The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (59 page)

“I thought those had to be dropped from bombers.”

Graves nodded. “Normally, that would be the case, sir, but as we don’t have any of those available, we’ve had to go to the backup. These will work better anyway, since the weapons used in bombers don’t penetrate quite as far. The ones we have are—or rather, were—experimental when they were created for use in Afghanistan and other areas with prominent cave systems that were tough to access. Loading the standard ‘bunker-buster’ systems onto a Tomahawk provided the greater thrust and distance requirements necessary for use in those situations.”

“How far will they penetrate?”

“We estimate that they will reach Levels Six or Seven before stopping, sir. Since we’ll fire them staggered and hopefully be able to hit the same spot with the second, it should then penetrate even farther, maybe as far as Level Thirty, which is only a few levels from the lowest, sir. They’ll explode within seconds of each other.”

“Hopefully. Should. May. Not words that fill me with confidence, Admiral.”

“I don’t like to speculate, sir, and I wouldn’t want to promise what I can’t deliver.”

“Let me ask another question. This bunker is powered by a nuclear reactor, right? Like Bunker Four?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So why not just blow the reactor? It’s buried under hundreds of feet of dirt. Surely that would do it.”

David spoke up. “I believe I can answer that for you, sir. A reactor doesn’t explode like you might have seen in the movies. Back when we had movies. You can’t even really disable all the safety features without a
lot
of work. The SCRAM systems are built in to stop any sort of systemic failure. About the worst you would have is a large glowing hole in the floor and a bunker no one could enter for about ten thousand years. Certainly not destruction on the scale we’d need. And no one wants radioactive Driebachs wandering around the country.”

Ennis snorted. “Fair enough. But not
good
enough. We’re going to use both options.”

“Both options, sir?” Graves said, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I want us to enact the Wildfire Protocol in that bunker. Just like the general did in Bunker Four.”

“Sir, that would mean sending men into—”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

A low growl came from the monitor, and both men looked up to see Roger Tate, red-faced and tense. “It means that the Wildfire Protocols can be accessed remotely, doesn’t it, Mr. President? It means you could kill us all without us even having any warning!”

A general chorus of outrage and surprise came from the monitors. Except, oddly enough, from Bunker One.

“You’re not surprised, Governor Blake?” the president asked.

“I’m not,” David replied with a shake of his head. “Neither of us are. We had enough dealings with Gardner and Marnes and everyone else during the construction and planning of the bunkers that nothing would surprise us anymore. I’m sure Dagger had it disabled long ago as well, knowing him, so even if we’d known about it, we couldn’t have used it. Not that there was time to call everyone back anyway. Or, for that matter, a way to get thousands of civilians out without him finding out what we had planned. I’m betting President-elect Gates knew too, even if she didn’t mention it.”

Gates returned the gaze of the others without a qualm. “I did know, and no, I didn’t mention it. At the time, and as far as I knew, everyone else who was aware of it had died. I fully intended to take it to my grave. It can’t be accessed accidentally. It’s well hidden in the code for just that reason.”

The president nodded. “The existence of the remote-detonation capability of the Wildfire Protocol was a closely held secret. Only two people in the world knew of its existence, or so I thought, and they’re both sitting right here.” He glanced over at his wife. “I don’t keep things from my wife, and she agreed to let my successor know in the event that something happened to me.”

He smiled and laid a hand on hers. “In this case, I’m glad she broke that promise. Who knows what Marnes would have done had he known about it. I’ll provide the codes to permanently disable the entire system once it’s used on Bunker Nine. Agreed?”

“Are we sure that’s necessary?” Belkins asked from Bunker Two. “Perhaps the facility can be reused.”

Everyone went silent as they all looked at the man who’d just uttered one of the dumbest things any of them had heard in years. It didn’t take him long to realize it either.

“Uh, never mind. Who’d want to do that? Blow ‘em up.” There were more than a couple hidden and muffled snickers around the room.

“Will it work, though? Opinions, please.”

“Using Wildfire
and
two thermobaric weapons should be more than enough to destroy the bunker and everything inside it. Worst case scenario, any of the creatures that somehow survive the blasts and the Wildfire will be buried under hundreds of tons of rubble and radioactive dirt.”

“Radioactive? I thought you said these were conventional warheads?”

“They are, but the missiles use depleted uranium to penetrate farther through the reinforced concrete and steel. That uranium is, of course, radioactive. Again, though, it’s all buried under the rock, dirt, and steel. There should be minimal impact to the area. It’ll need to be more permanently sealed off, but we can work on that later. Maybe a thick layer of concrete over the top of whatever’s left. I’ll leave that to the engineers.”

“And this will definitely destroy all the Driebachs?”

“Mr. President, nothing can guarantee that,” David said. “There are no sure things anymore. But we’ll have men ringing the bunker’s perimeter, waiting to put down any escapees. After it reaches a certain level of saturation, the prion treatment and gene therapies will render the population immune even to the bite of a Driebach. My own daughter is proof of that. There are still plenty of them out there, and there will be for a long time to come. But this will take out the primary source of them, and once the herd immunity reaches high enough levels, there won’t be any new ones.”

He paused. “We may never be entirely free of walkers, sir. The prion will always be there, waiting to infect something else. We’ll all need to be prepared in remote areas or large cities and… well, we’ll just need to be careful. But I want to stress that we’ve done everything possible to beat them. We’ve moved heaven and earth. This is a win, sir.”

Ennis glanced at Gates, and she nodded. “It’s what I’d do, sir.”

Everyone else nodded as well, and Ennis knew the decision had been made. “Very well. Begin preparations for launch, and get me a systems tech in here. This is gonna take some work.”

Bunker Nine
Lebanon Mountain, Mississippi

Oswald Pope was a short, squat, black man who’d almost failed out of physical qualifications for the Army back before Z-Day based on his height alone. He had, of course, earned the nickname Fireplug, which was only spoken when he wasn’t around. Right now, no one was saying anything to him, because they knew he hated the heat and humidity of this post. The last thing he would do was foist the duty off onto one of his people, though.

After all, it’s not every day that you get a call from the president of the United States.

His driver pulled the Humvee around on a low rise that gave him a good view of the collapsed entrance to Bunker Nine. The rubble had lain there undisturbed since his men had collapsed the entrance all those years ago. He’d been here a couple times since then, on patrol and “wait and see” duty, but now… Now, none of them would have to come back ever again.

If it worked.

He toggled his mic. “AEGIS Actual, Ten Yankee Six. Come in.”

General Kimberly Blake, now AEGIS military commander worldwide, spoke in his earpiece. “AEGIS Actual, go ahead.”

Kimberly was responsible for relaying everything to the commander-in-chief, who would be monitoring the situation from Bunker Five via the last remaining satellite they had access to. He looked up, but the bright sun and it being daytime meant he’d never see it overhead.

“We are in position and ready to observe, over.”

“Roger that, Yankee Six. Stand by.”

He fingered the earplugs on their string around his neck and wondered if half a mile away was far enough. All the engineers and weapons specialists he had access to had told him it was, but he was still nervous. Not one but two sub-launched Tomahawks would be winging his way any minute, and the slightest miscalculation in their course could mean the end of him.

“AEGIS Actual, are you sure…”

“You’re fine, Colonel,” Kimberly said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I promise. These things are extremely accurate. That’s the whole point.”

“If you say so, ma’am,” Pope replied. He pulled out his non-regulation cigar—a gift from one of the fishermen he’d help rescue two days ago—and lit it. His driver coughed, but Pope ignored him as he got out of the Humvee and walked around to the front of the vehicle. He looked again at the bunker’s entrance and frowned.

“This better work,” he muttered.

“Yankee Six, AEGIS Actual. Come in.”

“Go ahead, Actual.”

“Birds are away. Repeat, birds are away. ETA your position one-two mikes. Say again, ETA your position twelve mikes.”

“Roger, Actual. We will begin transmitting in ten mikes, over.”

He signaled the Humvee next to his, and the man in the gunner position looked through the viewfinder of the HD video camera. It was attached to a mount on the top of the vehicle, and the soldier adjusted some settings and gave Pope a thumbs-up.

He spent the next nine and a half minutes talking to his men, going over his expectations of them and what they should expect in turn. He made sure all of them had their flash-ready goggles and earplugs. After a few minutes of this, he ran out of busy work and just stood watching the bunker through his binoculars, puffing on the cigar.

“Yankee Six, AEGIS Actual. Two-minute warning.”

“Roger, Actual. Transmitting now.”

He signaled the gunner again, and the man began filming.

“Actual, are you receiving the transmission?”

“Stand by, Yankee Six.” There was a pause, and then Kimberly continued, “We are receiving five-by-five. The president asked me to thank you for volunteering.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, ma’am.”

“Yankee Six, be advised, Wildfire initiated.”

“Roger, Actual.”

They’d been warned about what would happen when the Wildfire Protocol was activated, and he could already feel a rumble like thunder in the distance, except through the soles of his boots. Through the binoculars, he saw the rubble around the entrance to the bunker move a little, then more, until finally, giant clumps of dirt and steel were thrown into the air on columns of flame.

And they were throwing missiles into
that
? Were these Driebachs really
that
dangerous? Fuck-a-doodle-do!

“Yankee Six, ETA on the birds, thirty seconds.”

“Put ‘em in, fellas!” he yelled as he secured his earplugs and watched to make sure his men did the same. His XO sent the same order to the men forming the rest of the perimeter around the bunker’s entrance. They formed a ring a mile in diameter, with the bunker at the center. The boys up top wanted to make sure
nothing
got out, and given what little he’d had time to read about these things, he couldn’t blame them.

Even through the earplugs, he could hear the sounds of the missiles as the first one flashed overhead and plunged into the morass of fire and roiling dirt with only a vapor trail to mark its passing. There was another rumble, this one much, much louder, and a dome of earth and rock and fire began to rise from what he guessed was the approximate center of the bunker’s “footprint.” Before he could even order his men to take cover, the second missile flew right into the dome of destruction, and half a second later, there was another rumble, sounding much deeper, and then all hell broke loose.

He shouted for his men to take cover and dove beneath the Humvee’s armored bottom. He covered his head with his hands and waited until he stopped hearing debris raining down on the Humvees before crawling out and taking his feet once more.

The destruction at his distance was minimal. Some lighter pieces of rock and steel had been tossed high and far, but no one was injured, and none of the vehicles had more than some scratched paint or a chipped windshield. His XO reported similar conditions for all his people, and Pope grinned, spitting out the tattered remains of his cigar.

Pope looked over at the Humvee next to him, and the gunner gave him a thumbs-up once more as he stood and examined the camera. Pope tapped his earpiece back into place and looked at the destruction.

Where there had once been a few dozen acres of pristine Mississippi woods, there was only fire and ash. The tumbled ground extended for nearly the whole of their guarded circle. It was as if God himself had reached down a hand and mixed the soil hundreds of feet deep with the surface dirt, then lit it on fire. Pope could feel the heat from half a mile away, and the flames were fifteen feet high or more in places.

Holy shit. When they destroyed a bunker, they fucking
destroyed a bunker
.

“AEGIS Actual, Yankee Six. Come in.”

“Go ahead, Yankee.”

“Destruction successful, ma’am. If anything—and I mean
anything
—lived through that, then it deserves to stay alive. There’s nothing left, ma’am.”

“We can see that, Colonel. The transmission cut out during the bird’s detonations due to interference, but we got the gist. We’re still receiving five-by-five. End transmission and commence cleanup.”

“Roger that, Actual. Commencing patrol and cleanup. Ten Yankee Six out.”

Now came the hard part—for them, at least. Their orders were to get as close to the mess as possible and ensure that none of the Driebachs survived the destruction somehow and escaped.

“Close it up,” Pope ordered over his radio. “Let’s mop up so we can go the hell home.” He glanced around the now-even-hotter Mississippi plain. “I hate this fucking place.”