Bzrk Apocalypse (38 page)

thousand seven hundred miles from Ushuaia to Cathexis Base, but

flying in a refurbished C-130 Hercules turboprop with a cruising

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BZRK APOCALYPSE

speed of three hundred thirty miles an hour, it took more than eight

hours. Another one hundred twenty-eight thousand people, minus

those who had already passed away, were driven into madness.

These were concentrated in and around military bases in the

United States, Russia, China, the United Kingdom, France, India, and

Pakistan. The choice of countries was not random: each had nuclear

weapons, but of those, France and the UK used only submarine-based

weapons.

The first launch was from Russia, but the missile and its warhead

were destroyed in flight, en route to North Dakota.

The second launch was from Pakistan. It landed in the middle

of a department store in New Delhi, India, but did not explode. The

madman who had fired it had not armed the warhead.

But the Indian military did not wait to consider the situation.

Indian missiles flew minutes after the C-130 slid to a stop on the

Cathexis Base airfield.

Fifty-two Agni-III and Agni-IV missiles flew, striking targets in

Pakistan. By the time the C-130 had been refueled for the last leg of

its flight, there were thirty-one million dead, a number that would

double within days.

After a shorter hop and a very bumpy landing, Bug Man stumbled

from the plane still wearing the T-shirt he’d been wearing in New

York. His teeth, his entire mouth, and jaw hurt. He was exhausted,

having been awakened repeatedly by nightmares. And now he was

more cold than he would have believed possible. And standing in the

whitest place on Earth.

“Where are we?”

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MICHAEL GRANT

“The bottom of the world, Buggy, the place where machines go to

die. People, too.”

A green Sno-Cat was tearing across the snow toward them. It

roared to a stop and two men jumped out. One ran to Lystra with

a full-length coat that many foxes had died to provide. The other

handed a voluminous down parka to Bug Man, who shivered into it.

A fur-lined hat was plopped on his head, and he was hustled into the

backseat of the Sno-Cat. It wasn’t exactly warm inside, but it wasn’t

fatally cold, either.

“How was your flight, Ms. Reid?”

“Fine, Stillers. Fine. Are all the necessary personnel in from For-

ward Green?”

“Yes, ma’am, all personnel, all equipment, all supplies, except for

the final two sleighs, which are being prepped and will be brought

here tomorrow. And we’ve topped off the fuel both here and at For-

ward Green.”

“Then we are in lockdown,” she said pleasantly. “Except for the

final sleighs. Make sure no one shoots at them.” She shook her head as

if marveling at the world’s unpredictability. “The world has just gone

to hell in a handbasket, yeah, and we have a long year ahead of us.”

Not waiting a second, Stillers keyed a radio and said, “Lockdown,

lockdown. Lockdown, lockdown.”

Bug Man could not quite imagine what was being locked down.

It wasn’t like there was a crowd standing around trying to break in.

They were in the middle of a whole lot of nothing as far as he could

see.

Then, as if by a miracle, the ground seemed to open up. The

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BZRK APOCALYPSE

Sno-Cat rounded a sharp corner, treads churning up hard-packed

snow, and plunged down a long ramp into a valley. He saw buildings

and an improbable house and . . .

“Is that a swimming pool?”

“Yes,” Lystra said. “One of only two in Antarctica.” Then, with a

wistful look, she added, “I like to swim. It’s a very clean sort of sport,

yeah. And I look amazing in a bathing suit, yeah, if I say so myself.”

Bug Man thought that was likely true, if
amazing
was the right

word for a woman covered in tattoos of her victims.

“There’s also an underground greenhouse. Palm trees! Palm trees

in Antarctica, yeah. Yeah. We can live very well here for two years, or

survive for three. If necessary. We’ll see.”

“Do you want to go to the office?” Stillers asked deferentially.

“No, the house. Find quarters for Bug Man, but for now he’ll stay

with me.” She patted Bug Man’s knee. “I’ve decided he’s my good-luck

charm. Oh, and tell the dentist, Dr. Whatever-the-Hell, yeah, he’s got

a customer. Patient. Whatever. Yeah.”

Tanner was among those waiting when an unannounced flight came

into McMurdo, running on fumes, or so the pilot said. Planes did not

just suddenly arrive on the ice. And Tanner, like everyone else at the

base, had been watching events back in the world with disbelief and

anxiety turning to fear.

Tanner had called Naval Intelligence in Washington and been

told that
Satan is loose among the flock, hah-hah, redrum redrum,

they’re listening, don’t you know that?

A call higher up the chain of command to the Pentagon had gone

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MICHAEL GRANT

unanswered. Calls to USAP and Lockheed had yielded nothing.

Tanner was in summer gear—a parka over padded jeans with the

big Mickey Mouse boots unlaced. He wore gloves and goggles and a

light stocking cap with a Pittsburgh Pirates logo.

The plane, a C-130, a Herc in the patois, landed easily, and killed

engines. Tanner reached under his parka to touch the butt of his

trusty Colt .45 auto. Everyone authorized to carry a gun was carrying

one. As a safety measure that would have been absurd in earlier times,

Tanner had stationed an ex-sergeant with a sniper rifle on the roof of

a parked truck.

The person who stepped first from the plane could not have been

less likely.

“It’s a girl,” Tanner said.

“Yep, that’s a girl.” This from the station chief beside him. “Looks

kind of familiar. Not some crazy pop singer, is it?”

Behind the girl came a grown woman, rather beautiful and just

exotic enough to hold Tanner’s eye for longer than strictly necessary.

Then a girl with a strange half mohawk and a stranger tattoo below

one eye. And finally a young man with dark hair, a calm expression,

and an air of tension that Tanner associated with trouble.

The girl walked up without hesitation, in a hurry. She pulled off

her glove and stuck out her hand. “I’m Pla— Sadie McLure.”

The station chief, Joe Washington, shook her hand and glanced

at Tanner.

“Sadie McLure,” Tanner repeated, frowning as he tried to pull the

name from memory.

“Yes. As in Grey McLure crashing a jet into a Jets game,” she said.

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BZRK APOCALYPSE

No hint of a smile. A very serious, even grim young woman. “These

are my friends. Wilkes. Dr. Anya Violet. Michael Ford.”

Tanner remembered now. “What exactly are you doing here, Ms.

McLure?”

Her eyes bored into him. They were eyes that belonged in a much

older face. “We’re here to try to stop what’s happening. We’re here to

kill the woman responsible.”

“The woman responsible? Here?” Washington wanted to laugh,

but the faces before him did not look as if they were joking.

“Lystra Reid.”

“Cathexis Inc.?”

“And some other businesses as well. What’s happening is her

doing.”

The station chief had to laugh at that. “Excuse me, but I’ve met

Lystra Reid, and she’s a sharp young businesswoman. I don’t know

what—”

“Let them talk, Joe,” Tanner said quietly.

The station chief seemed almost offended, but he nodded. “Okay.

Not here. We’ll drive you to my office.”

An hour later Plath and Vincent, with occasional outbursts from Wil-

kes, had told their tale.

“To say that sounds crazy is an understatement,” the station chief

said.

“Do you have any proof?” Tanner asked.

Plath cocked her head and looked at him. “You know something.”

Tanner smiled slightly. “Do you have proof?”

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MICHAEL GRANT

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Plath said. “We thought you might be

skeptical. “So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to just touch

my finger to your face. Then, in a few minutes you’re going to open a

book at random. You’ll hold the page close to your face. And I’ll tell

you what you’re reading.”

“What is that, some kind of magic trick?”

“It’s the best I can do on short notice,” Plath snapped. “If you like,

I could blind you, or start sticking pins in your brain and giving you

some amazing hallucinations.”

“I’ll read a book,” Tanner said. Ten minutes later he was shaken

and convinced.

“What do you want from us?” Washington asked. He was still

skeptical, still not sure it wasn’t some sort of trick, but he also knew

that in matters of security, Tanner was the real boss.

“Fuel,” Plath said. “And men with guns, if you have any.”

“Men, I have. Guns? I could spare a couple of handguns and a

hunting rifle. But Mr. Tanner here may have other means.”

Tanner shifted uncomfortably, then made a decision. “Okay.

Cards on the table. We’ve been looking at Cathexis for some time

now in relation to a souped-up hovercraft they seem to have built. An

armed
hovercraft. I sent a person with some military background in

to check it out. I have not heard back from her.”

Vincent spoke for the first time. “You’re intelligence.”

Tanner gave a short nod.

“Then you have people you could call.”

Tanner snorted. “Are you kidding me? With what’s happening

back in the world? Shit has hit the fan. Cities are burning, people are

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scared to death, my chain of command . . .” He threw up his hands.

“If we can prove to you that this woman is doing what we say she’s

doing, if we can prove to you that we can stop her, will you do all you

can?” Plath asked.

Tanner thought about that for a moment and glanced at Wash-

ington, who raised his hands—palms out—in a gesture that said,
It’s

on you
. “Yeah,” Tanner said. “You prove all that, and I will do all I can to bring down the wrath of God.” Then, under his breath he added,

“But it won’t work.”

Surreal, that was the word Bug Man had been searching for. Surreal.

He was in Antarctica, in a dry valley way below the ice, in a

house, in a very expensively furnished living room, looking out of

expansive windows onto a domed swimming pool, while a lunatic

and mass murderer suggested he could replace the teeth she herself

had broken with fangs. Green fangs.

“It would give you an original look,” Lear said. “Do you know

how to cook at all? My cook is busy, yeah, helping to inventory sup-

plies. Can you fry some eggs?”

A television was on in the kitchen where Bug Man rummaged in

a vast refrigerator for eggs and bacon. That much he could do. Eggs

and bacon.

The television showed the BBC, but it wasn’t any of the sets he’d

ever seen them use. It looked a bit as if the male and female announc-

ers were broadcasting from a concrete bomb shelter.

The crawl at the bottom of the screen was full of warnings from

the army that people should stay in their homes and off the streets.

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MICHAEL GRANT

That and statements from Number 10 and acting prime minister Der-

mot Tricklebank, whoever that was, to the effect that
the only thing

they had to fear was fear itself
.

“Hunh,” Lear commented. “That’s a Roosevelt quote. Shouldn’t

they be using Churchill?”

The stovetop was a restaurant-quality thing with massive knobs

and too many burners. It took Bug Man a few anxious minutes to

figure out how to work the knobs, but eventually he was able to lay six

strips of bacon on a grill.

“Crispy,” Lear said, pointing at the bacon.

The announcer said,
“The nuclear exchange between India and

Pakistan has escalated, with at least five major Indian cities now

essentially vaporized.”

“Hah,” Lear said. “And don’t forget the eggs. Not too runny.”

“Okay.”

“Winds are whipping the fire now spreading out of control through

Bayswater and Notting Hill. Our reporters have seen no evidence of

effective emergency response.”

“It’s hard to tell when an egg is done, yeah, but . . . Oh, look look

look! He’s setting himself on fire!”

Bug Man did not want to see that and instead focused on his

work.

“Looked like a banker. Nice suit. It’s interesting that a person can

be mad and yet plan ahead well enough to find gas. Or
petrol
, as you

would say.”

Yes
, Bug Man thought grimly,
who would have thought a crazy

person could plan?
He turned the bacon and held down the curling

tips.

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BZRK APOCALYPSE

“Oh, look at that! Look at that video!” This was spoken as an

order not a request, so Bug Man looked. The tape showed an Ameri-

can Airlines 787 roaring down from the sky and smashing into a very

large, gray Gothic church. The announcer said something about the