Dead Zone (10 page)

NINETEEN

IT HAD TAKEN THE BETTER
part of seven hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic for Alec to cross the Snowqualmie Pass, from Seattle over the mountains to Yakima. It was the worst traffic jam he’d ever seen, even worse than the mass exodus out of Denver when the terrorist attacks started.

Alec was driving a stolen Honda Civic. He wasn’t worried about them checking the registration at any of the American checkpoints. He could always lie his way through that.

What he needed was an American army uniform. A poor refugee fleeing a bad situation was one thing, but a soldier could feed all sorts of bad information up the chain of command.

He leaned back in his seat, knowing that he could fall asleep right there if he let himself. He’d been awake for how long—thirty hours? Thirty-six? But he was determined to prove his worth to his commanders, show them that he was better than just a terrorist—that he was a real soldier.

Ahead of him, Alec saw an American roadblock, and he knew this was his first big chance. The men guarding the roadblock were all probably low-ranking grunts, but so much the better. It would be hours before his lies got sorted out.

He crept his car forward as the army checked each vehicle for bombs and guns and hidden passengers. When he reached the front of the line, Alec started working on the man’s mind before he’d even rolled the window down.

“Boy, am I glad to see you guys,” Alec said. The soldier was wearing an American uniform that had the two chevrons of a corporal. He was followed by six men who began searching the car, without reading any rights or seeming to care about them. “It’s chaos back there.”

“Who are you with?”

Perfect. Not “Who are you?” but “Who are you with?” Alec’s memories were already beginning to take hold. He rattled off a unit number.

The American corporal saluted. “Is there anything we can get you, sir?”

Alec spoke without looking at any of the men, as though they were beneath him. “Inspect these cars more thoroughly. Another roadblock said they found RPGs in an undercarriage. Someone even found explosives behind a bumper. Take your time. Do it right.”

“Yes, sir,” said the corporal. “What I mean is, we are, sir. Did you not hear about the attack on one of the forward outposts?”

“Word travels fast,” another man—a private first class—said. “Especially stories of the mutants. We thought we were the only ones that had them in our military, but there are more.”

“Where can I find your commanding officer?”

“Two hundred yards back behind us,” the taller of the two men said. “They’re guarding the road in case we tell them there’s trouble.”

Alec was still working on the corporal’s mind. There was so much fun he could have—he could make the corporal believe the private was a spy who needed to be killed. He could alter the man’s brain so quickly between pain and pleasure that eventually he’d take his own life to stop it. But none of that would help his goal—disrupting the enemy lines. Alec would save his tricks for the commanding officer.

TWENTY

IT WAS ANOTHER MILE OF
agony—mental and physical—before they walked across the median and onto the empty westbound freeway. A Black Hawk was setting down, and they hurried to get inside.

Aubrey’s leg hurt, but at least the pain had distracted her from her thoughts. Now that she was in the helicopter and able to move her leg into a comfortable position, there was nothing more to keep her mind from replaying what had happened.

She’d shot two men, aiming for their necks and faces to keep the bullets above their Kevlar vests. She’d run to the BMP and dropped a grenade into the turret.

Why hadn’t the Russians closed the turret? Shouldn’t they have done that if they were under fire? Three men—the driver, the gunner, and the commander—were dead because they were too stupid to close the turret and block her grenade. She wouldn’t have been able to kill them if they’d just closed that damned turret.

And then she’d run around to the other side, and unloaded her gun on four men who were huddled together for safety. Four men who had no idea that anyone was looking at them. Who couldn’t even know where the bullets were coming from. Her gun held fifteen rounds, and she’d used every one. It was like an executioner’s firing line.

Aubrey felt a tear roll down her cheek. She’d thought she was being so clever by starting the fire with the stolen cigarette. If she’d followed orders—if she’d made one of the guns appear to misfire and hit a soldier in the leg—then maybe the Russians would have stayed on the far side of the BMP. Maybe they never would have come near Josi and Rich. Maybe no one would have had to die.

It made so much sense now. A real diversion—a distraction that actually meant something to the soldiers. Nick had known what he was talking about, and Aubrey had thought that she knew better. That she was smarter. She had smiled when she’d done it—joked about flicking the cigarette away.

She’d even been smiling when she was holding a flashbang grenade instead of a real one. Granted, she hadn’t been ordered to use it, but would it have made a difference? Would it have saved lives? Would it have made her less of a murderer?

Aubrey looked at Jack. She couldn’t see much of his face in the darkness, but she could tell he was smiling at her. She didn’t deserve that smile.

She focused on Nick, who was leaning back in his seat, his head tilted so he was staring at the ceiling. It was his orders she’d disobeyed, and he’d have to explain why the mission had gone to hell.

She moved her gaze to Tabitha. Aubrey had been upset that Tabitha was second-in-command—that she’d been chosen to lead the group if something had happened to Nick. Aubrey had thought she’d have done a better job. This all proved what a lie that was.

She looked at Rich.

“What did you find out?” she asked over the noise of the rotors.

He seemed uncomfortable, and he glanced at Jack before turning back to Aubrey.

“We found out how the BMP works,” he said. “Everything. I could drive it myself.”

“What about the device?” she asked, but before the words even escaped her lips, the thought struck her. The BMP had gone silent when everything else had. The turret hadn’t pivoted to aim at Josi or Rich when the rest of the soldiers had. It was dead.

“There is no protection for their vehicles,” Rich said. “They’re just as vulnerable to electronic interference as everything else.”

Aubrey’s hand balled into a fist.

“This is good,” Nick said. “I know what you’re thinking, but this is good information.”

Aubrey was seething. “How is this good? How could it possibly be good?”

“It’s not just good,” Nick said. “It’s great. It tells us that they’re disabling themselves whenever they disable us.”

It was Jack who responded. “How is that possible? We’ve heard about how they’re obliterating our forces.”

Nick was smiling. “It means that they’re bringing the device close to us. They’re moving the device around. That has to be it.”

“So we killed all those men to find out they’re moving the device around?” Aubrey asked.

“I can guarantee you,” Nick said, nearly shouting over the noise of the blades, “the brass will be thrilled to get this intel. Thrilled. Do you know how much easier it is to chase down a device than it is to fight against an army full of indestructible vehicles? That BMP is just a regular BMP, and their tanks are just regular tanks. This is great news.”

This was good news? It didn’t feel like good news. It felt more like failure.

Aubrey turned and looked out the window. They were flying low—less than a hundred feet above the freeway. She assumed it was in case the power went out, so they could try to survive a crash landing.

She looked back at Nick. She wished she could talk to him privately. She wanted to apologize. To plead for forgiveness. But it would have to wait until they got back to the base.

She could talk to Jack, though.

She spoke quietly, her voice muffled completely by the rotors. “Jack, can you hear me?”

He nodded.

“I’m not going to let this happen again,” she said. “I screwed up. Bad. I didn’t follow orders, and I might have been the reason that all those men had to die.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but she was glad he couldn’t—at least, not privately.

“I’m going to do better,” she said, feeling another tear on her cheek. “I’m going to be better. A better soldier. I’m going to follow orders. No more screwing around thinking I know more than my commanding officer does. Because I don’t.”

He gave her a smile.

The distant horizon was turning a gray blue when the helicopter landed in a field next to a dozen other Black Hawks and three big Chinooks. Nick stood and slid the door open, and the team hurried out, Jack pausing to take Aubrey’s hand and help her down.

Nick turned and pointed at Josi and Aubrey. Josi looked green again from the flight. “Josi, I need you to come with me. They’re going to want to hear your report ASAP. And Aubrey, get to the medic tent. You know where that is?”

Aubrey nodded.

“You need someone to help you?”

Even though she knew Jack was ready and eager to volunteer, Aubrey shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Nick said. “The rest of you, get some sleep. We’ll debrief later. Good work out there.”

Everyone nodded and began leaving, but Jack paused, watching Aubrey. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m going to see the medics,” she said. “I’ll be okay.”

He sighed. “Everything’s fine. You’re going to be fine.”

“I know.”

He turned and left, and Aubrey started toward the medic’s tent. But as soon as Jack was out of sight—even though she knew he was probably listening—she took a right and headed toward the training area.

Her leg hurt, but she let the pain motivate her. She found what she was looking for in the center of the training field. It looked the same as the one back at her basic training camp. The obstacle-course wall.

She thought about saying something to Jack, but decided not to. This was for her. Something she needed to do.

Aubrey tested her weight on her bad leg, balancing on it. Pain shot from her knee to her hip, but it held her.

With a deep breath, she took a running start, gritting her teeth against the stabbing jolts coming from her muscles. When she reached the wall, she leapt.

Her fingers caught the top, and she clamped on tight, using the momentum to curl her biceps and bring her chin up above the top of the wooden planks. She gasped as her legs slapped the wall, but she didn’t let the pain stop her. She swung one elbow over the top, then the other, and lifted herself up on the palms of her hands. When the peak of the wall was at her waist, she bent forward and turned, slinging her good leg up and over.

Straddling the top, she took a long breath. She flexed her bad leg, the pain still fierce but bearable. She could feel new wetness dripping near the bandage and knew she’d reopened the wound.

Let it bleed,
she thought, and lifted that leg over. She clenched her teeth and then dropped, making sure to break her fall with her good leg.

Aubrey smiled, and limped to the medic station.

Aubrey woke to see Tabitha shaking her shoulder.

“Time to get up,” she said. “We’re meeting in twenty minutes.”

Aubrey stood slowly, her muscles aching from the night’s activities. She looked down at the large white bandage wrapped around her thigh. There was a spot of red just above the cut, but that was all. The medics had given her eight stitches and some painkillers.

Josi was still sleeping, and Tabitha looked reluctant to wake her. Josi had come in even later than Aubrey had.

“What time is it?” Aubrey asked, rubbing her face with both hands.

“One thirty,” Tabitha said.

Aubrey nodded and reached for her pants. Four hours of sleep. She felt like she could sleep another twelve.

“Do you think she remembers her dreams?” Tabitha asked. “The way she remembers everything else?”

“I hope not,” Krezi said, pinning up her hair. “She needs a break.”

Tabitha reached down and touched Josi’s arm. She woke with a start, sitting up.

“What is it?” Josi asked.

“Meeting in twenty,” Tabitha said, and then checked the clock. “Make that eighteen.”

Josi flopped down again and covered her eyes with her arm.

There was something comforting about being back in ACUs. Aubrey felt like a real soldier again instead of a spy.

Josi uncovered one eye. “You guys already shower?”

“I did before they stitched me up,” Aubrey said.

Tabitha shook her head, and ran her hands through her short blond hair. “I wish I did.”

“We can’t keep going at this pace forever.” Josi swung her feet over the side of her cot. “I know. I know. We’re at war. But don’t the Russians have to take a break for showers and sleep?”

“Do you remember your dreams?” Krezi asked Josi.

“Every single one,” Josi said without looking up. “It almost doesn’t feel like being asleep.”

“Is your brain going to explode one day?” Krezi asked, reaching for her patrol cap.

Josi groaned and stood up. “It feels like it is. They say after the war I’m going to get studied—they want to see if they can make everyone’s brains work like mine. Which proves they don’t get how awful it is.”

“I think we’re all going to get studied before we get out of this,” Aubrey said. “We’ll have lifetime careers as test subjects.”

“But they’re just using us while they can,” Tabitha said. “We’re tools. Krezi’s a gun.”

“Hottest gun you ever saw,” Krezi said, and made a kissy face in the mirror.

Aubrey laughed. “Yeah, these ACUs are really hot.”

Josi had pulled on her pants and was lacing up her boots. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m glad the ACUs are formless. The last thing we need is one more reason for the boys to stare at us.”

“I don’t mind,” Krezi said.

“You’re fifteen,” Aubrey said.

“We don’t all get to have our boyfriends on the team,” Krezi shot back.

Tabitha laughed. “Jack and Aubrey are just friends. Isn’t that what you told the drill sergeant back in training, Aubrey?”

“I’ve seen Rich looking at you, Krezi,” Aubrey said, dodging the question.

“I’ve seen Rich looking at all of us,” Krezi said. “He’s a fifteen-year-old boy.”

Aubrey finished buttoning her jacket and moved to the mirror to pin up her hair. Her eyes were better now that she’d slept.

“Jack isn’t Aubrey’s boyfriend,” Josi said. “He’s her puppy dog.”

Aubrey turned and stuck out her tongue. “You’re just jealous.”

“I think we’re all jealous,” Tabitha said.

A moment later Josi joined Aubrey at the mirror. “I wish we could wear our hair down more often.”

“I’m sure we will,” Aubrey said. “We’re spies, remember?”

“We’re special ops,” Josi corrected. “And if you want my guess, we won’t be doing any spying for a while.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the Russians are on the move. I’m sure that’s what our meeting is about.”

“Great.”

“How do you know?” Krezi asked.

“I spent a lot of time in the library during basic training. I read Sun Tzu, Carl von Clausewitz, Jomini. All of the great classics. And every one of them says that if you want to win a war, you attack when the enemy is least ready. We’re getting more ready every day—more of our soldiers are arriving, and from here we just have to get them on the train through Snowqualmie Pass, and they’ll cross the mountain in a matter of hours. Who knows how many people we’ve already amassed on the front. But we’re still not ready—not as ready as they are. According to every strategist I’ve read, the best plan is to attack now and don’t give us time to get more troops dug in.”

Aubrey grinned at Josi in the mirror. “And I thought you were just a pretty face.”

Captain Gillett and the six other Green Berets were already in the tent when the girls arrived. Rich and Jack hadn’t gotten there yet.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” VanderHorst said as they took their seats. He was looking at Aubrey, and she felt instantly uncomfortable.

“Nick deserves all the credit,” Aubrey said quietly, looking down at the table.

“That’s not what I mean,” VanderHorst said.

Gillett put his hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. “What he means is that you’re going to get a Purple Heart.”

That stunned her. “Seriously? I’m walking around. I’m fine.”

Rich and Jack entered the tent. Jack was smiling—he must have been listening.

“I read the medic’s report this morning,” Gillett said. “You took shrapnel from a Russian grenade.”

“I only needed eight stitches.” The last thing Aubrey wanted was an award for her own stupidity. For disobeying orders and getting a dozen men killed—even if they were the enemy.

“Eight stitches still qualifies,” VanderHorst said. “You were injured in combat by an enemy weapon. Welcome to the club.” He rolled up his sleeve and showed a jagged scar on his forearm. Then he began to clap and the rest of the room joined in.