The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (50 page)

Rachel finished a story her father had told her about Kimberly Blake once upon a time, and Donald asked, “Did you ever hear about Panama?”

She shook her head. “No, but I heard about American Samoa. Is it true you’re named for someone who died on the rescue flight?”

The captain nodded. “His name was Sergeant Donald Denson, and he got bit while protecting some scientists. The story Dad told me—” The captain broke off and looked away.

Rachel noticed the pause but let the captain continue in his own time.

“Dad told me the guy took a gun and some water and just walked off into the jungle, looking for walkers to take out. He knew he was going to go, so he figured he might as well kill as many of them as he could. Dad said he slipped him a kill pill, but he didn’t know if Denson took it.”

“Tough guy,” she said. “Good guy to be named after.”

Donald nodded, his gaze far away. “Yeah, definitely.”

Rachel couldn’t help but console him, so she leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “Tell me about Panama. Tell me about your dad.”

Donald focused back on her and smiled. “It was 1988, and Dad was down there working for the DEA—the Drug Enforcement Agency—taking out what they thought was a cartel manufacturing plant, only the walkers had gotten there first…”

Presidential Command Center
Bunker Five
Mount Davis, Pennsylvania

The room still smelled musty and rank to Ennis, but he knew his people were working on it. Funny to think of them as “his” people. After being on his own with only a few friends in town for more than twenty years, not knowing who he was… It was still taking some getting used to. Even though he’d regained his memories, integrating them with the last twenty-five years would take some time, according to the staff therapists and psychologists at the bunker.

He glanced over at his wife, seated next to him. Of Cuban descent, Renee was tall with dark hair just going a bit grey and light-brown skin. She had long been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had refused to leave his side since they’d been reunited, and though there was a distance between them that was natural with a long time apart, he knew they’d get through it. She’d always been his lifeline—his anchor—and now was no different, despite the years.

Madeline and Michael were with their own families, moving into the surface housing that had been cleared in and around New Salisbury. He’d asked Renee if she’d rather be off helping them, but she’d insisted that her place was here, and he wasn’t about to disagree with her.

The conference room was coming to life as the technicians turned on monitors and brought computers up from their long slumber. It was beginning to look like a command center again, and some of his staff had already taken their seats. The long wooden table in the shape of a horseshoe had chairs for fourteen, and there were more against the walls for the support staff of the men and women who would sit at the main table. The cherry wood had been dusted and cleaned and brought back to its natural shine, and it glowed with the attention.

The doors were on one side of the room, and the open end of the table faced a blank wall with a big display panel. If everything went to plan, they’d be able to use the remaining satellites to bring the bunkers together for the first presidential video conference in more than twenty years.

He hoped he was ready.

“We’re about set, sir,” Graves said as he entered the room. His XO, Jackson O’Reilly, followed. “My guys are in touch with several of the bunkers and trying to get ahold of the others.” Graves motioned toward one of the chairs and raised an eyebrow.

Ennis waved a hand. “Of course, Admiral. Have a seat. You’ll find I’m not one for ceremony.” The man tried to hide it, but Ennis caught a slight sigh from the admiral as he sank into the leather chair. He couldn’t fault the man. They were all getting older.

“Has someone found Marjorie yet?” he asked an aide, one of a troop of young men who had been assigned. He hadn’t learned all their names yet, but he was almost certain of this one. “Can you find out, Alan?”

The young man nodded. “Right away, sir,” he said and rushed from the room.

Ennis noticed Graves and O’Reilly trying to hide grins that disappeared as soon as they saw him looking.

“Can I ask what’s so funny?” he asked and noticed that Renee had covered a small smile as well.

“His name is Nathan, Mr. President,” Graves said, not even trying to hide his smile now.

“Then which one is Alan? You know what, don’t even tell me.” He chuckled along with the others until one of Graves’s men entered and gave him the thumbs up.

“We’re ready, Mr. President,” the admiral said and turned to face the wall screen. A few seconds went by, then several faces appeared, separated into relatively equal sections on the monitor. Someone in the comm center had helpfully tagged each incoming signal with its point of origin.

Bunker One was present in the upper-left-hand corner, with Bunkers Two, Seven, and Ten also present. Of course, Four wouldn’t be, nor his own, but that left several still missing.

Graves’s technician whispered in his ear, and the admiral nodded, turning to Ennis. “We’re still having some trouble getting video from Bunker Three in South Dakota, sir. We think it’s a power fault on their end, but we’re working on it. In the meantime, we have audio.”

“Good morning, Mr. President,” a voice said over the hidden speakers in the room. “Eugene Stimmons, sir. Governor of Bunker Three.”

“Good to see you again, sir,” the man from Bunker One said. “I’m David Blake, Governor, and this is our military commander, Colonel Blake.” David paused. “Sorry, that’s General Blake now, I suppose.” He and Kimberly shared a look of sadness as she nodded.

The others introduced themselves as well. “Walter Belkins, Mr. President, and this is my commander, Lawrence Greer, sir.” The men from Bunker Two looked as old as Ennis felt, but they seemed to be in good spirits.

“Tom Ridgely, Mr. President. Bunker Seven. And this is Colonel Shaw.”

“Good to see you again, Bill, David,” Graves said with a nod of his head.

“And you, Jeremiah,” David said. “In case anyone hasn’t said it, thanks for what you did. Infiltrating Bunker Five and taking out Marnes was nothing short of amazing.” The others echoed his sentiment.

“Marcus Simms, Mr. President,” the man in the lower-right corner said. Easily in his seventies, his thinning hair and beard were all white, in stark contrast to his coal-dark skin. “Bunker Ten, sir. My commander couldn’t be with us today. He’s on a rescue mission off the coast. A fishing fleet got in some trouble with some local militia, and they’re having to deal with it.”

“Anything we can do from here, Governor?” Ennis asked.

Simms shook his head. “No, sir. We’re taking care of it. Nothing I can personally do either, so we’re in the same boat. Please excuse me if I have to be in and out.”

“Not a problem.” Ennis looked around at the few men in the room and smiled as Alan—no, Nathan—entered with his old friend Marjorie. Her son, Darnell, led her to a seat and then started to leave. “Darnell, go ahead and stay,” he said, causing a few raised eyebrows and a smile from Marjorie.

Renee leaned over to him. “Are you sure they should be here, Ennis?” she asked, her smooth voice still getting to him after all this time. He knew this was her way of saying she disagreed with his decision, but he shook his head.

“Marjorie has been my closest friend and advisor for twenty-five years, and Darnell is practically a son to me,” he whispered. “They stay.” Renee nodded and sat back. He always listened to her advice, but once he’d made up his mind, she never fought him on it.

He addressed the rest of the room and those on the video conference. “Gentlemen and ladies, for the sake of clarity, let me introduce Marjorie and Darnell Lane, special advisors. They’ll be sitting in with me today.”

Another feed came up on the monitor, this one tagged with Bunker Eight. Another older man stared at his own screen, glancing at the names and faces. He looked haggard, deep circles under his eyes and in wrinkled clothes.

“I apologize for my appearance, Mr. President. Things here have been… Well, they’ve been pretty damned rough, sir. Frank was important to all of us here.”

“I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say that we’re with you in this tough time, Governor Tate. We won’t keep you long. Before we get started, I wanted to ask you to pass along a message to Frank’s wife and son.”

Tate nodded and gestured off-screen. “Of course, sir. I’ll record it for them to view later.”

Ennis hadn’t expected that, but he could deal with it. He sat up straight in his chair and spoke in what he thought of as his “speech voice.”

“It is with infinite sadness and the greatest respect that I hereby award in the name of Congress the Medal of Honor to Brigadier General Frank Ulysses Anderson, United States Army, for his bravery and selflessness in the line of duty. Without regard for his own safety, General Anderson took it upon himself to save the lives of thousands of refugees and unknowable thousands of innocents by choosing to remain behind and secure the destruction of weapons launched by forces hostile to the United States of America.

“May he be forever remembered by those he has protected and cherished as the hero he is by all of us. God bless Frank Anderson, and God bless the United States of America.” Ennis sat back in his chair. “As soon as it can be arranged, I’ll present the medal formally to you both in person, but I wanted you to know how much he meant to all of us. Thank you for your sacrifice.”

He nodded to Governor Tate, who signaled to end the recording. Ennis noticed that a few of the folks in the room and on the video conference were affected by his words, or rather, affected by the truth behind his words—that their friend, father, husband, and mentor was gone. He wished, yet again, that he’d had more time to know the man who’d had such a profound impact on these people.

“On to the business of the day,” he said as he cleared his throat and gave everyone a moment. “There have been some big developments in the last few days, and I know we’re all taking some time to adjust, but we have work to do. Here’s where we stand, as I see it.”

Ennis adjusted some papers on the table in front of him, going over his notes. “Bunkers One, Two, Three, Five, Seven, Eight, and Ten are fully operational and under the control of all of us here in this room. Bunker Six is empty, with the population likely turned into walkers or fled due to an attack by Malcolm Dagger on the facility. Bunker Nine is sealed—as far as we know—and full of these ‘Driebach’ zombies, again due to an attack by Malcolm Dagger. And Bunker Four has been destroyed.” He looked up at the monitor. “Is that a fair assessment?”

The others agreed, and he continued. “As if a bunker full of nightmares wasn’t enough, we also have the folks from this Church to deal with.”

“The First Church of the Divine Judgment, sir,” Bill Shaw said. “They’ve infiltrated our forces throughout the country.”

“Do we have any people in place to deal with them?” Ennis asked. “What about spies of our own?”

No one volunteered any information until, finally, David Blake answered, “Go ahead, Eugene. It was your idea.”

Governor Stimmons hesitated a moment. “Sir, it’s a delicate game, and without knowing more about the folks in that room…”

Ennis looked around and didn’t see anyone in the room he wouldn’t trust with his life. There were only six of them anyway. “I assume you mean Marjorie and Darnell here.”

“Well, yes, sir.”

“I trust them with my life, Mr. Stimmons. So should you.” He noticed Darnell sit a little straighter in his chair, and Marjorie smiled.

Stimmons coughed. “Yes, sir. Using information provided by Colonel Shaw after his interrogation of the prisoners he’d acquired, we are planning to insert another volunteer from our people here into the organization as a double agent.”

“A volunteer?” the president asked. He noticed that several of the people on the video conference call looked uncomfortable. “All right, what’s going on?”

“During the incursion on Bunker Four, there were some… irregularities with one of our people,” Stimmons said.

“Irregularities?”

“He went AWOL, sir. But we’d been taking a look at him before that, sir. And, full disclosure, sir, he was one of mine. From Bunker Three.” Stimmons coughed again and was more than a little red-faced. “Sir, after a transmission from General Anderson, we went even deeper. He had turned, sir. He was working for the other side, for the Church. Spying.”

Ennis felt sick. “I take it he was fairly highly placed?”

“Yes, sir, he was. But given what happened and the timing, we decided rather than punish the traitor, we’d give him the opportunity to make it right.”

“Are you telling me you created a triple agent?” Ennis laughed. “That’s… an unusual strategy, Governor.” Ennis Norman was nothing if not diplomatic.

“I agree with you, sir, but we felt it was the best course of action. Besides, we already had a man inside who could control the situation if it threatened to get out of hand. And given the last transmissions of both assets, sir, we expect that they’ll be in a position to make a move very soon.”

“What kind of move?” the president asked.

“The kind that will end the Church once and for all, sir. I can’t really go into more detail at this time, if only because I don’t know it myself, sir. Both men have gone dark until it’s over. I trust them, though, sir. The triple agent is too scared of what we’ll do to him if he screws up, and the other…”

Kimberly Blake spoke up. “The other is one of the bravest men I’ve ever known, Mr. President.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Des Moines International Airport
Des Moines, Iowa

The day had dawned bright and clear for once, and it looked to be good weather. Eden stretched as she climbed out of the Humvee where she’d taken refuge, in desperate need of some rack time.

Lieutenant Marquez had ordered her to her rack when she’d almost passed out tending to some of the refugees from Bunker Four. They didn’t have any spare tents or cots, so she’d found the nearest Humvee and crawled into the back, curling up and trying to shut out the world.