout room embedded into the corner of the chamber. A mahogany table
surrounded by leather chairs took up most of the floor space, the outside walls
were also covered with charts, a small table in a corner held a coffee pot, and
a box on the floor sat, filled with brown MRE packages.

A man in dress
uniform with General’s Stars on his shoulders sat at the end of the table,
reading a report; he looked up, acknowledging Cloud as he entered. “How’d you
sleep, James? Coffee is fresh, if you want some.”

“Thanks; slept like
shit as usual,” Cloud said as he walked to the small table and lifted a cup,
blowing grime from the bottom and using a rag to wipe it clean. He flipped a
toggle and filled the cup with the steaming hot liquid. Cloud took a sip that
burnt his lip then moved to the end of the table to join the man. He pulled out
a chair, sat, and then looked at the older man. The general dropped the report
and slid it across the table to Cloud.

Cloud lifted the
single sheet of paper and began reading. “This the current lab result? So
what’s with the strobe?” Cloud asked.

General Reynolds
took a sip of his own coffee before leaning back in his chair. “Just one of the
teams returning; all is secure, clean entry.”

“Good to hear. So
I’m guessing you didn’t bring me down here for coffee.”

Reynolds set his
cup on the table and spun to look out the glass panels into the control room.
He then turned back to Cloud and pointed at the page on the table. “We’re
getting nowhere with Aziz. We need the sample… I want that girl.”

“Well… unless we
want to go to war with a regiment of Rangers, I don’t think it’s going to
happen anytime soon. Did you try contacting Colonel Ericson? He’s a reasonable
man.”

“Of course I tried.
He’s not budging. Your boys from the sandbox have fed him a line of bull. He’s
holding her tight… says we’re welcome to assist, but he’s not giving up the
girl.”

“Can’t blame him
for that. I mean, we did leave his entire regiment out of the evacuation plans…
left them out there to die.” Cloud finished reading over the laboratory report
and handed it back to the general.

Reynolds shook his
head and forced a dry laugh. “I don’t think the bastard trusts us. I’m still
working another angle with the response teams, but in the meantime, I need you
to pursue this other option—the leverage—just in case. That is why I sent for
you.”

Reynolds reached
for a folder and removed a black-and-white overhead satellite image of the
Hairatan customs compound. Cloud was familiar with the image and knew what it
meant. “The phone’s been delivered. Predator dropped it this morning. We have a
C-17 on standby, ready to go; I just need you to convince them to get on it.”

“Why wouldn’t they?
We’re bringing them home.”

“James, that’s not
all. I need to ask you. Do you think it’ll be enough to convince them to give
us the sample? Will they exchange the girl for these men? This isn’t a cheap
operation.”

Cloud leaned back
in his chair and squeezed his hands together, contemplating the question. “I
think so. That team that captured Aziz… they’re the real deal. If he thinks his
men are at risk, and we can
guarantee
the girl’s safety,” Cloud paused
and stared down at the photo, “then yes, they’ll make the trade—with assurances,
of course.”

Reynolds sat up and
looked directly at Cloud. “Assurances? Even for the sample… with everything
that’s at stake? James, if you can’t pull this off, a lot of people will die.”

Cloud raised his
head, leaning toward the general. “Sir, it doesn’t have to come to that. I can
make it work. Colonel Erickson does not have the science to synthesize a
vaccine from the girl, and they know it. We are the only hope any of them have
for a cure. These men aren’t a trade; they are the reward for doing the right
thing.” James turned in his chair, dropping his head again. “There’s another
option;
we
could do the
right thing
. Send a team to Savannah,
work together, let them help synthesize—”

“Dammit, James!
We’ve been over all of this before; it isn’t up for discussion. Get them to
give up the girl, or we’ll take her. The unity of the nation is at stake.”

The general stood
and walked toward the glass, looking out over the command center floor. “
The
right thing
,” he said then turned and leaned against the back wall.
“Speaking of
the
right thing,
James, I saw the utilization
report. You hijacked our keyholes to do some private browsing.”

James frowned and
his back involuntarily stiffened in the chair. “It was only briefly, sir, and I
ordered them repositioned as soon as I finished.”

“You do understand
that the satellite assets are extremely limited. You can’t be taking them off
line for personal use.”

Cloud shook his
head and looked down at his folded hands. “Sir, if you’d just give me a team, I
could get my family out of there. Then we don’t need to have these
discussions.”

“James, do you know
how many people we have in this facility and how many of those still have
families out there, families that are missing?”

“Then hell, sir,
let’s get them all; we’re only at forty percent capacity, and more deserting by
the day. Get the names and locations… I’ll start a priority list and let’s get
them. It would have a positive impact on morale.”

“Sorry, James, it
doesn’t work that way. We would lose control of this place if we tried. Half
these men would go mad if we went after their families and confirmed their
worst fears. You know that over three-quarters of those family members are
dead. You just need to take comfort in the fact that your girls are safe.”

“For now they are.”
Cloud got to his feet and used a rag to wipe out the coffee cup; he moved to
the end of the room and set it back on the tray. “If you need me, I’ll be
arranging the recovery of
your
leverage.”

Chapter
4

He rushed forward,
tripping and crashing through boxes of spoiled produce, crates of rotten
tomatoes, and wilted lettuce. The pungent stench coated his shirt and pants,
mixing with the sticky blood and mud. Joe-Mac crawled ahead then stumbled to
his feet; he heard them running down the aisle in pursuit just behind him.
Spinning back to his front, he nearly tumbled into a maggot-infested meat
counter.

Repulsed and
fighting the urges to vomit while ignoring the spasms in his back and stomach,
he pressed forward, gasping for air. Each breath took in the stench of death
and decay. He spotted stainless steel double doors set into the back wall. Joe
dropped his shoulder and lunged through, breaking into an outer storage area.
Light cut in from the rear, and he continued running, gaining distance on the
sounds of those hunting him.

There was another
door—gray steel with a push bar. Joe hit it hard and found himself in the
bright light of a fenced-in loading dock. A chain secured the closed gates and
barbed wire ran along the top of the fence. Joe heard the charging mob inside
closing in on him; he pushed back, shoving the door hard. Next to him was a
reel of fire hose and Joe grabbed at it. Unwinding as fast as he could, he
wrapped the door’s handle with the heavy hose and tied it shut just as the
first of the infected monsters collided with it.

The hose pulled
tight, but held. The door pushed open just enough for Joe to see the faces of
the infected as they attempted to squeeze out. He reached for his hip; his
pistol was gone, as was his machete, lost somewhere in the market. He was
unarmed and alone. Nobody would know where he was… nobody would be coming for
him.

Joe-Mac stepped
away from the building to examine its shape and size, looking for a way out.
Conduit with U-shaped brackets bolted in every few feet ran vertically on the
outside walls all the way to the roof. With just enough of a gap that he could
wrap his hands around them, he grabbed the gray plastic pipes, pulled hard, and
found them tightly secured to the block wall.

More of the
infected were gathering at the chain link fences behind him; the mass began
pushing against it, causing the poles to lean inward. Joe-Mac reached up,
gripped the conduit, and began shimmying up the side of the building. He scaled
the building as fast as he could, pulling up his feet and pinching tight before
reaching up, one hand at a time, then pulling himself up again.

His arms shaking,
he reached the top ledge and pulled himself onto the roof. He rolled over the
short knee wall, dropped to the asphalt coating, and lay on his back catching
his breath while listening to the things below. Looking up at the blue sky, Joe-Mac
clenched his eyes shut tight and said, “Why didn’t I let them talk me out of
this?”

His bag and
belongings were all below and inside, far from reach—somewhere between the
supermarket’s pharmacy and produce section. He sure as hell wouldn’t be going
back for them. Not without an army. Where did they all come from? He was doing
fine until he turned on his light; then they were everywhere, swarming in from
out of the dark.

Joe shook his head
and sat up, not wanting to think about what could’ve happened.

“You messed up good
today, boy,” he said.

Joe-Mac got to his
feet and moved across the roof, back to the street side. The supermarket
parking lot was empty except for a few burned-out cars and rusted shopping
carts. Across the street was a mom-and-pop sporting goods store and next to
that, an auto parts store. The gas station on the corner was nothing more than
a burned-out hulk. The village of Seneca, West Virginia, had seen better days.

He was alone on a
roof in the middle of nowhere… an all too familiar feeling. Loneliness didn’t
bother him. He’d lived a solitary life after leaving high school and most of
his childhood life behind. Divorced parents in different cities. A few girls in
far-off towns. No real career aspirations to speak of, he took odd jobs to pay
for gas, working on construction sites or as a farmhand. He thought he’d have
to grow up one day, but the apocalypse changed all of that.

Joe moved to the
far corner of the building. He spotted his pickup truck where he’d left it at
the far edge of the lot, tucked in behind overgrown shrubs. The area was clear,
all of the infected having moved to the back of the store. He needed to leave.

Joe could still
hear them pounding against the fence and the fire door. With no time to waste
and not wanting to find himself trapped outside after dark, he decided to make
his move. He pulled himself over the front of the store’s face and hung so that
his arms were fully extended then dropped to the fiberglass awning below. He hit
hard and slipped on the surface made slick by weeks of mildew and decaying
leaves, which coated the awning with slime. Before he could grab on to
something solid, he began sliding and felt himself falling over the edge.

He thumped against
the pavement, seeing stars as the wind left his body. Joe-Mac lay motionless,
silently taking inventory of his body and listening to the surroundings. He was
alone, nothing felt broken. He rolled to his belly and pushed up to his knees. Joe-Mac
saw the truck, only a couple hundred yards away. He could easily make it—just
get up and go.

“No,” he said.

Joe-Mac didn’t want
to return to the cabin empty-handed, especially without the meds for Dan’s granddaughter.
He didn’t need much, just something for the fever; aspirin would work, but
antibiotics would be better. Joe promised the man he’d get them, and he didn’t
like to break promises.

He could see the
sporting goods store, the front glass broken and the door kicked in. The shop used
to have racks for long guns and a case full of pistols. That would all be gone
now. Maybe he could find some camping gear… anything to make up for losing his
pack and weapons. Joe took another quick look in both directions and stepped
off toward the store.

The way was clear.
The sunlight shone brightly; he thought that would keep most of them indoors.
Joe looked back over his shoulder at the supermarket. “Yeah, they’re all in
there,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”

Joe picked up a
quick pace, nearly a jog, not wanting to be caught in the open. He crossed the
street quickly and stopped along the brick wall of the storefront. Keeping his
back to the wall, he moved to the edge of the window and peeked inside the
building. Just as he had suspected, the weapons racks were bare; shelves once
heavily stocked with ammunition, now cleared out. The glass countertop and gun
case were broken and swept clean. In the back, he could still see shelves;
covered in shadows, they may still hold something. He had to try.

Joe crouched low
and moved into the doorway. He grabbed the edge of the wooden door and tried to
push it closed. It swung easily, but the frame was twisted and the door refused
to latch. Looking out, he spotted the infected moving back to the front lot. Several
wandered between him and his truck. He desperately needed a weapon, something
to fight his way back to the vehicle. Joe slid a metal trashcan from across the
room and placed it in front of the door. It would at least provide warning if
someone, or something, tried to sneak in behind him. Joe moved along the wall
of the store and saw nothing but empty shelves. A sign hanging from the ceiling
near the back read
backpacks/camping gear
. Joe moved in the direction,
his hopes crushed when he saw them picked clean. He knelt down, pondering his
situation, eyes searching the floor.

“You’ve got to be
kidding me.”

At the bottom of
the shelf was a small pink-and-black “Hello Kitty” book bag. Joe shook his head
disgustedly then reached down and lifted the bag. He opened the compartments
and dumped the bag’s tissue paper stuffing. Joe continued to the back of the
store through camping equipment to find an open tent with no poles, empty
sleeping bag boxes, a cast iron skillet, and a large coffee can filled with
tent stakes. Growing frustrated, he moved on into the game areas. A bin filled
with basketballs and footballs and an empty rack where baseball bats would have
rested—everything was gone.

Joe walked with his
head down, searching; on a bottom shelf was a box of pool balls and a carbon
fiber pool cue, stronger and less brittle than wood. Having no other weapon, he
reached down and lifted the cue. It was a little long so he unscrewed and
separated the thin upper section. Now the weight of the bottom half felt better
in his grip. He slapped it into his open palm and felt the sting… it needed
more. He looked down at the box of balls then peeled open the cardboard and
removed the triangle before searching until he separated the eight ball from
the rest. He held the black ball against the length of the stick and smiled.

In his youth, at
summer camp, he had learned to braid and weave rope. In one class, he learned
to lash stones to the ends of sticks to make tomahawks. Looking at the
perfectly shaped shaft and round ball, he had a better idea; if he could locate
enough rope, he could weave this into a mace. On his way to the back office, he
had his only bit of luck and spotted a wall of climbing gear. Once again, all
the axes were gone but there was plenty of coiled nylon rope.

Grabbing a bundle
of rope, Joe pushed on the office door and entered the back room. Small and
damp, light shone in from a large hole in the ceiling to show everything in the
back office tossed over and ransacked. Joe smiled when he looked at the back
wall; at shoulder height, rested a first-aid kit with the latch closed. He
moved toward it quickly and placed his hand on the cover, closing his eyes and
taking a deep breath before he opened it. The kit was untouched and full of
goods. He dumped the contents into the Hello Kitty backpack.

Relieved, his
mission for medication now accomplished, he relaxed the tension in his body and
checked his wind-up wristwatch—still plenty of daylight. Joe cleared a spot on
the floor then dropped down to begin building his mace. He weaved the rope,
heating it with his Zippo to make it adhere tightly to the form of the cue,
strengthening it while he wrapped it around the handle, and firmly attaching
the ball to the end. As he weaved, he imagined the damage it would do. With the
top firmly attached, he felt the weapon’s weight and swung it, feeling the
power. Later, he would have to find some varnish or heavy resin to lock it all
into place, but for now, it would do. Joe-Mac stood before taking a short swing
and crushing a coffee pot resting on a small desk then smiled.

“Yeah… This’ll do.”