Rend, p.17
Rend, page 17
“Excuse me, Mr. Reston,” Allyson spoke up. “Didn’t you hear what Grayson Donnelly said the other day? He explained what they went through in Indianapolis, living with those things for more than six months. We were amazingly lucky to escape unscathed on this mission. Millions of people lost their battle against these things. Millions.”
“Agent Harper, those were unarmed civilians that were killed in Indianapolis and Washington,” Reston retorted. “We would send in highly trained military forces to clear out the city.”
“Sir, it’s a mistake to think that we could easily defeat these creatures. Can we do it? Sure we could, but it won’t be a walk in the park,” Allyson answered her own rhetorical question.
“I second Agent Harper’s concerns,” Campbell said. “If I hadn’t had the sharksuit, I’d be dead right now. I’m covered in bruises from their bites as it is.”
“I’ll note both of your concerns in my proposal,” the deputy director replied. “For now, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Alright, let’s get back on track,” the director said in an effort to regain control of the meeting. “I’ve got a meeting with the president tomorrow morning and it’s extremely late, so we need to wrap this up. Let me cover the highlights to make sure that I’ve got everything.
The director glanced down at the table, presumably to read her notes before beginning. “You secured the three documents that we’d targeted for this mission and pre-positioned the remaining twenty-two cases containing the seventeen additional amendments. We should be able to pick those up with a couple of helicopter crews and a small team inserted on the roof. We rescued one crewman from a downed helicopter that the snipers on the roof of the National Gallery of Art shot down. This lends credence to the radio transmission from the first team saying that they were taking incoming fire instead of somehow shooting themselves as some people have thought. When you cleared the Gallery, you discovered that it was almost empty and most of the works of art are missing. You didn’t find anyone inside except for the two dead snipers. Did I miss anything?”
“Other than the fact that with just a small team, the Bureau eliminated hundreds of zombies, no ma’am,” Reston answered. “Like I said, this makes me believe that they’re not as dangerous as the previous administration led us to believe.”
“Yes, and that reminds me about the sharksuit suggestion,” Director Flannigan replied. “Keith, you haven’t said anything. Do you have anything to add before we wrap it up?”
The artifacts recovery team leader stirred from his semi-catatonic state and rubbed the side of his face. “No, ma’am,” he yawned. “I’m extremely satisfied with our work today. I’m a little worried about exposing the documents to potentially contaminated air when we transfer them from the encasements, but it can’t be helped. Oh, and I’m deeply concerned about the missing artwork. Besides the staggering price tag associated with those items, those are irreplaceable works of art. On top of that, each of those pieces is highly radioactive, so once they do make it into a private collection somewhere, we’ll have to worry about further damage to the art and the potential environmental damage from radiation.”
“Good points, thank you,” the director responded. “Get some sleep, Keith. You look like you’ve been through a long, rough day. That goes for all of you. Go home and sleep. Take tomorrow off and come in the day after tomorrow prepared to write up your full report.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to it that they stay out of the office tomorrow,” Reston stated.
“Thanks, Alistair.” She paused and then continued, “You all did a wonderful job and we’re proud of you and thankful for your sacrifices. Because of you, the nation has a major piece of our heritage back.”
Allyson continued watching the screen until it faded to black and the others around the table stood up and filed out of the room. Campbell started to leave and then lightly tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, are you alright to drive?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m just thinking. If Reston’s report goes to the director and she takes it higher, we might be opening the proverbial Pandora’s Box. Caleb, you were out there among those things. You know that it’s not an easy task to dispatch them. We can kill a thousand of them, but more will keep on coming until we run out of ammo and then we’re fucked.”
“I don’t understand how he can discount our firsthand knowledge. I mean we were in the field against the zombies while he watched satellite images and listened to our radio chatter. How can he make the determination that these creatures aren’t as dangerous as we thought?”
“I don’t know. Okay, I’m exhausted. I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“Me too,” Campbell said. “Hey, by the way, I know that you came down hard on Kestrel about the mission to the helicopter, but I was a willing participant. I told him that I was going to continue the mission based on the deputy’s directive.”
“I know that. But you were also right, you couldn’t wander the damned city alone while he went to the crash site. Thank you for telling me though. I appreciate it.”
“Are you going to call him?”
Allyson sighed, “Yeah, he asked for a few days though, so I’m gonna give him that time. I don’t know him well, but I do know that I need to respect his wishes and let him sort through it in his head before I try to interrupt his life.”
“Alright, well good luck. I know I gave you guys some grief, but he’s a hell of an operator and I hope you can work through what happened.”
“Thanks, Caleb. Okay, I mean it this time. I’ve got to go get some sleep or else I’m gonna fall asleep in here… Shit! I just remembered that I came here with Asher.”
Her face turned three shades of red and she asked, “Can you give me a lift to his hotel where I left my car?”
“Sure thing, boss. Come on,” Campbell said with a wave over his shoulder. Allyson smiled as she thought about why her car was at Asher’s hotel.
*****
09 March, 0438 hrs local
The Castle, Smithsonian Institution Building
Washington, DC
The master looked up at its home. Of all the buildings that it could have chosen in the ruined city, it decided that the red brick structure was the most unique and suited its needs the best. It had lived here almost since the beginning, when the big explosion made the humans stop moving, allowing them to be turned into his followers easily.
It had wisely elected to stay in its home when the humans destroyed most of the other Chosen as they gathered to escape the city. The creature had tried to convince its brethren to stay and not gather in one place, but the previous master had ordered them to go and they obeyed. Now they were all gone and only nine of the Chosen remained. The circumstances suited the creature since it was now the master and the others followed its orders.
One of the Chosen had asked to meet with it in the morning and it would honor the request, but first there was the matter of the captive that its followers had found in the city. It crept swiftly through the halls toward the place where its followers held the human that they’d caught. When it got to the room, a man cowered in the corner where several of the lesser followers surrounded him. The master searched the minds of its followers and saw that there had been many men in the group, but the bloodlust had taken over and the followers had attacked and turned them into the master’s creations. All but this one pathetic human.
The master was pleased that its followers had restrained themselves enough to bring back a fully-functional human for it to interrogate. As it strode into the room, the followers naturally parted for their master who walked directly up to the human. It reached out and grasped the wretched human’s face, tilting his head upwards until he was forced to make eye contact. Then the master had him.
What are you doing in my city? the master asked.
The human cried out as the master’s voice appeared in his mind. He looked left and right in a frantic effort to determine who’d spoken to him.
Stupid human. I’m in front of you.
“Who… What are you?” the human asked.
I am the master, it replied succinctly. Why are you in my city?
“How are you speaking to me? Your lips aren’t moving,” the man asked as he tried to squirm out of the master’s grasp.
The creature pulled one finger down the side of the human’s face and the skin ripped away from his cheek exposing the bone underneath. The human screamed in pain, but the master tightened its grip until it cut off the man’s oxygen and he stopped screaming. It relaxed its hand to allow the weak human to breathe.
Do not question me. I am the master. What are you doing in my city?
“I came here for a job,” the man blubbered. “I work for Tony Marchione. We’re here taking the artwork out of the buildings so he can sell it.”
The master searched its memories for the correct word. It remembered that it used to know thousands of words before the change. Now it sometimes had difficulty having a conversation with the others. It shook the human like a doll in frustration until its mind caught onto the word that it had trouble remembering. You steal my things.
“I didn’t know that they were yours,” the man blubbered. “My boss said they were free for the taking… Please don’t hurt me. I have a wife and two kids. I’m just trying to make a living.”
The creature understood the concept of children. Something ignited in the back of its mind, a memory from before. It saw children and then fire. Children on fire. It shook its head in an effort to dislodge the memory. Sometimes thoughts from before its existence entered into its head. Killing a few of the broken followers usually cleared the memories, but today it had something more worthwhile.
It squeezed the man’s throat closed again. Did you come in the helicopter?
“No… Can’t breathe!”
It relaxed the death grip on the human’s neck and the man took a ragged breath. “No, I didn’t come on the helicopter. We were hiding from them when we were attacked.”
The master contemplated the human’s words. What did he mean they were hiding from the other humans? Why would they do that? If you didn’t come in the helicopter, how did you get inside my city?
“We swam up the river, under the water where the satellites couldn’t see us. We cut the gates near the riverbed.”
Now, the creature was interested in what the man had to say. What is a satellite?
“It’s a machine. Way up high in the air. They have cameras and can see everything that happens underneath them on the ground.”
I remember now. It is like an eye in the sky watching our movement, yes?
“Exactly, uh…”
The master remembered bits and pieces of its life before the change. All of the Chosen were able to remember some things. The followers didn’t retain any knowledge of who or what they’d been before they were changed. One of the things it remembered was boxes that showed pictures of faraway places. Those boxes must be what the human called “satellites” where the other humans watched what the brethren did. They would have to be more careful now. That must be how the humans knew where to find the followers each time before they attacked during the war.
What is a riverbed?
“The bottom of the river. Where the water meets the mud,” the human replied.
There is a way to escape in the water?
“Yes!” he gasped. “I can show you the way! I’ll take you there if you release me.”
The creature thought for a moment. It enjoyed watching the human think it had a chance to live. Finally, it adjusted its grip slightly so that it cupped the pathetic man’s jaw and squeezed with its considerable strength. The man tried to squirm away as his jaw crushed inward and the bones snapped, sending shards through the soft skin of his face.
The man screamed in pain and the master had to force several of the followers back as they smelled the blood in the air. Blood, human or follower, drove them crazy and it took considerable effort to control them, but it had been the master for a long time and it ruled this city with total authority. This kill was for the master, not for the followers.
It briefly surveyed the damage it had done to the man and decided to avoid further damaging his head. When the human was in intense pain, it could search his mind easier for the answers that it needed. It focused on the soft, juicy flesh of the man’s stomach and used its broken and battered fingernails to dig slowly through his skin to the intestines sitting inside of him. It took the human quite a while to die and the master learned all that it needed to know about how to escape from this prison.
When the human finally died, he changed and came back as a follower. The master introduced him to the others.
*****
14 March, 0712 hrs local
Asher Hawke’s Home
Rocky Mount, North Carolina
Asher rested his hands just above his knees and breathed deeply. He was getting old, no doubt about it. Part of his mind told him that it was natural and that goddamned hill didn’t help. He straightened up and began the slow shuffle to the bottom of the hill. He’d measured it over a year ago and at the time the quarter of a mile hill with a wickedly steep incline that ended a few feet beyond his driveway didn’t bother him. Now, he cursed the damn hill every time he did this workout.
When he reached the bottom, he stopped and turned around. This was going to be his last repetition and he needed to put everything his old bones could manage into it. He took a deep breath and tore off up the hill at a breakneck pace. After a few steps his body found its rhythm and his foot turnover became consistent as he sprinted up the hill. A minute and twenty-three seconds later, he stood gasping for air surveying the town below him.
Once he’d caught his breath, he walked the short distance down the hill to where his truck sat parked in his modest home’s driveway. Sweat glistened off his body and ran freely toward the ground. He was still getting used to the sensation. Asher had always had hair on his chest, arms and legs, even on his face for most of his adult life, but he shaved when they’d prepped for insertion into the city. He rubbed his stubbly face and then skimmed some of the sweat off his torso. As he did so, his hands slid freely over his chiseled abs.
Maybe this is why Marvelous Matt always stayed clean-shaven, he thought as he studied his reflection in the truck’s shiny paint. He grinned to himself. He hadn’t thought of Matthew Henderson in years. He’d been a SEAL with Matthew and the guy always shaved every inch of his body with a razor. The only part of his body that had any hair on it was his head. The two of them went through thick and thin together. Booze? Check. Bar fights? Happened all the time. Women? Of course. They’d been inseparable twenty-five years ago.
The grin faded from Asher’s face. They were on a dismounted patrol in some piece of shit patch of ground in eastern Afghanistan when a kid ran up to Matthew and gave him a hug. Next thing any of the team knew, there was just an intact pair of boots and a mass of gore that used to be Matthew. The kid had been wearing a vest full of HME and just like that, Marvelous Matt’s number was up.
Asher sighed and bent over at the waist to stretch his hamstrings. So many friends had been lost over the years. They’d made a real difference in most of the countries that they’d fought and died in, though. Kids went to school without fear of murder, women had more equality and men could find work to support their families. That was the shit that the US went to war for, but the media never saw the good things that the military did. They only focused on the mistakes of a few individuals. It was the same cycle as always and it would happen to the next generation of warriors as well.
Oh well, ain’t shit I can do about it, Asher thought as he waved at Rachel, the cute blonde housewife watching him through her living room window next door. She gave an embarrassed wave back and quickly disappeared deeper into her home. If he didn’t have impeccable morals about that sort of thing, he would have gone over there and fucked the hell out of that woman—and she’d made it clear on several occasions that she’d let him—but that wasn’t who he was. He believed that once someone got married that was it, even though he couldn’t make his previous ones work.
He kicked a leg up behind his butt and caught his foot as he stretched his quadriceps muscles. If he didn’t stretch, the hill workout would damn near cripple him tomorrow morning. Thinking about marriage brought an image of Allyson to his mind. The image he saw was of her staring intently at him. Her deep ginger hair framed her pretty face with just enough freckles around her eyes to be endearing, but not too many that they looked strange on a woman in her mid-thirties. She smiled at some joke he’d told and his heart melted.
Dammit! Why’d he have to fuck things up and disobey her order? It was a question that he’d asked himself repeatedly over the last few days and he always answered the same. Those men risked their lives to watch over him and his team; he couldn’t leave them to the zombies. Just as he’d asked himself so many times why he’d disobeyed the order, he’d come to the conclusion that he wouldn’t have done it any differently.
He hoped that he’d sufficiently patched things up with Allyson just before he got on the helicopter with Sergeant Helms, but it had been almost a week and he hadn’t heard anything from her. He didn’t even know if she’d made it out of the city alive. After he was decontaminated, he’d given a hasty debrief to some FBI flunky who seemed bored with his assignment. Once that odious task was complete, he hopped in his truck and sped home.
That’s what pissed him off the most about the entire situation. He was persona non grata when he returned to the headquarters building. He wasn’t expecting any type of fanfare, but he thought for sure that the Deputy Director of the FBI, the man overall responsible for the mission, should have at least stopped by and said something.
