Run (Book 2): The Crossing (26 page)

40

The town of Marshfield Massachusetts is small area-wise in comparison to some towns in the United States. Approximately thirty square miles of land, with several miles of beautiful coastal seashore, complete with gorgeous beaches and dunes. Approximately twenty-five thousand people live in the small town year round, but in the summer time the population swells to over seventy thousand, even higher during holidays like Memorial Day, or the Fourth of July. Some simple math on a winter month indicates there are almost eight hundred thirty-five people per square mile. Triple that for a summer month, and you are at about twenty-five hundred people per square mile. Frustrating for townies when they have to deal with “Cape traffic,” but down-right deadly when it’s not just your neighbor, your mom, and the local constable that are trying to eat you, but thousands of tourists as well.

The plague hit the town just after Memorial Day, and the Department of Public Works had put up dozens of street signs announcing the three-hundred-eightieth birthday celebration for the town at various spots and beaches throughout the area. When the dead started rising, poor Marshfield had been cursed with a full house.

The streets, both wide and small, were teeming with shambling victims close to the beaches. They had invaded the shops and restaurants, homes and businesses with no thought to nautically themed porches or carefully manicured lawns. With a single-minded objective, they converted all in their path to their cause with no hesitation, no mercy, and no remorse. Other than the sound of the breeze through the marshes, or the occasional shrill cry of a seabird, the only noises were those the dead intermittently made. It was deathly quiet.

The rumbling roar of a Detroit Diesel 6V53T engine coupled to an Allison MT653, 6-speed transmission, sounded like thunder in a breadbox as the LAV made its way past abandoned vehicles, the debris from burned-out houses, and the ever-present forms of the dead. A blue Ford truck followed close behind. Every creature, living or otherwise could not help but hear the vehicles make their way westward. The living ones were no longer ignorant of the inclinations of the stumbling former humans, so they stayed put in their hidey holes. Dogs, cats, rats, and even one horse kept out of sight. The dead did no such thing. They came from behind smashed doors, from dumpsters and under cars, from fire stations, and summer cottages, even from the candy shop. The unearthly quiet that had settled upon this picturesque little town disappeared when the LAV thundered down the garbage strewn streets, but soon the moans of the hungry dead became just as loud.

In minutes, a veritable river of dead people flowed behind the LAV and the truck, emanating frustrated, mournful noises.

With the abandoned vehicles, and unrepaired road damage, it was slow going initially. After about two miles, the salt air was behind them, and the dead thinned considerably. They still stumbled onto the road, however, Stark avoiding them where possible. The teams arrived at the long winding driveway to the Marshfield Hills Industrial Park just before 1500 local time. There were no living or dead in sight.

A large white sign with red letters reading,
Please report to the gate house to check in prior to entering the industrial park. Speed Limit 10 MPH,
was posted on the left side of the driveway.

When they reached the empty gatehouse, Ravi pointed at the forward monitor. “We want the building to the center left over there.”

Stark turned and looked back at Bourne. “Sir, that’s a serious gate.”

The gate was a yellow monstrosity of tube steel stretching across both lanes with the guardhouse in the middle behind it. A second identical gate was twenty or so meters further up the road with a second guardhouse. In between the gates were six cylindrical pistons extending upward from the driveway, three in each lane. A pretty stone wall spread in both directions from the gate and hooked back toward the compound at about a hundred meters to the east and west.

“Sir, I can blow the gates,” Seyfert tapped on the view screen, “but I can’t do those pistons.”

Bourne looked at the group. “Suggestions.” It wasn’t a question.

Stark was shaking his head. “I can’t run over those pistons, but I might be able to crash the wall.”

“Negative, I like the wall as a defensive barrier. We can shore up the gate area after we get in.”

“What about destroying the pistons with the tank weapon?”

Bourne looked thoughtful. “This is an LAV, Ravi,” he corrected. “We could damage the pistons enough that we might not be able to get in, and I want to conserve ammo, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

Phil, sitting on the bench and cleaning his fingernails with a pocket knife, pointed to the screen. “Light’s on in the guardhouse.”

Everyone looked at him.

He shrugged, but didn’t look away from his nails. “Power’s on. Why don’t you just open the gate and lower the pistons?”

“
Wanderer One, this is Two, what’s the hold up
?”

“Big damn gate,” Stark answered. “Stand by.”

“
Copy that, out
.”

“Sir, I’ll check the guardhouse then?” Seyfert asked.

“Stay frosty, I don’t see any Limas in our area, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Check for living hostiles as well, this is a government facility. Chief, go with him.”

“Roger that, Colonel,” Androwski confirmed.

The SEALs exited the LAV via the top hatch and climbed down to the road. The pistons were lowering in fifteen seconds, and the both gates swung wide as well. A second chain-link gate rolled back on wheels, allowing access to the facility.

Seyfert scanned the area as he and his partner walked the vehicles through the perimeter fencing. “This whole place screams to be left alone, I’ve got to admit it has me uneasy.”

“Me too, I don’t like it at all. Where the hell is everybody? I would think an installation like this would have tons of people hiding out behind the walls.”

“Maybe they’re inside.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Seyfert hit the buttons in the guardhouse to shut the gates and ran toward the rolling fence. He had to jump through sideways as it was almost closed when he reached it. The gate locked into itself as it closed. As an afterthought, Androwski moved to the inner gate house and in seconds a little red light appeared on top of the gates, and at every post along the chain link.

“Electric fence,” he said when he returned to the group.

The vehicles and the pedestrians made their way to the building that Ravi had previously indicated. The front entrance lights were on, and the glass doors had been prevented from closing by two wooden wedges. The building was wide open.

The back of the LAV opened and the scientists and the colonel came out stretching. Four doors on the pickup opened and the rest of the team stretched as well.

Androwski pulled his balaclava down to cover his face and checked his weapons. “Everybody stay frosty, something’s wrong.”

“How do you know?” demanded Linda.

“Because this place has ridiculous security, a huge wall, a secondary fence, a gate system that could stop an Abrams,” he pointed to several locations, “and cameras everywhere.”

“So how does that make something wrong?”

“Because there’s nobody here to greet us or stop us and the damn front doors are open.”

“Androwski, Seyfert, Wilcox, and Keleher, exterior recon of the buildings, then report to me. Dallas, you’re in the back of the pickup, Keleher, you drive if we have to bug. Rick, get up on that tower with one of the rifles,” the colonel pointed to a small radio tower with several antennae approximately thirty feet high, “and provide cover. Everyone else gather around. Except you Stark. Sorry, I want you in the LAV.”

The obligatory
Yes, sirs
and
Wilcos
sounded off, and people started checking their weapons and radios before they got on the move.

Forty minutes later, the recon team returned with intel that the other buildings were secure. No signs of anything ambulatory in any of the main structures or outbuildings. A silver Lexus was in the parking lot behind one of the buildings with the door open and the keys in it, but the dome light was off so the team assumed the battery had died. Androwski didn’t want to attempt turning the vehicle over for fear of giving their position away. Wilcox told Stenner that the gargantuan, eight-wheeled LAV had given them away already and they chuckled under their breath.

No evidence of struggle, no blood, no people, and most importantly, no Limas had been detected. Bourne had heated up some food, and distributed some MREs as well. Androwski and Seyfert pulled their masks up and flipped on their safeties. “What’s next, sir?”

“Recon team,” he looked at the four he had previously sent out, “get some chow and hit this building. Standard two-by-two cover formation, check rooms and lock doors as you go. Do not split up, Androwski is Team Lead. Ravi, Brenda, can you give us any intel on the building?”

Ravi handed Bourne a piece of paper. “I took the liberty of drawing you a map while we were eating. Perhaps Brenda could check it for errors. Thank you.”

“Thank
you
.”

Ravi nodded as the colonel unfolded the paper, the incursion team surrounding him in a semi-circle.

“Pretty much as I remember it,” Brenda told them, “but what’s this block in corridor B by the elevators?”

“That is a soda machine.”

“I could use a Dew.” Seyfert looked around; everyone was staring at him. “A Mountain Dew? Nectar of the Gods.”

“After we secure the first floor,” Bourne scolded. “Three minutes to study the map gentlemen, then go.”

The colonel handed Androwski the map, and three minutes later the recon team was passing through chocked open glass doors, Seyfert still chewing a brownie from his MRE. “Eating while on recon, squid?” Seyfert just looked at the colonel and swallowed. Other than the few leaves that were stacked against the front desk, and the small bird’s nest in a darkened lighting fixture, the place was in good shape. No signs of anything anywhere. Androwski grabbed a red Sharpie marker from the attendant’s empty desk and handed it to Wilcox, who put it in his tac-webbing.

The lieutenant made hand signals as he moved forward, shining his light in each room even though most of the lights were on. Private Wilcox closed each door as each room was checked, and marked the front with a large red X. Nine offices were cleared this way, and then the team came upon another desk next to a heavy blue door at the end of a corridor. The other office doors all had small oblong windows, but this one was solid.

They had passed the soda machine ten feet before; Keleher walked back and put his hand on it. He nodded in the affirmative, and pointed to one of the press bars on the machine. “Mountain fucking Dew,” he stage whispered.

Androwski tried the handle on the door. It was locked.

“Wanderer, this is Recon, we’re at a blue door at the end of one of the corridors by the soda machine. There’s a desk here, but the door is locked, over.”

“
Roger that, Recon, stand by
.
Recon
,
intel indicates there is a button under the desk that will open the door
.”

“Roger that, attempting now.”

“
Recon? Intel also says thank you
.”

Androwski used hand signals to tell Seyfert and Keleher to cover the door and Wilcox to cover the rear. He moved behind the desk and looked under. He found two buttons, one red, one green, and a holster for a weapon attached to the underside of the desk. The weapon would have been within easy reach of whoever sat at the desk. The holster was empty.

“Wanderer, there are two buttons, repeat two buttons, one red, one green, over.”

Fifteen seconds of silence followed Androwski’s last transmission, and he was about to call again, when the colonel came back on, “
Recon
?”

“Five by five.”

“
Pick one, out
.”

Androwski looked at Seyfert, who shook his head. “He didn’t tell
me
to pick one.”

The chief frowned, “Fuck me,” and he hit the green button. There was a click, and all weapons went up. Androwski moved from behind the desk and put his hand on the door handle. He faced his team, and silently counted down: “Three, two, one,” and he pulled the door wide. Another room, this one with a metal detection system that would rival an airport check-in, waited for them. There was a walk-through detector that would alert the folks in the room to any threats, and a conveyer x-ray machine to look into containers.

An elevator door was at the far end of the short room, and Androwski relayed this information to the colonel.

“
Good work, Recon. The rest of Wanderer is en-route to your position. Sodas are on me
.”

41

The entire group (with the exception of Stark and Keleher, who had remained in the LAV) showed up six minutes later. The elevator door needed a key card that nobody had, but the SEALs pried the steel panels open and they looked down the shaft. There was a square of light coming from the bottom. Seyfert took a pull from his Mountain Dew and put the plastic bottle on the x-ray table. He checked his gear, then swung in on a ladder in the shaft.

Dallas looked down the shaft. “Another damn climb? How come nobody never puts stuff on one floor no more?”

Seyfert did his climb and his recon, and soon the group was filing through an open elevator three stories down. The light had been coming through the top hatch of the elevator. A long cinder block hallway, painted in utility gray with steel doors along the sides, greeted them. “This is where we worked,” Brenda told everyone. Another set of stainless steel elevator doors shined past all the other entries.

They moved as a group through the corridor and wound up at the second room on the left, which was a computer lab. Stenner and Wilcox were sent back up to tell Stark what was happening as communications were impossible via radio through the structure.

The SEALs and Bourne had found a security room and were looking through camera feeds. The scientists were looking over equipment and attaching the hard drives to a computer system. Rick, Dallas, and Anna were talking amongst themselves about the journey. Phil had found a magazine and was thumbing through it, when the colonel came out of the security room and addressed Brenda.

“Ms. Poole, what’s on the level below us?”

“I don’t know for sure, we were never allowed down the elevator, but I heard talk that there are huge servers down there with vast amounts of storage capacity.”

“Would you come with me please?”

They filed into the security room, curiosity dragging the others with them.

Bourne pointed at one of the security monitors. “Who is that?”

A bearded man in jeans and a green T-shirt was sitting in a wheeled chair throwing a tennis ball against the floor and wall, and catching it on the return flight. The monitor had a digital code on it, and SVR_ RM_1_SUB_LVL_2 in bold white letters across the bottom of the screen.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen that man before.”

“How about this man?”

A second man, duct taped into a second wheeled chair, was moving feebly. There was so much tape on his arms, legs, and chest his clothing looked gray. The chair was tied to a desk with a short length of cord and the man had layer upon layer of tape over his mouth.

Phil, his magazine folded under his arm, pointed to the screen. “That guy’s dead.”

“So it would seem. Brenda, Ravi, do you know him?”

“I do not.”

Brenda shook her head no.

The man with the tennis ball leaned over and spoke to his roommate, then bounced the ball off his dead head and pointed to a monitor. The live man wheeled his chair over to a bank of computer screens and began punching keys.

The colonel folded his arms. “Let’s go meet him then.”

Dallas and Phil helped the two SEALS grab yet another ladder in yet another elevator shaft, and the men climbed down. They watched them quietly climb through the emergency hatch and into the open steel box. These doors had been wedged open as well. A few minutes went by as the duo stared down the shaft. “Least I dint haf’ ta climb down this ‘un.”

Phil glanced at Dallas sideways and then looked back down the shaft. “Oh man, I am so sorry about this,” he said, and used a spinning back kick to push the Texan into space. Dallas didn’t even have time to pinwheel his arms, and there was no scream, as he tumbled two stories and crashed into the steel roof of the elevator. Phil shook his head and made a sorry face. “Dude, that just wasn’t fair.” Dallas was not moving. Phil pulled a small pistol from a back holster and a suppressor from an ankle brace, then closed the doors and moved toward the security room as he screwed the suppressor onto the weapon.