A New World 10 - Storm (23 page)

I hear Greg heave a sigh beside me. “They’re still there. I was hoping that someone had pulled them up and I’d never have to see them again. At least there’s no one hanging from them like last time.”

I really don’t have anything to say to that. Henderson and Denton spread out to the right, Gonzalez to the left. Greg and I walk up the center. Small black shapes stretch their wings above, riding the current and searching for something to eat. Except for the soft sound of wind blowing through a gap in the ridgelines, it’s all quiet. I’ve become used to the silence, but it still makes me nervous.

I guess it’s better than hearing something
, I think, eying the opening terrain for any sign of someone lying in wait.

Stepping over a low barbed wire fence, we fully clear the trees and I feel my hair whipped by a sharp gust. Ahead, several large crows leap from the mounds and sail across the highway, taking station on limbs of trees that line the opposite side of the road. Even with the wind blowing, I hear a buzzing sound. A couple of steps later and I see thousands of flies hovering in dense clouds close to the mounds. The swarms move in rhythm with the gusts, always returning to their previous location when the wind dies down. At the same time, an overpowering stench assails my nostrils.

Through the cloud of flies, I note several darker scraps of clothing. One lifts during a heavier gust, momentarily flapping in the wind before dropping back down. As we draw closer, it becomes apparent that some of the clothing contains body parts. Bones lie scattered across a wide area. The drying remains of fresh blood cover one of the crosses, the soil below dark with stains.

Stepping through the tar-like sand stirs the flies even more. It’s like walking through water, the way they fill in behind us as we pass. Looking at the macabre scene, it becomes apparent that the group is both active and still obviously conducting their evil rituals.

“If we weren’t going inside before, we sure are now,” I say, barely able to keep my food down.

“This time, I’m putting an end to this,” Greg, comments, gagging.

Fresh tracks are in the sand covering the road. Searching for signs of anyone about, I see a couple of pickups in the lanes – or what used to be pickups. Dirt has piled up against the tires and the bodies are twisted hulks of burnt metal. All of the other vehicles we’ve come across have been in good condition, well, at least in sound condition, so it’s safe to assume these are some of the trucks that were hit by the company chasing after Greg.

“We should probably hurry. The last time I was here, there were vehicles using the road,” Greg whispers.

“Judging by the tracks, and well, this,” I say, sweeping my arm to encompass the grizzly scene, “I would say they still are.”

Taking another look around and not seeing anything that would indicate someone lying in wait, and hearing nothing approaching, I open up and contact Robert.

“Okay, have Montore bring the Stryker forward and cross the road. Hide and wait for us on the other side.
”

The faint, heavy whine of the Stryker revving carries through the area. It soon appears from behind a screen of trees and slowly moves toward us, throwing a small cloud of dust behind. With the steady wind, the dust trail won’t linger. The vehicle circles around the crosses and proceeds over the highway, stopping and parking a little ways up a road branching off the main highway. Red Team races after them while Greg and I cover our tracks as best we can. I don’t like remaining in the open for as long as we are, but it’s important that we cover the signs of our passage.

Backing up as we smooth over the sand covering the road’s surface, we recreate the other vehicle tracks. Every few paces, I find a small clump of congealed blood packed with sand that has fallen from the bottom of my boots. Finishing, we hurry to the Stryker and climb aboard. We are soon out the neighborhood areas and follow the same route Greg took previously, finding ourselves winding through back country hills. Much of the roads are paved beneath the thin layer of dirt covering them, so we’re able to make good time without kicking up too much of a dust cloud into the clear air.

Before long, we exit the paved surfaces and travel up the backside of a ridge adjacent to the one housing the cave system. A short time later, crawling up the narrow, dirt road, we pull into a large excavation that has removed a large part of the ridgeline. Steep, tiered walls to the west shield us from view, and Greg has us park in a small, shaded area adjacent the steepest section.

“Red Team will remain with the vehicle. Gonzalez, you’re in charge until we return. If we’re not back before dark, button up. We’ll find a place in the caves to hole up. If you don’t hear from us and we’re not back two hours after sunrise, head back to the aircraft and depart. You are not to come looking for us without others. Is that clear?” I brief.

“Yes, sir,” Gonzalez replies. “If you’re not back, we’re to come immediately to the rescue.”

“Very funny…and no, don’t even think about it.”

Greg leads the way with the rest of Echo Team following as we make our way across the sandy quarry floor. I bring up the rear so we don’t have the leadership taken out immediately should we bump into someone. Greg assured us that he covered his tracks on his way out and that there’s little chance the other group figured out how he gained entry. With the two bodies he left lying on the steps of the main entry, there’s a good chance they thought he entered from that direction. Still, we proceed cautiously.

We scale a shorter part of the western bluff where a section has fallen. From there, we start a steep descent down a tree-covered ravine, scrambling over boulders that have been displaced by heavy runoff. I’m guessing that whatever physical changes occurred when I was infected with night runner blood didn’t include my knees. Each of them must have stepped out of the line and said, “None for me, thanks.”

The breeze flowing up the side of the ridge is refreshing, but it diminishes as we descend. By the time we reach the bottom, I’m covered with a thin sheen of sweat and my body is protesting.

I can’t wait until I get to climb back up that
, I think, as we gather for a moment before proceeding down the central ravine.

The narrow dirt path we pick up at the bottom snakes its way through a scattering of smaller trees. Thick bushes taller than us crowd the trail, limiting our view to just the peaks of the ravines rising on either side. There are times when branches almost cut off the route altogether. The footpath crosses back and forth and is muddy in places from the recent rains. Finding a small pool, I rinse the remaining blood-encrusted sand off the bottom of my boots. From what Greg mentioned, there are some rock walls we’ll have to scale and I’m sure that bloodied sand on the soles doesn’t provide the best traction. I need all the help that I can get. Plus, it’s just gross.

The line pauses as each team member drops to their knees and covers the sides. Greg whispers on the radio and I quietly snake my way to the front to find him crouched behind a screen of bushes. Through the branches, I see where our narrow footpath intersects a much larger dirt trail.

“This leads to the backside of the building where the entrance we used is located,” Greg whispers.

Peeking around a bush, I see the trail wind its way upward. Only the very top of the facility’s roof can be seen poking above the tall bluff. Scanning the ridge, I don’t see any sign of movement or anyone looking down from above.

“I take it that we can’t be seen on the way up,” I say.

“Not until we near the top. The building makes an ‘L’ shape and there are windows looking out the back. The last time, they had shades drawn, but who knows if that’s the case now. The entrance we took inside is surrounded by steel poles and links of chain. They may or may not have posted guards since,” Greg comments.

“Well, there’s only one way to tell,” I say, rising and stepping out onto the trail.

With the others following behind in single file, we quietly make our way along the pathway cut into the side of the rock wall. The climb is a steep one, but we’re hidden in shadow and the coolness of the day makes it semi-tolerable. Pressed close to the cliff, I lose sight of the buildings above until we near the crest.

Waving the others back, I crawl along the side of the path until I can see over the lip. It’s as described, the shape of the building creating an alcove of sorts. In the middle lie the poles and chains surrounding the hole in the ground through which Greg and the former team members entered the caves. The facing windows have their shades drawn, and even better, there aren’t any guards posted.

I wave the others forward and we scramble to the two intersecting walls that make up the L, making sure to stay away from the large windows. I don’t hear anything except the periodic gust of wind. Nodding to Greg, he and another Echo Team member dash over to the steel posts and begin tying off a long rope with knots along its length. With a quick tug to test the sturdiness of the connection, Greg tosses the length into the hole. He checks that his NVGs and gear are secure before scrambling feet first into the cavern. Working his feet and hands on the knotted rope, he quickly vanishes below the surface.

I radio Gonzalez our location and that we’re entering the cave system. The teammate kneeling by the rope waves another over, and slowly, one by one, all vanish except for one who will remain to safeguard our exit. So far, no one has cried out with discovery, nor has gunfire erupted from within the cave. It’s my turn and I dash over in a crouch, stepping over a length of chain. I start down into the blackness.

Once inside, a sudden drop in temperature is immediate and wraps around my whole body. Motes of dust dance in the shaft of light from above. The brightness diffuses as I descend, becoming gloomier as I work my way down. The rope sways, but not overly so, as two members are holding it fast at the bottom. The light above momentarily dims as the one guarding the exit peeks downward. The silhouette of his head is only visible for a few seconds before he withdraws. Looking from the light into darkness interferes with my vision and it seems like I’m descending into a void. Before I reach the bottom, the glow from above diffuses enough that I’m able to see the faces of a couple of soldiers below peering up. The others have spread into a loose perimeter, each keeping watch through their goggles.

After what feels like hours of swaying and working my way down hand-over-hand, my feet touch hard surface. The interior smells musty and, well, like a cave. Freeing my M-4, I glance around at the vast interior, everything visible in varying shades of gray. Above, the light from the opening looks like someone poked a pencil through a black sheet of paper. To one side, I see the rock wall we’ll have to scale. I had imagined a sheer surface but there appear to be plenty of crevices and small ledges we can use.

We cross the rocky surface, our breath visible in the subterranean cold. As we draw closer to the wall, I pick up the faint odor of decomposition and spot two bodies near the base of the cliff. They almost blend in with the cave floor. In the arid environment, they haven’t decomposed much and appear more desiccated than anything.

“The two guards we encountered,” Greg faintly whispers.

I nod. It’s important that we keep the noise to an absolute minimum within the cave system. And, by that, I mean completely silent. Sound is magnified and carries in the caverns all too well. A pin dropping can sound like it’s coming through Bose speakers turned up to full volume.

We begin to scale the rocky wall. Carabineers and rope make the going easier, for which I’m thankful. I’m old and the times when I could monkey-climb are long behind me…if they were ever there to begin with. We soon find ourselves in an upper cave and begin slowly making our way down its length, taking our time with the placement of each foot. Our gear is taped down, but a boot scuffing on the hard surface will echo loudly. Greg leads, I’m just behind, and it’s not long until we arrive at a steel door barring our path.

Pausing behind the metal surface, Greg peeks through a small opening on the side.

“Just ahead is the main entrance from above. The last time, there were two guards the same two who are now resting at the bottom of the cliff. I don’t see anyone there now,” he whispers.

I look through a gap on the other side of the door. The cave continues to another intersection a short distance ahead. I also see that the door is padlocked. As I’m about to motion regarding our blocked route, Greg reaches into his pocket and produces a key.

“Well, aren’t you just the answer-man?” I quietly comment. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to produce a scotch and seven, would ya?”

“Are you kidding!? If I had that kind of super power, do you think I’d be standing here in a freezing cave?” he replies.

“Work on it, then,” I say.

Greg reaches through the gap and unlocks the door, slowly pulling the chain free. I lift on the handle to minimize the weight on the hinges, not so much that the weight will transfer to the top part of them, but enough so that the metal on metal contact is minimized. If they squeak in protest, I might as well announce our arrival with sparklers and a bullhorn. I open it slowly. No sound emits and we slide through the gap.

The cave we’re in continues forward with a larger one branching to the right. Across from it stands a door like the one we just came through. I’m surprised they don’t have a guard, but perhaps they keep a watch upstairs during daylight hours.