The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (40 page)

It was Marquez’s turn to shout. “Surrender and you won’t be harmed!”

“Just you fucking try and make us, you trait—” A return shout cut off with what sounded to Eden like a slap.

“Look, fellas,” Marquez said. “You’re not in a great position here. You can’t get us, but we could rush you or just toss enough flashbangs in there to make you deaf and blind forever. Sure, you might take one or two of us out, but you’d all end up in bags, and you know it.”

There was no response but no more shots either. Marquez motioned to Evans, who crept up and handed over the monitor before moving back to his position, where he covered the door with the others.

“We can see you, guys,” Marquez continued. “We’ve hacked your systems. We know there’s three of you in there, and one of you is wounded because you were dumb enough to fire your weapon in an enclosed space.”

Eden glanced up as a pair of ACU-clad legs walked past her crouched position. Anderson strolled down the hallway. Marquez saw him coming too and snorted.

“Well, that it’s, guys. You’re fucked now. The general is here, and he’s not as nice. Last chance. Surrender or go down in flames.”

Silence met his demand, and Marquez shrugged. He returned the general’s nod, handed him the monitor, then moved back down the hallway.

Anderson spoke, but what he said was not what Eden was expecting. “You men are patriots, I know. You’ve worked for the good of your people in this bunker. You’ve seen what Dagger was doing, and you’ve wondered how it could have all gone so sideways. But you knew if you said anything, he’d shoot you or throw you to the walkers or turn you into one of the truly damned, a Driebach.”

Eden couldn’t make out the monitor’s image from where she was, but she could tell from the set of Anderson’s shoulders and other body language that he was relaxing a bit. A good sign. But that bit about the Driebachs worried her. Where the hell were they? Her back itched and she wanted to turn around. It felt like she was being watched.

“That’s right, look at the man next to you. Realize that he’s thinking the same thing you are. This is your chance to be on the right side. With no consequences. We won’t hold it against you. You’ll get a trial, if you’ve committed a crime, and have your chance to defend yourselves. If you’ve done nothing wrong, there won’t even be that. But you’ll be better off, because you’re on the right side, the side you
know
is right.” He snorted. “And you’ll get medical attention for that wound, son.”

Even down the hall, Eden could hear the clatter of weapons hitting the concrete floor. “We give,” a voice said from the command center. “Just get us the fuck out of here.”

Anderson, eyes glued to the monitor in his hand, gestured over his shoulder for them to move up. Eden was the first through the door. She spun against the inner wall and crouched low. Foretti and Giuliani followed and moved to take positions on the other side of the room.

Two men knelt with their hands clasped behind their heads in the classic pose, while the other clutched his side and moaned on the floor. He was pale, shaking, and sweating, and Eden could see he was close to passing out. When it was clear that they presented no threat, she stood. She walked over to their discarded pistols and kicked them across the floor.

“Clear!” she shouted loud enough for those in the hall to hear.

Anderson came in then, flanked by the female medic who’d attended Eden’s wounds, who rushed over to the wounded man. The general looked at the monitors and control stations—the nerve center of the bunker—and, wonder of wonders, actually
smiled
.

“Now to find Dagger,” he said, and Eden could hear the loathing in his voice. “It’s time for a reckoning.”

Level Fifteen
Bunker Four

Malcolm Dagger had not envisioned things going to shit in quite so thorough or quick a fashion. He ranted and raved on the inside, but on the outside, he was cool, calm, and collected. He had to be, or the men who followed him would never maintain their allegiance. It was tenuous in the best of times after his rebellion, and now… Now it would be next to impossible to hold on to them if they got so much as a whiff of indecision.

“They’ve taken the control room, sir!” Logan yelled. “What the fuck do we do now?”

“Logan, Logan, Logan, my little midget-brained friend. Do you imagine that I wouldn’t have a plan for even this eventuality?” Malcolm shook his head and patted the man on his shoulder. “Take heart. I’ve got a plan for those folks up above, but for now, we head downward to the Vault. Try not to fuck up on the way.”

He motioned the others toward the secondary elevator, and the first group slid out of sight as the doors closed. Malcolm looked back toward the main elevator shaft, more than fifteen hundred yards away. The Council forces would be coming down soon, if they weren’t already on their way. He had only a limited amount of time, but the surprise he’d left them should give him enough time to do everything he needed to.

He rode down with the rest of his men all the way to the bottom, Level Forty. The first group was ready and waiting to move out to the Vault. Malcolm was always struck by the massive amounts of piping running throughout this level. The first group had managed to bring back two of the six-person carts used for rapid movement about the giant lower levels. About twice the size of the main housing levels, these were meant for long-term storage and emergency use and measured five thousand feet end to end. They were vast, with rough-hewn walls and big florescent lights running the length of the large room. Enormous supports ten feet in diameter held the unbelievable weight of the bunker above.

Malcolm could well believe that this could withstand a direct nuclear strike. He thought it might withstand time itself, even. A tap on the shoulder jolted him out of his reverie as they approached the main elevator. The big doors that sealed off this level from the one above were closed, and there was no sign on the oversized electronic display that the elevator was in motion.

He looked off to one side of the main elevator area at a nondescript door set into the rock. The sight reminded him still of that first moment almost thirty years ago when he’d realized what he might accomplish. This door was like only one other in the bunker, because only one key opened both doors, a key that Malcolm kept around his neck, one that he’d only used twice in all those years. He was certain that Davies hadn’t known about it either. A secret for him and him alone, at least after he’d dealt with Yarborough, former governor of Bunker Four.

The key still turned the lock clean, with no scraping or forcing. The bolt slid back, and he opened the door to the Vault and strode through. The small antechamber was plain, the walls, floor, and ceiling all either dug out of the native rock or reinforced concrete poured-in-place, ensuring there would be no seams to exploit. The men with him looked confused, and he smiled to himself as the last one inside—Logan, of course—closed and locked the door behind him.

“Did you dispose of the carts?” Malcolm asked.

“Yes, sir. They’re back in their charging stations, and I spread some dust over them to throw off suspicion.”

“You finally got something right, then,” Malcolm said. He turned back to the wall opposite the door they’d entered and opened a small metal panel set into the concrete. Inside, an electronic scanning pad compared his handprint to its files. A camera scanned his retina as he leaned in, the lens almost hidden in the inner housing of the panel. The lighted panel flashed green, and Malcolm withdrew his hand and shut the small metal door.

A loud
ker-thunk
reverberated throughout the small room, and concrete dust rained down as the wall started to slide upward. The grinding noise set Malcolm’s teeth on edge, but he did his best to ignore it and watched as the Vault entrance proper was revealed. A long, straight hallway lay before them, with doors to either side. From past experience, Malcolm knew that those doors led to storage, barracks, and various other rooms.

“What is this place?” Logan asked as the others began moving into the hallway and he got a view. “It’s not on any of the plans.”

“Exactly. It’s a panic room for the governor and a select few. It’s not on the plans because no one was supposed to know. Yarborough had it built special, with several bribes to the right people on the construction crew.” Malcolm laughed. “At least now we can take advantage of his graft. Logan, you’re with me. Everyone else, get settled. Not much to do now but wait.”

He turned to the wall and placed his hand on another electronic scanning pad, and the wall crept downward with its teeth-jarring rumble. “Come on, Logan, you fuck,” he said as he rushed down the hallway toward his control room. “I want to see their faces when they find my surprise.”

Operations
Bunker Four

“Sir, you need to see this…” Celero said.

“What is it?” Marquez asked as he walked over to stand next to the tech seated at one of the control consoles.

“I did a quick check of the bunker’s systems, sir, and I found… well, sir, that.” Celero’s finger stabbed out to tap one of the monitors.

“Is that what I think it is? Did he really arm one of the missiles?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what it appears to be, sir.”

“How the hell are they even functional? Why are they here? Who is he going to use—oh, shit.” Marquez turned away and grabbed for his shoulder harness. “AEGIS Actual, Hunter One, urgent, over! Say again, AEGIS Actual, Hunter One. Urgent!” He yelled over his shoulder at Celero as he ran out of the room. “Get me everything you can on that missile!”

One of the other men in the attacking force stepped out of a room in the hallway into his path, but Marquez was going too fast to avoid the impact. He knocked the man flat and bounced off the wall, but he found his balance and kept going. The radio crackled on his shoulder.

“Hunter One, AEGIS Actual, go ahead.”

Marquez slowed as he approached the main elevator bay and looked for the general. Not seeing him right away, he toggled his mic. “We need you in Ops right now, sir.”

“I’m a litt—”

“Now!” Marquez yelled into the mic. “Uh, sir.” He knew he’d pay for yelling at the general later, but that was later and now was something… horrific.

“On my way.”

Marquez groaned in frustration and turned in a slow circle, still not seeing the general. He reversed course and ran back to the control room. Celero was typing faster than Marquez had ever seen, pulling information from screens that appeared and disappeared on the monitor faster than the Hunter could read.

“What have you got?” he asked. He hoped he didn’t already know the answer.

“It’s an ICBM, sir. Minuteman III. Systems show—”

“What the fuck have you got going on here, Mr. Marquez?” Anderson asked as he walked into the room. “I’m not used to bei—”

“There, sir,” Marquez said as he pointed to the screen showing the ICBM in its pre-launch state. “That’s a live feed, sir. It’s getting ready to launch.”

“You have got to be shitting me.” Anderson stepped closer for a better look. “Minuteman III. Flies around eight thousand miles, I believe. Motherfucker actually did it. He’s making good on his threat. And with our luck, they haven’t done any maintenance on it and it’ll blow up in the silo. I’m assuming it’s ready for launch?”

“Getting there, sir,” Celero said. “It’s fueling now. I’m locked out of most of the controls, but it appears that we don’t have long before it launches. Maybe a few hours at most. Likely not even that.”

“Locked out? What the hell do you mean locked out? This is Ops, ferchrissake.”

“Someone’s used the bunker command codes to lock me out. I can’t stop the launch, make any changes to the fueling process, nothing.”

“Can you get around it? Hack in?”

Celero winced. “Yes, sir, but…”

“But what?”

“It’ll take time, sir, and time’s the—”

“The one thing we don’t have, apparently.” Anderson grunted. “I’d ask what the payload is, but I’m certain I already know.” He looked at the other two men. “This doesn’t leave the room. Understood? No one knows.”

Marquez knew that look from a CO. It meant they knew more than they were telling him, and that was never a good thing. He didn’t expect to be told everything, but this… His men needed to know. They
deserved
to know. “Sir—”

“Did I stutter? This is as serious as it gets, Marquez. I need you on board with this. We have a shit-ton of people to save, so I hope you’re with me, but if you’re not, I know people who can take your spot.”

Marquez had stared death in the face—literally and figuratively—many times over the years. But he’d never been as certain of his own mortality as he was in that moment. He glanced at Celero, but the lieutenant hadn’t made a peep.

“With you, sir,” he said, proud that his voice didn’t shake at all when he said it.

The general nodded. “Good man. Celero, I want as accurate a count as you can give me of the current population of this bunker. Then brief me on the emergency evac plans. You’ll find them… somewhere. And get me a line to Bunker One ASAFP.” Anderson turned back to Marquez. “And you—get on the horn to our folks in Des Moines. I want every fucking one of those planes and anything else that flies, drives, crawls, or floats here as fast as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” both men said in unison. Marquez hesitated for a moment, then turned to the general. “What do I tell them, sir?”

“You tell them we’re getting these people out of here, Captain.” Anderson turned his back to look at the ICBM fueling. “We’re getting them out
right fucking now.
”

Outside Bunker Five
Mount Davis, Pennsylvania

The day had turned hot, and the sun beat down on the assembled group outside the huge bunker doors. Despite Graves’s order for discretion, word had of course gotten out, and the civilians had been massing. Everyone wanted to see what the command staff and the president had decided. Ennis had wanted to make this a private thing, but with the proverbial cat out of the bag, there was no going back. Attempting to hold back the public or shield them from the truth would only make matters worse, and he needed their support now more than ever.