The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (20 page)

“Sir,” the sergeant said, holding out her hand with two small white pills.

Gaines looked up at her, then smiled. “Thanks.”

“No problem, sir. I figured it was one of those days.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.” He turned as his bosses walked in. “Governor, General.”

David said nothing, but Kimberly motioned toward the blur of activity around them. “That alarm for our girl?” she asked.

Gaines nodded. “Yeah, one of the towers saw her go over the fence on the east side, headed for God knows where.”

“And what about him?” Kimberly asked, throwing a thumb over her shoulder. Behind her was a dejected corporal, slumped against the wall, guarded by one burly marine.

Gaines glowered, his eyes growing cold and hard. “That young man is in for a world of torment. She stole her rifle from under his nose. He might as well have been asleep!” he roared, causing the corporal to jerk straight upright and start shaking.

“That may be the first time I’ve ever seen someone actually quaking in their boots,” David said with a small half-smile. “Well done.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaines said, unsmiling. “I have half a mind to send him out after her by himself. His one saving grace is that she knocked him out, and stealth is her specialty. The one good thing to come from all of this is that she’s shown us where we were weakest in security. If she could get out, then there’s the chance someone or something could get in. I’ll be drawing up plans for a complete overhaul once it’s over.”

He glanced at the map spread out before him on one of tables and stabbed a thick finger into a wooded section. “Her Hunter unit had a few training runs in this area, so it’s likely that’s where Eden would go, or somewhere nearby. I can spare one Hunter team to look for her, and I’ve got Bravo team gearing up now. The others are running a short patrol nearby to see if they can spot her tracks, but the Hunters will do the leg work. I can’t risk any more people than that. We’re short-handed with the expedition as it is.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Kim asked, glaring at the colonel.

“I would do anything for you and for Eden, you know that,” Gaines said as he looked up at both of them. “But the more people I send after her, the more people whose lives I’m risking. Especially with Driebachs around, who knows how many I’ll lose? I can’t risk it for just one Hunter.”

“You listen to me, Colonel,” Kim said, her face red and her voice raised. “You will send every available asset out there to search for her!”

“With respect, ma’am, no, I won’t,” Gaines said, his gaze never wavering. “The lives of the other men and women in this unit mean just as much as hers.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “You asked me not to treat her differently, remember?”

David put a hand on her arm, and she whirled to yell at him, but when she saw the crumpled, pained look on his face, she stopped.

Gaines looked away, giving the grief-stricken parents a moment.

“He’s right,” David whispered, loud enough that Gaines just caught it. “You know he is. We have to let her do this.”

“It’s a death sentence. She’s going out there to die. We both know that! What will we tell her brother?”

“You think this is easy for me? I know what it means, Kim. So does George. Her brother is old enough to know what his sister has done, and we’ll talk more about it with him later. But there are hundreds of other lives here and out there that could be in danger if we go looking for her. How can we say her life is worth more than theirs when even she doesn’t think it is?”

Gaines didn’t hear the rest of their murmured conversation, but that was probably for the best. Some things were only for parents to decide.

Finally, Kimberly turned to face him once more, her face streaked with tears. “I can’t argue any more. You’re right, Colonel.”

“Eden made her choice,” David said and looked at his wife, who held both his hands in hers. “She wants to be an adult, let her be. I believe she’ll be okay. I trust her trainers and her commander, and when she’s ready, she’ll come back.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Kim asked.

A tear slipped down David’s cheek. The two held each other tight.

Gaines left them to each other and turned to the east. He looked out the windows at the forested ruins and the soaring heights of Mount Rainier in the distance.

“I hope we’re right about this.”

Clovis, New Mexico

Sergeant Andrew Carson despised getting shot at. The fact that they were shooting at him because he was trying to save ten thousand people was irrelevant, though annoying. A ricocheting bullet whined as it caromed off the side of his command Humvee, and he swore yet again.

The convoy had made it nearly halfway from Bunker Eight to Bunker Seven en route to pick up the prion treatment and bring it back for their people. They’d expected some resistance, but nothing quite on the scale they’d seen so far. Carson and his team were going to need reinforcements for the way back, that was for sure.

“Get us the hell out of here, Fasco!” he yelled at his driver, who swerved the large combat truck to miss a rusted hulk that might once have been a car. The highway had been little-used even before Z-Day, but if you weren’t careful, a busted wheel or axle could kill you as easily as a walker.

“Yes, sir!” the too-young driver said and swerved again. The cars were coming thicker now as they neared the middle of what had once been Clovis.

Carson was glad to hear the thump of the big gun mounted atop his vehicle and the even more gratifying scream of a dying militia member. He’d already lost two friends on this trip to these bastards, and damned if he was going to lose another. Keeping his eyes open, he saw a woman step out from behind the corner of a decrepit building just ahead. She had her arm pulled back like she was going to throw something.

Carson didn’t wait to find out what it was but instead fired his AR-15, tracking his bullets across the woman’s torso. She shuddered as she fell, and the blood-filled glass bottle she’d been holding exploded against the side of the building. Carson noticed the dark red coloring and the bits of something nasty as they slid down the wall. He wanted to throw up but instead toggled his shoulder radio.

“All units, all units, eyes open for grenades.” Easier to tell his men to shoot people throwing grenades than to tell them the truth, at least for now. There was no doubt in his mind the bottle had been full of walker blood. These people were fucking insane.

There was a crack from the other side of the road, and another, and another. They were taking small-arms fire from what seemed like every direction. Fasco screamed and clutched his arm as the driver’s window shattered from another bullet and blood sprayed across the inside of the windshield. Carson grabbed the wheel and somehow held it in the general neighborhood of straight.

“Keep your foot on the gas!” he yelled to the driver, who moaned and stomped his foot on the pedal. The truck shot forward, and Carson reached for his mic once more. He needn’t have bothered, though, as the Stryker had caught up to them.

Almost nine feet high and equal in width, the Stryker loomed over everything in the street, including the Humvees it protected. Carson covered one ear with his right hand and tried to stick his left shoulder in the other as he held tight to the steering wheel. The men in the Stryker were oblivious to the deafening sounds of the twin .50-caliber machine guns mounted on their vehicle, but Carson wasn’t. The Humvee rocketed forward at full speed.

Immune to the small arms fire, the Stryker pounded the tops of the buildings on both sides of the street. Clouds of concrete dust billowed into the air. Bodies and parts of bodies fell to the street as the attack ended as quick as it had begun. Carson didn’t stop or even slow down until his whole unit was half a mile outside Clovis and had pulled behind some grain towers.

The medics were confident Fasco would keep his arm, though it would be useless for some time. The driver insisted he could still fire a rifle and claimed the shotgun seat for the rest of the drive. He would spell Carson when he could. No other wounded. Even his gunner had made it through unscathed after he’d ducked down into the vehicle as enemy fire came his way.

Carson took another look at the map before they all piled back into the vehicles. There was no way in hell they were going back through Clovis or anywhere near Lubbock. Now a militia stronghold, he would report that city as lost. They’d have to find another way back.

He climbed into the idling Humvee, kicked it into gear, and looked west toward their destination and salvation for everyone back home.

This shit better work.

Bunker Seven
Main Vehicle Bay
Wheeler Peak, New Mexico

Rachel Maxwell presided over the loading of the big trucks bound for Bunker Eight. She stood atop one of the crates that would be the last to go, using her height to great advantage. It didn’t hurt that she’d inherited her father’s parade-ground voice, either. And she used to it to maximum effect as she directed the logistical operations of the undertaking.

Bill Shaw stood to one side and nursed a cherished cup of coffee from his rations as the trucks and personnel moved in and out of the vehicle bay. The massive main doors were open, and Bunker Seven’s own military forces were standing guard. Though Shaw knew it wasn’t likely that there were any walkers nearby, it was better to be safe than sorry. The giant desert storms had made short work of the walkers in the area. Windblown sand etched and ground at the walkers’ rotting flesh and bones until little, if anything, remained.

As if reading his mind, his wife, Jennifer, spoke up from his left side. “Think there’ll be any trouble today?”

Shaw shook his head and took another small sip of the precious coffee. “We haven’t seen a walker in nearly nine months. They’re gone.”

He didn’t have to turn. He could feel her frown. “Then why the guards?”

“Because Driebachs aren’t like other walkers,” he said. “And who knows about these yahoos from the Church? They could be watching us right now or have people in the crew.” He gestured toward the civilians helping to load the crates. “We’ve gone through their backgrounds again, but it ain’t like the old days. No computers or FBI checks to throw up red flags.”

Jennifer put her arm around his waist and leaned her head on his shoulder as he put his arm around her, a habit from many years of marriage.

She shivered against him, and he looked down, worried. Her experiences on the ice in Antarctica had been… troublesome, and he knew she still carried some of the psychological scars from that ordeal. She’d seen the bunker’s therapist for PTSD treatment on a regular basis for years, and they’d tapered off the treatment over time as it had worked. But every once in a while, something brought back all those memories. “Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s just that those Driebachs give me the creeps.”

“You and everybody else. No worries. I’ve got the Hunters out scouting, just in case. Well, except for Rachel’s squad, of course.”

Jennifer’s face shone as she looked over at the young woman. “She’d never tell you, but she’s excited as hell for this trip.”

Shaw knew his wife well and caught the not-quite-a-tear in her eye and the hitch in her voice. “George would be so proud of her,” he said, and his own chest swelled with pride at the woman General Maxwell’s daughter had become. “Damned proud.”

Jennifer nodded again, not saying anything.

A cough from behind him got his attention, and both he and Jennifer turned to acknowledge the visitor.

“Sorry to intrude, sir, ma’am,” Sergeant Carson said. “I think we’re about ready to head out.”

“We’ll take good care of your wounded, Sergeant,” Shaw said. “They’ll be safe with us, and when things calm down, we’ll make sure to get them back to you.”

Carson nodded before scrubbing a hand through his short blond hair and putting on the helmet he carried. “Thank you, sir. Much obliged. Just looking to get home, sir. Bunker Eight is a long way away.”

“I bet you are. Did you and your men get enough rest?”

“Yes, sir. Two days of nothing but rack and chow has us eager to be back at it. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be. Though I’m never setting foot anywhere near Clovis again.”

“I have to say, Sergeant, it was pretty impressive that you and your men made it through. The amount of fire your Humvees took should’ve put them down for the count.”

“Not all made it, sir,” Carson said.

Shaw nodded and put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. I know that’s rough. We’ve all been there.” The colonel lowered his hand and continued. “What was that crap all over the side of your Stryker?”

“Walker blood, sir.”

“Walker blood?” Shaw said, confused. “As in, you ran some over?”

“Yes, and no, sir. They were throwing Molotov cocktails, sir, but using walker blood instead of alcohol. And, you know, not on fire.”

“Holy shit. That’s…”

“Yes, sir. Disgusting.”

Shaw shook his head in disbelief. “Crazy motherfuckers. I take it you’ve gone over the new route back with your escort?” He motioned to Rachel, who had jumped down from the crate and was now headed their way. Behind her, Shaw could see that crate was the last to be loaded, and he knew it was time to say goodbye. He hated goodbyes, especially in this case.

“Yes, sir,” Carson said. “Lieutenant Maxwell has been great. Though we did have a bit of a disagreement about Clayton.”

“Oh?” Shaw said. He turned to Rachel.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I think we should go around the long way, and he wants to go straight through as fast as possible. That said, none of this is going to be easy, and given the time involved, it’s going to be a crap shoot either way. We can handle it, but I’d like to minimize the risk as much as possible.”

Carson nodded as she spoke. “Exactly. Those back roads out there are crap, sir. It’s been twenty years, who knows if they still exist, what kind of shape they’re in. Hell, they could’ve blocked them off for all we know, or they’re covered in sand or whatever. Better to just go straight through. The devil you know and all that.”