The Flood (35 page)

Stumbling in the dark, Browning and Jenson now carried the DNA sequencer, one on each side of the heavy, unwieldy, priceless device. They’d had to ditch the cart long ago in order to negotiate the flood-ravaged terrain. But their exhausted arms were also now surging with a last pulse of strength, mainly due to finding the boat where they’d left it. Albeit it was floating now rather than beached.

The tide here on the Red Sea was significantly higher than it had been before. Because Wesley had just dumped half of Lake Michigan into it.

He’d also had the foresight to tie up their boat, even though it was on dry land when they left it. As Burns pulled it in, then swung it around toward the others, he was pretty sure that was the only reason it was still here. The main path of the flood had been to the south. But there had been enough here that it would have washed away their ride if it hadn’t been tethered.

Wesley was looking smarter by the minute.

Burns held the boat steady in the waist-deep black water as Browning and Jenson hefted the precious sequencer up into it. And as he did so, he looked back up the gently sloping land, over Judy’s furry head where she sat alert at the water’s edge, and toward the sprawling scene of charred and flooded devastation behind and above them.

And he thought, not for the first time:

The goddamned crazy son of a bitch did it.

* * *

From their starting position, way back up at the pharma complex, the three surviving members of Team Mutant had actually been able to see it all happen in real time, laid out below them like a diorama: the explosion at the water tank, then the structure ripping open and unleashing the flood – which instantly went blasting straight through the middle of the plant, putting out the biggest fire any of them had ever seen, completely, and in a matter of seconds.

After the deluge, there had still been a few big burning areas out to either side, where the oil-vat artillery rounds had impacted, sending their glow out into the night. And there were a few flaming patches of ruined ground, like in LA circa 2029 A.D. – except instead of robotic feet crushing human skulls, it was infected zombie feet slipping on other zombies’ faces.

But that was only in the distance. The middle proved to be totally clear of the dead. The flood had not only put out the fire – it had washed away the singularity, picking up thousands of undead bodies with its tsunami force, and whisking them away and out into the Red Sea.

Wesley had executed his maniac plan. And it worked – perfectly.

Nonetheless, the survivors’ run across the charred and flooded and night-shrouded remains of the plant, and Jizan Economic City around it, had been more than a little harrowing. Judy led the way the entire time – and, they were fairly sure, had kept them skirting around hazards they would otherwise have foundered on.

As they angled toward the waterfront, mainly by feeling for and following the downward slope, there was a ton of debris to loop around or climb over. There were deep pits of water they had to avoid – not having any idea how deep they’d turn out to be. And there were also big sections of building and plant still tumbling down or falling over in the darkness, causing additional waves of surging water they could hear rolling toward them.

This flooded world was still settling.

But they didn’t dare wait for it to finish, terrified the dead were going to flood back in as the water flooded out. But as they dodged these other hazards, the dead weren’t among them. Breathing hard, trying to keep moving, taking care not to drop the sequencer, Browning had been the first to say it:

“Fire: out. Dead: gone. Wesley washed it all away.”

* * *

Burns climbed into the boat last, after holding it steady for Browning and Jenson and untying the mooring line. Then he whistled for Judy, who jumped into the black water and quickly paddled out. All three of the humans reached out and helped drag her up and over the side.

Then they got the paddles out and got moving out onto the water – and away from all this destruction and madness. Burns for one wasn’t sure if it mattered now whether or not they used the outboard motor this close to shore. But he figured they may as well play it safe and follow the briefed plan.

While Browning and Burns paddled, Jenson frantically hailed Wesley on the radio. He tried for a full minute – but when nothing came back, he put his hands out to still the others’ paddling.

“We can’t leave him,” he said. It looked like there were tears in his eyes. “He
never
would have left us. I can tell you that.”

“Maybe,” Burns said, letting his paddle rest, and looking the young man in the eye. “But if he were here, I guarantee you he’d tell us to get the hell out – with
that
.” And he nodded at the DNA sequencer in the bottom of the boat.

“I’m with Jenson,” Browning said, stopping paddling. He was loyal to Wesley.

Burns swelled up and looked from one to the other. “Oh, okay – so you two want Wesley to have died for nothing? That dude just pulled off the most amazing feat of bravery and insanity any of us will probably ever have the honor of witnessing. And if we don’t get this overpriced photocopier the hell out of here, if we get taken down now, it’ll all have been for nothing.”

Burns pointed his paddle out over the black surface of the Red Sea. Now that their night vision was finally adjusting to the inferno-less darkness, they could see that there were dead in the water. Of course there were – they’d all been washed away, but they had to go somewhere. And it was here, into the sea.

Burns shoved Jenson lightly in the chest. “And you are
not
going to ruin what Wesley did, or make it all for nothing. I won’t let you steal his glory.”

Jenson finally nodded – and switched channels on his radio to call for the helo.

And Browning and Burns got paddling again.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they had been assured that the Seahawk, having completed its medevac and refueling, was en route to extract them. Burns had his hand on the outboard motor, about to start it and get them further out…

When Judy barked, three times, right in a row.

And before anyone could stop her, she rose up, leapt over the side of the boat, hit the water – and started dog-paddling for all she was worth.

“What the hell?” Browning said.

Jenson just smiled. “I trust the dog.”

“Yeah,” Burns said. “Me, too.”

Without another word, they started paddling the boat after her.

Judy got out of sight in the dark pretty quickly, but they could follow the splashing. And before she disappeared, they could also see that she was having to navigate through the dead. Zulus couldn’t swim, but a lot of these ones had been cooked to embers, plus presumably had the gases inside them inflated, and were now floating corpses. Which didn’t mean they were no longer animated – or dangerous. The three survivors of the team were pretty safe in the boat.

But Judy wasn’t, out of it and down in the water.

If she got a medal for this, which she definitely deserved, the citation would read something like, “Without hesitation, and with complete disregard for her own life, Judy left her position of safety and swam straight into the ranks of floating dead, exposing herself to enemy bites and scratches…”

Within a few seconds, they heard another bark – and then some kind of grunting, as well as more violent splashing. Burns and Browning redoubled their paddling and raced toward the noises. Jenson got his light out and shined it on the black surface of the ocean. He only had to pan around for two seconds before he saw it: a human figure, hair slicked back, and using a big knife to stab at floating dead who were pawing and grabbing.

And that figure was Sarah Cameron.

Judy was also biting and snapping at the dead who were going for her.

Almost shocked into inaction, nonetheless the three in the boat got their rifles up, and started shooting around their teammate, and their other teammate. In a few seconds, they had destroyed all the dead in the vicinity. And in a few more, they dragged both Judy and Sarah into the boat.

The human female flopped down in the bottom, arm draped around the DNA sequencer. She looked like she’d been drowned, resuscitated, and then drowned again. Other than the knife, her weapons and ammo were gone, no doubt shucked at some point to keep her face on the right side of the water. The canine female lay down beside her, and Sarah reached up weakly and stroked her wet fur.

Too exhausted to speak, she just thought:

Okay. Maybe other women aren’t always so bad.

“Did you see Wesley?” Browning asked urgently.

She shook her head and tried to speak. “No. Not after the flood.”

“Could he still be alive?”

Another head shake. “I don’t know how I survived – and I was farther from the water tank when it opened up. Plus he ran into the middle of an inferno to get the rocket off in the first place. Even if he survived the fire, his armor would have dragged him under the water. He said that himself, before he went out.” She paused to take a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry,” she said, finally.

Burns shook his head in awe. “Wesley knew
exactly
what he was doing.”

Browning squinted down at her. “How the hell did you survive?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was done for. But then I remembered there’s someone I need to see again. And apologize to.”

Burns and Jenson reached down, each grabbing one of her arms, and helped her up into a sitting position against the inflated side of the boat.

Burns clapped her on the shoulder.

“Not us, man. Not us.”

Washed Clean by the Flood

The Red Sea

In another ten minutes, the newly enlarged group of Mutant survivors had motored out to the GPS coordinates of their extraction point. Not long after that, they heard the whumping rotors of the Seahawk coming in at them from out of the blackness.

For a few seconds it looked like the heavy seas churned up by the helo might capsize them before it could rescue them. But soon enough they had winched up both the DNA sequencer and the dog, secured the boat to the sling-load line – and then all made their way up that same perilously twisting rope ladder.

Now the four exhausted survivors lay sprawled around the blacked-out cabin of the helo, listening to its engines surge as it banked and turned and headed off – but at what seemed well below the top speed they had all marveled at on the way in. When Browning looked out the open door at the land, he realized something was wrong.

He grabbed an ICS headset and spoke to the pilots. “Hey! Why are we flying north –
away
from the carrier?”

The response came back instantly.
“We’re picking up your team leader, obviously. What – can’t you see him?”

Browning rushed forward and stuck his head into the flight deck, the other three right behind him and shoving to get through. The co-pilot unclipped his NVGs from his helmet, handed them to Browning – and pointed ahead of them and down.

As he put the NVGs to his face, the undifferentiated blackness resolved into green details of ruffled sea and cloudy sky, and he could even see the seam between them at the horizon. And a little lower and closer than that he could also easily make out… a tiny light, winking on and off, like at the top of a lonely tower.

“It’s your lieutenant’s IR strobe,”
the co-pilot said.

Browning’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Then it transformed into a wide and brilliant smile. When he turned around, the others all looked the same.

Even Judy seemed delighted, picking up on the mood, and barked once.

Hell, she looked happiest of all.

* * *

Blackness – above and below, and all around. The cool night, and the cooler water, sloshing rhythmically over the surface of the wooden door and soothing what felt like a bad sunburn on his exposed skin – hell, even on the bits that
weren’t
exposed. It felt like the worst sunburn Wesley ever had.

But none of that mattered now. Because he was at rest, lying prostrate on his back, arms and legs spreadeagled, just floating through the darkness – riding his door. Mainly, and by far most important, he was able now to just take it easy and catch his damned breath.

Thank God for that plant door
, he thought. And not to mention the fact that doors floated…
Well, why the hell not. It worked for Rose in Titanic. Just not for Jack…

When he had seen that door bobbing through the flood, close to him but not close enough, he hadn’t imagined he could dredge up the strength to swim to it. And he’d already begun to give up, to let go, to let the waters envelop him and submerge him and take all his pains away.

But as the roiling flood had started to cover his head and take him down… against all expectations, that same image from earlier came back to him again – of Amarie trundling her way across that field with the little girl, running toward safety, fighting to keep them both alive, despite everything they must have faced to have made it that far.

And suddenly Wesley realized… he could do no less than she had. Somehow Amarie had stayed alive. And so now he had to, too. She was waiting for him, back in Britain. And all he could think was:
I’ve got to stay alive – and somehow make it back to her.

And now he
was
alive – but completely exhausted, body and soul. In addition to the minor burns on most of his body, he’d also wrenched his lower back somewhere along the way, in all the running and tumbling and diving. And virtually all of his other muscles ached – those in his calves and quads most of all. And he realized now what he could have figured out in advance: he was way too old for this crap.

But at least he was lying down now. No more running.

He looked down the length of his body and mustered the energy to pat himself down. He must have gotten more than a little zombie gunk on him along the way – body-checking runners, shooting one in the head from two inches away – but there was none on him now. He figured anything that hadn’t been burned off by the inferno had shortly thereafter been washed clean by the flood.