Plague of the Dead (22 page)

    Despite her dwindling feelings for Decker and the pressing concerns of the work ahead of her, she found herself wondering how the soldiers in quarantine were doing. She wasn’t allowed access to them, of course, and as one of the few trained medics left on the ship, that concerned her. Maybe they couldn’t do anything for a soldier even if they somehow diagnosed him as being infected, but they could at least get the uninfected ones out of there to safety. She had bargained, cajoled, begged, and finally simply asked to be let in to the quarantine area, but was rebuffed. Finally she told the soldiers guarding the door that in the very least they could slip a weapon inside to the quarantined men so they could defend themselves if one fell ill. This had been vetoed by the corporal in charge.

    “I was an MP for three years,” he had said. “I’ve seen what desperate men will do with a weapon if they think it’ll get ’em somewhere-like out of that room and off this ship. No, ma’am, they’re unarmed and staying that way.”

    All that was left for her to do was wait and see what would happen. Keeping busy kept her mind off other things-like the world falling to shit around her-and she hated having to tick time away instead of being proactive.

    “Oh, well,” Rebecca sighed to herself. At least she’d been hearing murmurs about being allowed access to the town. Maybe she could find a strong drink somewhere.

Washington, D.C.

1225 hrs_

    Dr. Anna Demilio prowled her cell nervously, pacing back and forth, casting sideways glances at the heavy door. The facility she was in was modern, but not well insulated enough to keep the sound of gunfire from her ears. It had been going on for almost two hours now, on and off, starting up in a rapid crescendo, then tapering off to nothing-only to repeat minutes later. At first it was the staccato clack of pistols, and now she could hear the basic chatter of automatic fire.

    There had been no build-up to this, nothing in Sawyer’s face to suggest that the situation was so bad it was at the doors of the facility. Demilio didn’t believe-or didn’t
want
to believe-that the plague had spread throughout the city. It was, more likely, a small outbreak within the facility itself.

    But she couldn’t be sure, and that was what made her nervous.

    If this was the plague out there now, beating down the doors of the stronghold and holding the surrounding area with infected ranks, the agents wouldn’t be able to hold out for long, and she’d wind up dying alone of starvation in a locked cell. That thought scared her more than the idea of being infected did.

    Footsteps in the hallway sent her scurrying back to the far end of her cell. If Sawyer was back, she certainly wasn’t planning on being helpful. She listened-the steps were lighter than Sawyers, and quicker. It sounded like someone was darting sneakily around the hall, moving in short bursts. She could hear heavy breaths being drawn outside, and the clinking sound of a weapon being slung.

    The metal panel in the doorway shot open and a face came into view. It wasn’t Sawyer.

    Agent Mason reached a hand into the cell, holding a pistol. Anna shrank away, thinking for a moment Sawyer had sent his subordinate to kill their prisoner now that the last stand had come-but it was not to be. The pistol was being handed in, handle-first.

    “Come on,” Mason said, sweat beading on his forehead. “Take it! Now’s our chance!”

    “
Chance
?” Anna asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. “What chance?”

    “Our chance to escape, you idiot! Take the pistol! We’re getting out of here!”

    “My God,” Anna breathed. “The shit is really hitting the fan out there, isn’t it?”

    “Take the damn pistol!” shouted Mason, glancing cautiously over his shoulder as he shook the weapon in her face. “We don’t have much time!”

    Anna grabbed the weapon from the agent, the weight of it pressing comfortably into her hands.

    “About time,” Mason remarked.

    The agent disappeared from the window and a moment later, with the heavy sound of grinding metal, the cell door unlocked and slid back into the wall. Mason stood in front of the newly-freed scientist, clutching a sub-machine gun to his chest. He looked bedraggled and battle-weary, with sweat staining the collar of his shirt. He had a Kevlar vest strapped around his torso. He beckoned for Anna to step out of the cell, scanning the hall in both directions as he did.

    “Let me guess,” Anna said, racking a round into the chamber of the pistol, “You’re expecting company.”

    “Yeah,” Mason replied. “They’ll miss me in a couple minutes, if they haven’t already. We’ve got to move fast. Follow me. We’ll take the catacombs.”

    Mason took off at a brisk trot, hugging the wall of the hallway, sub-machine gun held to his shoulder in the ready position.

    “Wait up,” Anna said, running after him. “Catacombs?”

    “Network of service tunnels and back entrances that interconnect every major facility in the city, with seven routes that come out beyond the beltway. They built it in the sixties. We call ’em the catacombs. Been expanding construction ever since. Checkpoint! Stop here.”

    Mason came to a stop at an intersection and knelt down, peering around the corner as Anna caught her breath behind him. Three uniformed guards blocked their exit from the detention block, all armed and armored.

    “Fuck,” Mason sighed. “We have to get past this checkpoint if we’re getting out. Nothing for it-we’re going to have to run and gun. Ready?”

    “Wait,” Anna said suddenly, grabbing Mason’s shoulder. “What about Julie?”

    “Ortiz? The reporter?” Mason asked. A moment later his face fell, remembering the other captive in the dungeon below. “Oh, damn. I forgot about her-they took me off that detail three days ago.”

    “We can’t leave her here!”

    “I know! I know!” Mason said, grumbling. He glanced back in the direction of the checkpoint, then back towards the detention and interrogation cells, trying to make up his mind. “If we go back to get her, we might be doing ourselves more harm than good.”

    “Then let’s do it fast, and if they catch on to us, we shoot our way out,” Anna said, holding up the pistol Mason had given her.

    He shot her a surprised look and asked, “Are you a scientist or a soldier?”

    “Both, remember?”

    “Fine, Colonel. We go back, but let’s sprint it.”

    The pair eased away from the checkpoint. When they’d moved far enough that their footsteps wouldn’t be heard, they broke back into a full-out run, Anna following Mason through the numerous twists and turns of the confusing facility. All the hallways looked the same-the sterile whitewash, dull hum of fluorescent lighting, tiny placards next to doors that gave vague impressions of what might lay behind them-Anna would have quickly become completely lost if she had been by herself. Mason, however, knew the way perfectly, and it wasn’t long before they came to a narrow flight of stairs that descended into the dimly-lit confines of the dungeon.

    “There’ll be a guard down here,” Mason whispered, drawing to a stop at the top of the stairs. “Let me deal with him. I play poker-I’m pretty good at bluffing.”

    “Right,” Anna said, pushing her back up against a wall and waiting. Mason slung his weapon over his shoulder, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and walked down the stairway. Anna could hear the guard’s challenge as Mason approached. She could make out most of the conversation, and listened intently.

    “Halt! This is a restricted area!”

    “Agent Mason, NSA.”

    “Oh, thank God. How’s it going up there?”

    “Not good. I’ve been sent to secure a fallback position. The outbreak’s contained within the facility. We need to empty these cells and start moving ammunition and supplies down here.”

    “I wasn’t notified…” the guard began.

    “I don’t care,” Mason said, taking on an authoritative tone. “Open the cell doors. Get the lighting turned up.”

    “Yes, sir,” said the guard. Anna bit back an exclamation of joy. For once, things seemed to be going well.

    That was when the guard’s radio squawked.

    “All personnel, all personnel, be advised, we have escaped detainees in the facility. Be on the lookout for suspicious activity. Possible rogue agent Gregory Mason. Suspects armed. Use of deadly force is authorized and recommended.”

    Anna’s eyes widened. For a moment, there was silence in the dungeon below, and then she heard a quick shuffling, feet scraping cement.

    “Don’t do it!”

    “Drop your-”

    Gunshots rang out. Anna swung around the corner, pistol leveled, to see Mason standing over the body of the guard, wisps of smoke trailing from the barrel of his weapon.

    “Goddamn it all,” Mason said, spotting Anna. “I told him not to draw. He drew on me. I killed him.”

    “You did the right thing, but now we’ve got to move twice as fast.”

    “Right,” Mason said, staring at the corpse at his feet. “Cell lever’s on the wall.”

    Anna looked around and spotted the heavy iron lever embedded in the stone walls of the dungeon, grabbed it, and gave it a pull. The old iron cell doors swung open, but Julie did not appear in the hall. Mason was stooping over the dead guard, pulling his utility belt free and stowing the unfortunate man’s gear on his own person. Anna jogged down the hall, scanning left and right in the cells she passed, looking for Ortiz. Near the end of the hall, she found her.

    Julie was curled up in the fetal position on the thin, damp cot in her cell, arms wrapped around herself, shivering.

    “Julie!” Anna blurted from the cell doorway. “Get up!”

    The reporter’s eyes flicked open and she locked her gaze on Anna’s. Her eyes sparked with recognition as she tried to sit up, but fell back onto the cot.

    “Can’t…” Julie managed, a cough wracking her body.

    “Jesus,” Anna said, “What have they been doing to you?”

    “So cold…” Julie mumbled.

    Anna noticed for the first time that the temperature in the dungeon was more than chilly-coupled with the artificial dampness of the place, Julie was certainly in miserable straits.

    “Mason! I need a hand here!” Anna called back to the agent. “Julie’s in bad shape!”

    Mason ran over, took one look at Julie, and shook his head. “She’ll hold us up. We can’t afford the risk. We’ve got to move fast and get out now that they know we’re trying something.”

    “They’ve got their hands full with your outbreak. We can get her out of here,” Anna persisted. “Help me carry her!”

    “Outbreak of…
Morningstar
?” Julie managed, pulling herself back up into a sitting position, arms still wrapped around her chest. Her face was pale and sickly in the dim light, but she didn’t seem injured aside from malnutrition. Another wracking, full-body cough shook the journalist, and Anna mentally added the possibility of pneumonia to the list of her ailments.

    “I’ll explain the whole thing once we’re out of here,” Mason said. “
If
we get out. And we won’t, at this rate. If we’re taking her, fine. Let’s go.”

    Mason moved over to Julie and pressed the dead guard’s weapon into her weak hands.

    “You might need this,” he said. “Cover us if you can while we carry you.”

    Julie nodded and allowed Mason and Anna to lift her up and support her as she walked along with them. The trio slowly made their way back up the stairs and into the fluorescents of the main facility, heading back towards the checkpoint they’d abandoned earlier.

    “How are we getting past the guards?” Anna asked.

    “Leave that to me,” Mason whispered. “The guard in the dungeon had a few surprises in his utility belt.”

    They leaned Julie against a wall. She sagged against it heavily, catching her breath and biting back another round of coughs that would have certainly alerted the guards to their presence. Mason kneeled, pulling a blue-tinted cylinder from the guard’s belt slung over his shoulder.

    “Grenade?” Anna asked, incredulous. “Half the facility will be after us.”

    “Grenade? Yes,” Mason whispered back. “Explode? No.”

    Anna shot the rogue agent a perplexed look, but Mason yanked the pin and let the spoon fly free without further explanation. Anna ducked and plugged her ears as the man reached around the corner and sent the grenade clattering down the hall towards the guards. She heard surprised yells from the guards, the safeties being clicked off, rounds being chambered-and no explosion. A loud hissing filled the air, and Mason drew his shirt up over his mouth and nose.

    The surprised guards’ shouts quickly changed from frightened to annoyed, and their yells explained Mason’s tactic to a T.

    “Gas! Gas! Gas!” one yelled, and Anna could imagine him fumbling for his mask-and in the process letting his guard down.

    “Now!” Mason shouted, springing to his feet and rounding the corner. Automatic fire rang out. Anna leaned out from the corner, aiming her pistol. The three guards had been in the process of donning their gas masks when Mason had jumped out and opened fire, catching them momentarily unawares. His first burst had caught one of them in the chest, dropping him to the ground, sending the mask skittering in one direction and the man’s weapon in the other. The guard was stunned-the heavy armor he was wearing caught the rounds, leaving him breathless but unarmed and surrounded by rapidly thickening CS tear gas.

    Anna fired a pair of rounds, both missing but causing the other two guards to duck for cover and abandon their masks. Return fire lit up the corridor, and Anna retreated around the corner as bullets took chunks out of the walls of the hallway.

    “Bravo post taking fire! Man down! Requesting reinforcements!” shouted one of the guards.

    Mason fired another burst down the corridor, suppressing their enemies for a moment. The sounds of choking began to reach Anna’s ears, and wisps of gas danced through the air as the grenade’s contents dispersed. Anna felt an itch in her eyes and mouth and caught the scent of a distant campfire as the first vestiges of the gas reached her nostrils. She clamped her mouth shut and took only shallow breaths.