The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (17 page)

“Afternoon, Governor.” The voice from the speaker was deep and somewhat worn. Still, Shaw would recognize General Frank Anderson’s voice anywhere. After all, it’s rare that someone rescues you from almost six years of isolation.

“Good afternoon, General,” Ridgely said. “Is Roger with you?”

“Afraid not, sir. He’s talking to the techs at Bunker One. Something about hacking the bunker systems, I dunno.”

“That’s okay, General. You can fill him in later. I’ve got Colonel Shaw with me on my end.”

“Hiya, Bill.”

“How’s it going, Frank?” Shaw replied.

“Well enough. Now, what can I do for you boys?”

Ridgely waved to Shaw to take point on the conversation. Leaning forward and adjusting his position in his chair, Shaw spoke. “It’s pretty simple, Frank. We’ve got the trucks to get you folks your shipment of the prion treatment, but our escorts are out of commission. Trouble is, you know how we need the guards on these.”

“I’ve heard the reports. What happened to your equipment?”

“Do you know what a
haboob
is, Frank?”

Anderson answered fast. “Yep, saw one in Egypt around ‘81. Or was it ‘86? In any case, yeah. Big-ass sandstorms, right?”

“Got it in one. They’re killing us on maintenance. Half our equipment is down for lack of parts, and the machine shop is running out of raw materials. We tried to set up a mine not too far away, but it hasn’t panned out, so to speak.”

“What do you have left?”

“Like I said, we’ve got the trucks, but for guards, we’ve got maybe one or two Humvees. And that’s if we strip our working vehicles from their patrols.”

Anderson was quiet. “So you need me to send some escorts so you can be sure to get the treatment back here in one piece.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t see any reason why that can’t happen. After all, it’s the least I can do for someone who’s provided us with the cure.”

“It’s not a—”

“I know, it’s just habit to call it that. It’ll take a day or so to get them equipped, the vehicles checked out and made ready for a long-haul, etc. We should be able to get them on the road in thirty-six hours. Is that doable?”

Shaw looked over at Ridgely, who shrugged, mouthing the words, “It’s your show.”

“Yeah, Frank, that should be fine,” Shaw said. “We’ll do our best to have some folks from our end go back with you. I doubt we can get the Stryker back up and running by then. It’s going to need some new parts machined from scratch, but we can have a Humvee or two. I’ll send a squad of Hunters back with your people.”

“Sounds good. I’ll give you a call when everything’s set on our end.”

“Roger that. Bunker Seven out.”

Ridgely hit the disconnect button, and both men sat back in their chairs.

“Good news,” Ridgely said.

“Yeah, but it’s a long damn way between here and there. Lots of potential for problems.”

“Are you thinking mechanical problems or what?”

“The damn Church of the Divine Judgment is what I’m thinking. How did they know where to hit us? And when? They’re way too organized for my liking, and we’re going to have to deal with them. If they don’t manage to destroy one of the shipments, they’re damned sure going to try something else. And that bastard Beoshane was a complete tool beside a master manipulator like our friend Reverend Wright.”

Shaw stood up and began pacing. “No, we need a plan for them too. Something that will render them impotent forever.”

Ridgely nodded. “I can think of one quick way…” He mimed holding a rifle and shooting.

Shaw shook his head. “Maybe, but we have to be careful. Turn him into a martyr and we’ll never hear the end of them. But if he were to just… disappear or get eaten by a walker, well then, that would be ‘divine judgment,’ wouldn’t it?”

Ridgely snorted. “Of the truest kind.”

“I’ll give the others a call,” Shaw said. “Maybe we can come up with something. For now, let’s just concentrate on getting those Hunters ready to ship out.”

“Who are you thinking of sending? I’m assuming Rachel Maxwell and her squad?”

Shaw stopped pacing and sat down. “No, no, Rachel will stay here. And her squad.”

“You know she won’t like that, Bill.”

“I don’t give a damn what she does or doesn’t like!” Shaw yelled and made an effort to regain control. “I can’t lose her too.”

Ridgely leaned over his desk, clasping his hands as he looked at the younger man. “Bill, you can’t keep doing this.”

“I can and I will. I’ll find a way.”

“She deserves to go and you know it. She’s earned her place in the Hunters, as much or more than anyone else. If you don’t let her go, it’ll just prove what she’s been saying—”

Shaw looked up from his glower. “‘What she’s been saying,’ Tom? You’ve been talking to her? Without telling me?”

“She came to me for advice, since I knew her father so well,” Ridgely said, his voice even and calm. “She wanted to know how to approach this problem of you holding her back. I told her she should talk to you, but she obviously hasn’t yet. It
is
a problem, Bill, and it’s your problem, not hers.”

Shaw’s anger subsided, and he flopped back in his chair. He put a hand to his brow, trying to knead away the pain that had just started behind his eyes. “I know. I really do. It’s just…”

“Maxwell was an important person to me too. Probably one of the best men I’ve ever known. And his daughter is just as special in her own way. But she’ll never be as good as she can be if you hold her back.”

“All right, all right, fine,” Shaw said, holding up his hands. “I’ll think about it. Fair enough?”

“That’s all I can ask. Although I can’t promise you won’t hear from her too.”

Shaw sighed. “And won’t that be a fun conversation!”

Delwood Community School
Delmar, Iowa

Peter Brooks crept toward the school buildings. He kept an eye out for any movements other than his. It was sunset, and the fading light played tricks on the eyes. He had to be sure he wasn’t followed, and though he hadn’t seen any walkers, it never hurt to be careful at this time of day. Especially when you were injured.

Well, injured and bitten, but that was neither here nor there at this point.

He waited only a moment longer, then ran to the side of the building in a crouch and entered through the door he had broken into months ago. The encroaching darkness outside made it difficult to see in, but the occasional window guided his way to the principal’s office.

He coughed hard and covered his mouth with the crook of his arm, not to prevent germs from spreading but to muffle the sound. He smiled, even while coughing, at the idea of preventing the spread of germs with the way the world was now. You had to laugh, really.

After the coughing fit passed, he wiped his sweaty brow and took a few deep breaths. He had little time left, and there was much to do before the end. As he walked between the desks in the outer office area, he caressed the gun in his pocket. It wasn’t time yet, but soon…

Once inside the inner office, he sat down in what remained of the comfortable chair behind the desk. The chair was far from its prime, but it was far more comfortable than any seating he’d had while undercover at Bunker Four.

It was fitting that it would be his final resting place.

Peter pulled the gun out of his pocket and laid it on the desk, then opened the bottom left-hand drawer and took out the satphone and external battery he’d stashed there months ago. So long ago, he could barely remember what that day felt like, how scared he’d been—and rightly so.

It didn’t matter now, though. None of it mattered now.

He hooked the phone up to the external long-life battery and punched in a number he was surprised he still remembered. The phone rang on the other end just once and was picked up.

“Nest,” the voice said.

“Condor, go secure,” Peter said. He tried to hold in another bout of coughing.

There was a momentary pause, the phone in his hand beeped twice, and the voice continued. “Secure, report.”

“Operation is compromised. Repeat, op is blown. Barely made it out, and I’m not going to make it back.” He lost the battle against the coughs, and for a good thirty seconds, his muffled hacks were the only sound in the office.

“Report, Condor!” The voice from the other end of the line was insistent.

Peter brought himself under control, and took another deep breath. “It’s worse than we thought. He’s got the codes. Took out Yarborough, who knows how many others. He’s keeping some as pets now. There was a coup some time ago, but he got control back, and now he’s worse than ever, so they say.” The pain in his side was immense, and he could barely feel his right leg anymore. The bite on his right hip had gone numb yesterday, so at least there was that.

“I got made. He… He used me as an experiment. He had me bitten, then left me in a pen on the surface with some others. I went over the top before the others turned.” Peter looked at his hands, the shredded and burned flesh raw and red. “Electrified concertina wire is a bitch,” he said and coughed out a laugh.

“No doubt,” Nest said. “Are you terminal?”

Peter eyed the gun laying on the desk. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Very. But you’ve gotta tell them. Dagger’s got the codes. He’s insane. They’ve gotta do something or he’s going to launch.”

Another cough, another stab of pain from his side. He reached for the gun and saw the darkness in the veins on the back of his hand. It had spread from his side much quicker than he’d anticipated. The pistol felt good in his hand as he turned around and leaned back in the chair to look out the window at the sunset.

“You’ve gotta tell them, Nest. They can’t wait any longer.”

“Do you have your countermeasures?”

Peter laughed. “They took my pills when they threw me in the pen. Turns out they do a fairly thorough search of you when they think you’re a spy. If I wasn’t dead already, I wouldn’t be sitting right for several days.”

Nest said nothing.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “I have countermeasures. I’ll take care of it. You will warn them, won’t you, General?”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure they know, Condor. Any other messages?”

“Just for Adaline. Tell her I’m sorry and to be the best she can be.”

“We’ll take care of her, Condor.” Nest sighed. “Godspeed, Peter. May your rest be easy, and may God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”

“Thanks, Frank. It’s been an honor.”

“For me as well. Nest out.”

Peter dropped the phone, and it rolled out of his lap to clatter to the floor. Like the rest of his life now, it no longer mattered. As he raised the gun to his temple and started to pull the trigger with his failing strength, he smiled.

“At least I got to see a beautiful Iowa suns—”

Base Commander’s Office
Bunker Seven

The young woman sitting in front of Bill Shaw’s desk fumed, but without knowing her, it would be impossible to tell. She was calm, collected, and far from the stereotypical image one would expect.

Still, he knew she was mad. She was using her “serious” voice instead of the more friendly, personal one he was used to.

“Have I become a liability to the team, sir?” Rachel Maxwell asked, quiet yet confident.

“No.”

“A distraction for the men in my unit?”

“Certainly not.”

“My skills are insufficient for the tasks I’m assigned, so I need more or remedial training, then.”

“Not even a little. You’re one of our best.”

“My gender, maybe?”

“Seriously? Come on.”

“Then I’m left with only one possible conclusion: you just don’t like me much.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Permission to speak frankly, sir?”

“Uh… granted, I guess.”

“What in the actual fuck is the problem, sir? Why are you holding me back? I shouldn’t be just going on this mission. I should be leading it, and you know it.”

Shaw sighed. “You did say ‘frankly,’ didn’t you? Look, Rachel, it’s not you per se…”

“Are you seriously going to give me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech right now? Because I don’t give a damn.”

Shaw shook his head. “I know. You deserve better. I just…”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Yes… ?”

Shaw sighed and looked away. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

Rachel sat back and nodded. “I thought that might be it.”

“That’s because you’re too damned smart for your own good.”

“Look, Colonel, I get it. I know you and my dad were close. But I’m not him. I might die tomorrow in a freak accident. You can’t protect me forever, sir. And I deserve to go on this mission.”

Shaw leaned back in his chair and looked at the daughter of one of his best friends. He did his best to forget who she was and just focus on her as a soldier. And when he took the emotion out of it, he had to admit she was right. As much as he hated the idea, it was time to kick the bird out of the nest, so to speak.

“Apparently, you have quite a few supporters,” he said. “I’ve been getting grief for days.”

Rachel smiled like an innocent child. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Your mom, the governor, your CO… It appears I have no choice but to let you lead the mission.”

Rachel sat forward. “But if all of them say I should get to go, then why aren’t you—” She broke off as she caught up to Shaw’s last sentence. “Wait, what?”

It was Shaw’s turn to grin, if grimly. “One, maybe two people I could ignore, but this many? Congratulations, Lieutenant Maxwell. You have four days to prep your team. I suggest you get started.”

“Yes, sir,” Rachel said. She shot out of the chair and over to the office door, then turned back to him with a wide smile. “And thank you, sir.”

“Dismissed, Lieutenant. And close the door.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shaw sighed as the door shut behind her. “Well, George, hope you’re looking out for her,” he muttered. “I’ve done all I can. I just hope it’s enough.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bunker Council Meeting
Governor’s Conference Room
Bunker One

There were only a few people gathered around the big conference room table. The small group included the command staff of Bunker One and ExForce. They’d kept the number small to avoid word of their plans getting out. Right now, the speaker phone in the center of the table was their focus. Ops Chief Potter leaned into the room and signaled David.