The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (2 page)

Jim shrugged as he moved over to inspect some of the equipment. “It was the end of the world, after all.” He raised his hands in surrender as one of the unloading crew directed him back out of their way. “And I never got a call, so who knows who they asked about what they needed.”

Mary snorted. “You’re not God, Jim Atkins. Not everything goes through you. Or rather, went.”

Jim grinned. “Fair enough, but if not me, then who? In any case, it makes no difference now. We’ll soon have what we need, I hope.”

Mary sighed and rubbed her neck. “I can’t say I’ll miss poring over research journals.”

“They really expected you to learn all of this, didn’t they? Trial and error? Over decades?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve got some training, but biologists aren’t geneticists, so I could probably have done it, but with you here instead of McMurdo…”

Jim shivered. “Please, don’t. I don’t even want to think about that place ever again. How far did you get, anyway, with those journals? I’ve read some of your notes, but you can probably bring me up to speed faster.” He looked over at the crews still unloading and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’ll let us know when they’re done and we can come back down. I want some chow.”

They walked toward the side elevators that would take them to the upper levels and one of the cafeterias. Level Twenty-three was an enormous storage level, and the massive concrete pillars holding up the ceiling always gave Jim a little twinge of claustrophobia. It wasn’t so bad on the upper levels, though.

“Well, as you saw, there are billions of pages of journals and white papers and other research to go through. I didn’t even know where to start, so I just began with the basics. I figured I’d eventually figure out what to look for as I read more. But it’s been… Slow isn’t the word for it.”

“I’ve done a small amount of research with prions in the past—nothing to this degree, of course. But I have a general idea of where we should start. I think we should start looking for a way to create an antibody or use one that already exists.”

Jim took a last glance at the equipment being unloaded as they stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed. “And I think we should start right away. This is going to take
years
.”

Bunker Nine
Lebanon Mountain, Mississippi
Z-Day + 17 years

The air was hot and sticky as Leland Wormwood crouched in the brush, glaring at the sealed bunker doors through his binoculars. They’d waited almost three years, and they couldn’t wait a couple more months until the weather cooled down a bit? Still, given what was inside… He sighed as his radio activated.

“Whiskey Four, Whiskey Actual. Report.”

“Whiskey Four, no activity,” he said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his ACU for the billionth time. He slapped another mosquito and cursed. “Except the mosquitoes.”

“Roger that, Whiskey Four. You are green to go in ninety seconds… mark. Whiskey Actual out.”

Finally. He readied his rifle as he knew the others in his unit were, even if he couldn’t see them through the thick forest. Fortunately, the way to the bunker lay through a clearing with only a few bushes amongst the tall grass. It would make for a quick crossing. He picked his destination, the guard post off to the side of the big metal doors set into the hill. Or at least what remained of it. Time and the elements had not been kind, and though it wouldn’t provide much in the way of cover, he wasn’t expecting to get shot at. Unless those monsters had figured out how to use automatic weapons, and wasn’t
that
a cheery thought?

It was bad enough that they had to destroy a bunker at all. According to the little bit of backroom intel he’d been able to gather, this place was crawling with some sort of “super walker.” Some said there were thousands of them down there. If he only believed half of the stories he’d heard, Bunker Nine was the last place on Earth he wanted to get anywhere near. Of course, if even half were true, then waiting even a couple more months would put everyone in danger. Driebachs were far, far too dangerous to take the chance that they’d get out. Something had to be done, and it had fallen on Bunker Ten’s Whiskey team to do it.

Bunker Nine’s Operations Center was, like most bunkers, near the top of the facility. Without active, armed resistance, they would only have the Driebachs to deal with. Bad enough, sure, but lots easier than going down to the other levels. A quick in-and-out to set the destruct, and one of the most dangerous places on Earth would cease to be. What could go wrong?

“Whiskey team, go!” The order came through his earpiece, and his feet moved without his conscious direction. In his peripheral vision, the remaining members of the team were also on their way, running to either side of the bunker doors. He had time to count to eleven before he’d crossed the hundred yards or so and felt good about his time. It wasn’t everyone who could make that run crouched over and lugging a fifty-pound pack on their back. He’d be glad to drop it as soon as he got the order.

“Martin, Simmons, check it out!” yelled his CO, Colonel Monterrey. “Cambridge, Everett, keep an eye out!” The colonel touched his earpiece. “Yankee Actual, Whiskey Actual. We are at the door, attempting entry.” The two tech specialists brought in for this assignment ran up to the smaller, featureless personnel door. They then began doing whatever it was tech specialists do with keypad locks.

Leland had never had much of a head for electronics. His PDA was pretty much the limit of his abilities, and even that bugged the hell out of him sometimes. Within a few minutes, the techs reported back.

“Sir, this is going to take longer than we thought. They did a real number on this lock when they sealed ‘em in, sir.”

“How long, Simmons?” the colonel asked.

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes, sir.”

“You have five.”

“Yes, sir,” the tech said, turning back to his work.

“Worm,” the colonel said as he walked over to Leland.

Oh, how Leland hated that nickname. It was so… pedestrian. Someday, maybe one of these yahoos would come up with something better. Of course, the CO could call him anything he liked, and often, “Worm” was the nicest variant. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

“Prep your gear. If they can’t make it through, I want you to blow it.” No surprise there, since the door was lacking in any sort of exterior handhold or pull mechanism. It opened from the inside and the inside only. The older man leaned in, the smell of his cigars heavy in the air, making Leland’s nose itch. “And just the door this time, eh, hot shot?”

Forcing himself to remain calm, Leland nodded. “Yes, sir.” You blow up one entryway and you’re branded for life. How was he to know they’d been storing gasoline in that building? He continued grumbling as he pulled the C4 charges out of his pack and prepared them for use on the door, just in case. He didn’t think he’d need it—the techs were good—but the colonel was right: it never hurt to prepare. And it felt good to get the pack on the ground, the straps no longer digging into his shoulders.

“Eureka,” one of the techs said a few minutes later under his breath. There was a tortured squeal of rusted metal as the retaining bolts withdrew and the door popped open a few inches. Simmons coughed and backed away from the opening. “Sir, we’re in. The air’s bad, and it looks like the power’s out.”

The colonel nodded. “Prepare for entry. Worm, get your charges set up to collapse this entry. We may need to get out of here in a hurry.”

Oh, now they were collapsing it? Worm wished this guy would make up his mind. “Yes, sir,” he said.

The doors were large but set well back into the mountain. He could see a few spots where a well-placed charge could bring down a couple tons of rock and dirt. He motioned to Airman Cockrell, and with her help, they had it ready about the same time the colonel was ready to enter the bunker. He started to hand Monterrey the remote detonator for the charges, but the colonel shook his head.

“No, you keep it. I want you and Cockrell to stay back and guard our exit.”

Leland looked around at the other men and women. They were all about to head into what was undoubtedly the most dangerous place on the face of the Earth. If these thirteen badasses couldn’t handle whatever was in there… There was no time to think about that now. Or the creepy fact that there were exactly thirteen of them. “Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it, sir.”

“Good. All right, everyone, let’s rock and roll. Machetes only until we can’t avoid it. I don’t want the whole damn bunker on our trail. Ready NVDs. We are at MOPP Three as of this moment.”

The soldiers slid their rifles onto their backs, and drew their long-handled military machetes from hip sheaths. MOPP masks came out of their belt cases and Whiskey team put them on, then lowered the night-vision attachments they also wore.

“You two,” Monterrey said, pointing at Martin and Simmons. “Get that door open all the way as fast as you can, then follow us. We’re headed for Operations. According to the specs, it’s on this level, a few hundred feet inside and to the right. Everybody ready?”

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers chorused, their voices muffled somewhat by the masks. The techs each grabbed hold of the door’s edge. The door didn’t move at first, its twenty-year-old hinges squealing as the techs pulled on the edge. The colonel motioned to the two nearest men, and they threw their backs into it as well. They were finally able to fold the outward-swinging personnel door flat back against the main bunker doors.

The colonel straightened up, raising his machete. “Let’s move, people!” There was a scream from inside the bunker, and a nightmare came barreling out of the dark. It almost ran down Monterrey as it raced for open ground. There was a loud crack, and the creature’s head exploded. The dirt near Leland’s feet kicked up as their covering sniper’s round disintegrated on impact.

Leland ducked on instinct before he even realized what had happened, and he heard a soft, southern female voice in his earpiece. “Whiskey Actual, Whiskey Five.”

“Go ahead, Fayde,” the colonel said, looking unfazed as he walked over to inspect the corpse. He waved at the others to cover the door.

“Y’all be careful now,” she said. Leland pictured the tall, lithe blonde with the blue-grey eyes and complete lack of emotion. They called her the Ice Queen, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with her being one of the McMurdo refugees. “We’ve got this covered out here, sugar.”

“Roger that, Whiskey Five. Out.”

The corpse lay close by, and Leland couldn’t help but take a closer look. It was just like the briefing: a zombie, a walker, but a new and different type that they’d not seen before. This one didn’t appear to be rotting at all but was scarred and disfigured, the muscles under the skin bunched and twisted. It was
wrong
, in a crime-against-nature sort of way, and Leland wondered yet again why his team had drawn the short straw on this op.

The colonel was a good leader, if kind of a jerk, and he could see the shocked looks on the faces of his soldiers. “All right, people, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover here, and we’re not going to do it standing around. The briefing from Bunker One was clear. We all know what we’re facing. Now let’s get to Operations and get that auto destruct set! Move out!” The colonel then lowered his own NVD, lifted his machete, and marched through the door into the darkness. The other soldiers followed him, leaving Cockrell and Leland behind. They looked at the empty darkness of the base beyond the door and at each other.

Leland sighed, pulling down his NVD and readying his machete. Just in case, he checked his upper uniform pocket for the remote detonator, making sure it was still there, safe and sound. If this was where it had to happen, then at least he would go out swinging.

“Let’s do this.”

“After you, Worm,” Cockrell said.

Leland flashed her a grimace. “Kiss my ass, Cock,” he said, then stepped through the door.

The air stank, even through his MOPP gear, and Leland worked hard to hold down his gag reflex. To her credit, Cockrell seemed unfazed as she stood guard, her rifle at the ready. Leland looked down at his own machete and frowned.

“He said mach—”

“If they come back at a run, do you think the cap will care if we’re shooting?”

Leland thought that over and realized she was right. He re-holstered his machete and pulled the rifle back around but maintained a grip on the detonator. Better safe than sorry. The others had passed out of their sight fast with the complete lack of light, and only the infrared lights they carried provided them enough illumination to see by through their NVDs. The lights were invisible to the naked eye and used for stealth missions.

“Approaching Ops,” Monterrey said in his ear.

Good, they were making quick progress. At this rate, they might even be home in time for breakfast tomorrow. Sundays meant pancakes, and Leland loved pancakes.

“Contact, wes—” One of the operators choked out a gurgle. Leland couldn’t tell which it was, but he knew that sound from prior missions. Someone had gotten bit. And no one had heard a thing.

“Move, move, move!” Monterrey said. “Secure Ops!”

Leland looked over at Cockrell, who was crouched in place now, sweeping the darkness with her rifle. He took up a similar position, a little closer to the door. He had to make sure the detonator would reach, after all.

Sudden gunfire and flashes of bright light from the darkness told the story of their fellow operators, and the radio filled with reports of contacts. “Fall back, fall ba—” Monterrey’s order was cut off, but Leland barely heard it over the noises coming from the darkness ahead of him.

“Contact,” Cockrell said, and she began firing into the darkness.

Leland still couldn’t see shit, but he fired more or less randomly into the dark as well in the hope that he might do some good. A grotesque face loomed out of the darkness at the edge of his vision, and he put a couple rounds into its forehead. The monster went down but was replaced by another. Two more were going after Cockrell, and he could hear hoots and hollers of others coming.

“Fuck!” Cockrell shouted to his side, and as he swung his gaze her way, he saw her brought down by two separate monstrosities. Her finger tightened on the trigger of her rifle as they pulled her to the ground, and Leland couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the incoming fire.