Carlie Simmons (Book 5): One Final Mission (7 page)

Chapter 15

Osaka, Japan

Friday, August 25, Twelve Months
after the Pandemic Began

Shiro was sitting cross-legged on a gym
mat on the second floor of their improvised home in the Shinsekai Aquatics
Center. He was finishing a bowl of Soba noodles, sun-dried fish, and canned
green beans. Spread around the spacious floor, interspersed between weight
machines that had privacy curtains suspended between them, were the other eight
members of his band of survivors. He could hear the faint footsteps of their
ninth member, Yoshi, pacing outside on the roof during his two-hour lookout
shift.

The sun would be rising soon and they
would be consigned indoors once more. The two-story windowless structure that
had been their home for the past seven months was located at the end of a small
peninsula that jutted out across from downtown Osaka. With only one road coming
in from the mainland, it made an ideal fortress. After they had arrived on the
boat many months ago, they had sealed off the bridge with a barricade of school
buses then went about fortifying the exterior of the building, welding the
other entrances shut and setting up auditory alarms in the form of hanging cans
and pots until the entire parking area resembled a giant’s chime collection.
The lower level where the pools and hot springs were located were made into the
kitchen and storage area while the upstairs gym was used for sleeping. Waste
from the makeshift bucket-toilets downstairs was flung into the ocean along
with trash and empty food cans. The warmth from the hot springs provided enough
heat to cope with the chilly nights and a small array of solar panels on the
roof afforded them enough electricity for indoor lighting and radio use.

Shiro recognized early on that he needed
to maintain a rigid schedule to keep people disciplined and to help stave off
depression which seemed as ever-present a threat as the rotting menace roaming
the streets of the city. Daily fighting drills, weapons maintenance,
cross-training in each other’s skill sets, and net-mending were the norm unless
they were out on fishing trips or salvage missions in Osaka. There were two
women in their late twenties or early thirties named Yamiko and Arisu, who were
both as meek as the day he first rescued them. Despite their unassuming
appearance both had proven themselves to be savage fighters. Arisu’s nursing skills
and Yamiko’s ability as a seamstress had served their group well. They kept to
themselves, mostly being courteous to Nora though Arisu often derided the
American woman behind her back.   

The other three men, Daichi, Haru, and
Naoki were in their thirties and forties. Haru was missing an arm at the elbow
from an encounter with a goryo on the docks when they arrived at the aquaplex.
Nora’s swift removal of the limb had saved him and he had since taken on the
daily duty of camp cook to contribute in some way. Daichu had once been an
Olympic gymnast and his considerable strength combined with Shiro’s technical
prowess had swung many a battle in their favor. An old neck injury kept him
from being on the supply runs and he spent most of his time maintaining the
day-to-day operations of the aquaplex. Naoki was the quietest of the group. He
had been preparing to renounce the world and become a full-time Buddhist monk
when the pandemic struck. He was a shrewd fighter but had to be dragged along
on supply runs and fishing trips, wanting rather to withdraw from the world
into his own thoughts or his stacks of books.

While their physical survival had been
more assured at the aquaplex, Shiro knew that they were just holding on
mentally. The monotonous routine, the lack of sunlight from their nocturnal
lifestyle, and the bland group dynamics made him ever more certain that a trip
abroad in search of an island—any island—was something they had to undertake.
Otherwise, they were just living like post-apocalyptic cellmates in their urban
purgatory. With the odd assemblage of personalities and the social
stratification that still persisted, the social dynamics could be likened to a
gathering of unfamiliar relatives that assemble every five years for a
perfunctory reunion.

With the coming of September, they planned
to depart on a large sailing boat piloted by Nora. There was a string of
islands in the Pacific that was just under a week’s voyage away and the trade
winds would have shifted in their favor by the time they were finished
gathering supplies.

The aquatics building met their physical
needs but had no sense of ambience, being strictly utilitarian. Yamiko had
erected a handmade Shinto shrine in the corner of the gym, near a dance room. There
was a hand-drawn sketch of Ameratsu, the Sun Goddess and another indicating a
serpentine figure. The latter symbolized a kami, or spirit, associated with the
hot spring that flowed into the pool in the floor below. The diminutive shrine provided
a place for people to meditate, pray, or leave offerings as their beliefs
dictated. Shiro had thought of using the shrine on more than one occasion but
didn’t want to have anyone see him in supplication. Instead, he saved his
spiritual reflections for his lookout duties on the roof. There he whispered
prayers to his brother, seeking forgiveness but knowing it could never be paid
through mere words. Though he tried to mask his feelings, Shiro felt a strange
connection to Nora’s infant son, Tyler, and was determined to protect him and
his overly gregarious mother at any cost. That the boy had arrived just after
his brother’s passing had to be a portend of some kind. He felt that
safeguarding the child was his last chance to atone for his past crimes and a
way of making things right with both the world of the living and the other
realm that all flesh eventually yielded to.

“Can’t sleep, eh?” said Nora, who was
peeking her head out from the blue curtain beside her sleeping area. “Me
neither—too nervous about our upcoming departure for the islands, to leave this
place once and for all and start over.” She turned to check on Tyler, who was
swaddled in a fleece blanket, and then walked over to Shiro.

He continued lifting the chopsticks full
of noodles to his mouth and motioned for her to sit beside him.

“You always get by on only five hours of
sleep a night. You sleep like you eat—very modestly.”

He arched his eyebrows, surprised that she
was so keen on his habits. He glanced at her shoulders and arms that were
etched from months of blade- and stick-fighting practice.

“I guess with us all living under such
tight confines, it’s no wonder we know each other’s routines so well,” he said,
placing the empty green bowl on the floor by his knee.

“I know yours, anyway,” she said, tilting
her head and smiling.

He had tried to ignore her interest in him
these many months. The rigor of surviving had prevented any romantic
inclinations from reaching beyond his ever-present tactical mindset. He wasn’t
disinterested: her honey-blond hair was an anomaly amongst the women of his
country and her expressive demeanor could, at times, be enjoyable when it
wasn’t overwhelming. However, his only experience with women had been in
fleeting sexual relationships with courtesans who worked in the employ of his Yakuza
clan. Those women bore the same sad expression in their eyes that he frequently
saw in the mirror when his steely façade wore thin. They always looked at him
like he was a prison guard and not with the sweet warmth that Nora’s eyes revealed.
When he was around her, the younger, carefree boy in him that he thought lost
forever would awaken from its dormant slumber and the shackles of his adult
life would slip away. Her honest gaze always disarmed him. She was so
expressive and bore her feelings in the melodic words that flowed from her soft
lips. There was never any pretense with Nora, no cultural formalities that restricted
her. He found himself thinking about her during quiet moments. Shiro wondered
how she could be interested in someone with his nefarious background which the
others never let him forget despite their appreciation for him saving them time
and again. Modern Japan had fallen but vestiges of the old caste system still
threaded their way through their daily interactions. 

Shiro forced his attention back to the
task at hand. As he stooped forward to stand, Nora placed her hand over his. “It’s
so nice sitting together—won’t you stay with me a while longer?”

He gazed upon her smooth neckline and up
past her ears, visually imbibing the contours of her lovely face. He brushed a
lock of hair aside from her cheek. Nora grasped his hand and pressed it against
her lips, kissing his palm. A smile formed in the corner of his mouth and for a
moment he forgot about his duties. As he slid closer to her, he heard someone
rustling in the distance as they awoke. Shiro pulled back and withdrew his
smile, his expression returning to the former chiseled surface it normally
resembled. He stood up and leaned back on the half-wall, grabbing his sword and
tanto blade.

“It will be light soon and I have to
relieve Yoshi of his overwatch.”

Shiro tucked the blade into his belt and
slung the sword across his back. While reaching down to grab his green
rucksack, he saw Yoshi bolting down the rooftop stairs. The tireless man had
become a trusted fighter and Shiro’s second-in-command.

“You should come see this—something to the
north—a white glow like we saw a few days ago, only growing in size.”

He looked at Nora and then trotted off to
the stairs. He followed Yoshi back to the roof, the warm ocean breeze sweeping
through his thick black hair. Both men rambled past the small rooftop gardens
and over to the edge, walking along the crunchy tiles of the cracked surface.

“It was there a minute ago,” said Yoshi,
pointing beyond the derelict skyscrapers of downtown Osaka.

Shiro scanned the inky horizon and then
looked down below by the nearby pier, twenty yards distant. Their fishing boat
and two small jetboats were gently bobbing in the waters as they had left them.
He surveyed the moonlit sidewalk for movement but only saw the usual flutter of
trash and leaves dancing around the windswept pavement. Then his vision shot
back abruptly to the cityscape as an immense arc of soft, white light rose from
the northeast. It was like the crescent moon was surfacing from an earthy
grave, its effervescence illuminating the silent city across the bay. Shiro
knew the light in the distance was coming from the vicinity of the nuclear
reactor located near the city of Kyoto, a hundred-twenty miles northeast of
their location. The glow pulsated upward, growing in intensity. For a brief
second, he saw something else—an object flying across the sky, the metal wings
of a plane reflecting off the light. He choked on his breath and strained his
eyes.

Was that…?
Before he could
finish his thought, he watched the plane move like a finger from heaven to the south,
its silent form filling the surreal night sky.

…
A sign.
The plane flew past downtown
Osaka and veered to the right towards the Kansai airfield near the bay, eight
miles from their location.

Shiro clutched the handle of his tanto
blade as if seeking reassurance, uncertain if what he was seeing was real or
some trick the spirits were playing on him. As he watched the plane descend,
penetrating through the fog surrounding the airfield, he gulped down a deep
breath, his mind filling with confidence. Then the bright glow to the north
faded, casting the world into familiar darkness again. Shiro pressed his body
over the retaining wall, straining his eyes towards the airfield, but there was
nothing. He only heard the lapping of waves against the pier below and felt the
salt-laden breeze wafting along the roof.

“That’s where we saw the light a few
nights ago, only not that intense,” said Yoshi, who had turned to look at Shiro.
“What do you think that was flying across the sky—one of our planes?”

Shiro was silent, his mind trying to
pierce the night air and pry meaning from the distant shadows. He took a deep
breath and tilted his head skyward.

“Fate, perhaps.”

Chapter 16

“Alright, let’s saddle up. Boots on the
ground in two minutes,” shouted Shane to the group, who were busy cinching down
their packstraps, tightening vests, and readying the rifles that were slung around
their chests. “Remember that the
Olympia
will be here in eleven hours so
everyone calibrate your watches to that countdown. Commander Ellis informed me that
the intense light in the distance near Kyoto is probably a nuclear reactor
venting. Based upon what he said, we’re just going to be getting out of here on
time.”

Shane did a visual inspection of everyone
around him then continued with his lecture. “Visibility is going to be hampered
by the thick fog so everyone keep a tight formation as we disembark and make
our way to the first checkpoint at the hangar.” Shane peered through the front
windows at the runway which was vaguely outlined by the plane’s landing lights.
The full moon was nearly at its zenith and turned the fog on the airfield into
a blue-gray shroud.

“I can see the boat docks ahead, about a
half mile out,” shouted Jared above the rumbling engines. Jared strained out
the side window, thinking he saw a distant light bobbing on the waters of the opposite
side of the bay.

“What is it?” said Amy, who was leaning on
his shoulder.

“Thought I spotted a vessel a few miles
out but it was probably just a buoy or something.” He readied the two jugs of gasoline
at his feet, making certain the spouts and lids were secure.

“Hold on,” said the voice of the pilot on
the overhead speakers. “We’re touching down…now.”

The plane decelerated, the sides groaning
as the landing gear made contact with the runway. The nose of the C-130 punched
through the thick fog like an eel through viscous mud.

Two dozen shambling zombies that were
hobbling along the blacktop, obscured by the fog, were immediately sliced
through by the right wing, the impact causing the plane to pivot abruptly, skip
in the air, and then slam down into the runway. The pilot feverishly gripped
the controls but couldn’t compensate in time, the nose of the plane careening
into a tow-truck parked near the side of a garage. The left wing slammed into a
brick wall, causing the landing gear to buckle on that side and collapse. A
shower of sparks accompanied the scraping metal as the wing tip dragged along
the ground, the plane racing forward into the retaining wall near the bay. The
occupants inside were clenching the sides of their bench seats while their
facial muscles quivered from the unmerciful clutches of gravity. Shane heard
Eliza shriek across from him and then her voice went silent.

Shane felt like he was freefalling,
waiting for the moment when the fierce pressure in his eardrums would cease.
Instead he heard glass shattering and metal crunching from the cockpit area followed
by the shouts of the men at the helm. Steel girders in the cabin ceiling
cracked like twigs and the cylindrical hull groaned from the strain. When the
plane finally came to a halt seconds later, the crushing force of gravity on Shane’s
chest eased momentarily. As he unbuckled, the darkened structure lurched
forward, plunging down like a steel toboggan. The back side of the cabin across
from him tore open like a foil packet, spilling all of their crates and gear
into the darkness outside. He tumbled along with it, plunging into the night
until he felt cold sea water envelop him. In the wrecked hull, he could hear
others yelling and coughing as smoke roiled overhead.