The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning (18 page)

“I think everyone’s here now. We’ve got some big stuff to discuss, folks. Dagger, the Driebachs, and the Church. Are we ready to move on Dagger?”

“I’m still not convinced that Mr. Dagger is in control of anything or that he did all these terrible things,” a voice from the speaker said.

“Governor Belkins, is it?” David asked.

“Yes, this is Belkins.”

“What exactly are you unclear on, Governor?”

“We don’t have any proof that he’s done the things you claim he’s done. It’s all somewhat larger than life, don’t you think? Some sort of paranoid fantasy? I’m not saying you’re making it up, but maybe you have bad information.”

The others in Bunker One’s conference room looked at each other with incredulous expressions. “Uh, what, Governor?”

“I haven’t seen any compelling evidence for these accusations.”

“So, let me get this straight, Governor. Dagger organizes a five-year assault on my bunker, then he weaponizes the prion and uses it to kill not one but two bunkers full of survivors, and you’re still not convinced?” David shook his head in amazement. “Sorry, he didn’t kill that second bunker full of people. He just turned them into the fiercest and most lethal monsters the world has ever seen, which, by the grace of whatever God there may be, we’ve managed to keep contained. All these things, and more besides, and you still think we’re blowing everything out of proportion. Does that about sum it up?”

“In a nutshell, yes.” Belkins paused for a moment, as though he was collecting his thoughts. “I just don’t see any real evidence of any of what you’re talking about. Do you have anything?”

“Then I’d like to refer you to your computer systems. Secure file Driebach-1, please.”

“Son of a bitch,” Belkins said. “We’ll talk later about how the file got here.”

“It’s no great mystery, Governor. All the bunkers should be sharing information, by design. For some reason, the option for file sharing between bunkers was disabled. Probably a lax contractor. A good conversation with our friend Roger Tate, who helped design the system, brought them back to full readiness.

“In case anyone else wants to see it, the same file is in your own systems now. Some of you have already seen it. Others declined to view it before.” David looked down for a moment, getting himself together. “The file is a video confession of the first zombie whose type we call ‘Driebach,’ after this monster’s name in life. These things are real. They’re the most dangerous enemy we face, and Dagger created them to maintain control of us and civilian populations he might come across. Most of you have heard about them already, whether you want to believe the stories or not.”

Gaines took over. “During a recent ExForce mission, we discovered the base of operations for Arthur Beoshane and his men. For those of you who don’t remember, he’s the guy who led the attacks on our bunker. In his confession, Driebach talks about Arthur Beoshane receiving satellite radio calls from someone named ‘McMillan.’ Driebach believed that was just a cover, a pseudonym. After a careful analysis, our technicians were able to pull some GPS data off a phone recovered at the site. They matched it to the location of Bunker Four.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” David said. “This and other evidence proves that McMillan was or is Dagger, and that he did, in fact, commit the atrocities which I mentioned. And who knows how many others. He needs to be dealt with, and we’re the only ones who can do it. And we have to before he takes out another bunker.”

David sighed. “Come on, people. We’ve been talking and preparing for this for over a decade. We need to get off our asses and do something about it or the prion treatment won’t make any difference. Dagger will control us all anyway.”

General Anderson spoke up. “I know you’ve all received my report, whether you bothered to read it or not. I personally spoke with someone who had been on the inside. His name was Staff Sergeant Peter Brooks, and he died a hero. He infiltrated Bunker Four and confirmed everything we’ve suspected and worse. Dagger has everything he needs to launch another attack. Yarborough is dead, and Dagger is in control.”

Someone cleared their throat and then spoke. “Stimmons here, Bunker Three. For what it’s worth, David, we’ll volunteer to help stage any action taken against Bunker Four. I know we’re about eight hundred miles away, give or take, but you’re not going to be able to just fly into his range.”

“Agreed,” said Major Terrance James, military commander of Bunker Three. “He’ll be waiting for us, no doubt. We might be able to get closer than here, though.”

“Has anyone heard from Bunker Five?” Ridgely asked. “We’ve been trying to get in touch to arrange delivery of the treatments, but they won’t respond to us.”

“We haven’t heard anything in months,” Simms from Bunker Ten said. “Other than the occasional propaganda transmission. You know, ‘America is rebuilding,’ that sort of thing. Nothing of substance.”

“Is it possible that Dagger has taken over that bunker too?” one of the others asked. David couldn’t tell who had spoken.

“It’s possible,” he said. “But without any communication from either bunker, there’s no way to know.”

“I think we’re all forgetting something. Dagger is not our biggest concern right now. Those Driebachs in Bunker Nine are, or should be. Dagger we can deal with, but these things… We’ve left them alone for too long already.”

“Good point, Admiral Graves,” David said. “Is Bunker Nine still secure?”

“I’ll take that one, David,” Anderson said. “We’ve been swapping duty with Bunker Ten, rotating our people in and out. So far, we haven’t seen any breaches. They’re locked in there for now. But they’re smart. They still might find a way out. Hell, they could’ve been working on it since we shut the door on them. We need to take care of them, pronto.”

“So we agree that should be the first priority. Admiral, you have a plan for that, right?”

“I do.”

“Good, we’ll hear that in a minute,” David said. “What about the Church of the Divine Judgment?” He’d prepared for the groans and general gnashing of teeth that followed. “I think it’s safe to say we all detest these people, but we still have to figure out a way to deal with them.”

“I think we should note that we don’t hate the people who follow our old friend Reverend Wright,” Colonel James said. “They’re mostly misguided, scared folks. It’s the stuff they do and their leaders we hate.”

“A pointless distinction,” Anderson said. “They’ve killed thousands if not tens of thousands of people. I believe in God, and these people aren’t preaching any gospel or sermon I’ve ever heard. They’re batshit crazy, and we can’t afford to treat them with kid gloves.”

“Agreed,” several of the folks on the call said, including Kimberly, who looked her husband’s way when he turned to her. She shrugged.

“I don’t care whether they believe or not,” David said. “They’ve already attempted to take down two planes. What do we know about their organization? How many followers do they still have? Where are they based? We need more information.”

“We’ve rounded up everyone with that damned brand down here,” Shaw said. “Stuck them in an empty storage bay with some food and water. As far as I’m concerned, they can rot in there, but we might be able to get something out of them.”

David could well imagine what some of the folks who had lost loved ones on the flight to Bunker Ten might do, given the chance. “Anyone else have any prisoners?” he asked, not sure what answer he was hoping for now.

Bunker Two’s Greer followed a round of negatives. “We tried to snag a few up here after you notified us, but they all infected themselves rather than let us take them.”

“Infected themselves?” Simms asked.

“Based on how fast they turned, we’re guessing the syringes they used had runner or Driebach blood in them. Our people are testing them now to be sure. We haven’t caught a single one alive yet.”

“We should all be on high alert until further notice. Are there any objections to Bunker Seven’s people interrogating the prisoners?” He paused, and when no one said anything, he continued. “Right, then. Colonel Shaw, you will proceed with the interrogation and keep us informed of any progress.”

“Roger that,” Shaw acknowledged.

“Admiral Graves, we’re ready for you now.”

New Atlantic Fleet HQ
Naval Station Norfolk

Two thousand miles away, Graves and his XO, O’Reilly, stood in the fleet HQ radio room.

“Well, Governor Blake, in broad strokes, our plan is to launch several Tomahawk missiles at Bunker Nine. Armed with thermobaric ‘bunker-buster’ warheads, they will completely destroy the facility.” He’d expected some discussion of the plan, a few people yelling about it being horrible. What he got, he hadn’t expected at all: silence.

“Sir?”

“We’re here, Admiral. Just… Just trying to process this idea.”

Blake sounded shaken, more so than Graves had ever heard. “Yes, sir, it took us some time to wrap our heads around it too,” he said.

“So, Jeremiah,” General Anderson said, “what you’re saying is you want to nuke the site from orbit?”

The admiral couldn’t help but chuckle, and he heard one or two others on the call with similar reactions. “Not exactly, sir. These are non-nuclear warheads. No fallout, no radiation. Just lots and lots of damage. Those Driebachs will be dead or buried under hundreds of tons of dirt, rock, and steel, sir.”

“How soon can you implement the plan, Admiral?” Blake asked.

“Well, that’s where things get sticky, sir. You see, we don’t have access to our launch codes anymore.”

“Don’t you carry backups?”

Anderson was a Navy man. Of course he would ask that.

“Normally, sir, yes,” Graves responded. “In this case, they’ve disappeared. We suspect that the former captain of the
Texas
destroyed them when he sent the nukes to the bottom. It was during that incident that a fire on board destroyed the main code housing and the cards inside, sir.”

“The codes aren’t in the computers, Admiral?” one of the governors asked. Jeremiah had never bothered to learn their names.

“They probably are, sir. But we can’t get to them without the proper access authorization, which no one on board has, for obvious reasons.”

“Well, where can you find the codes?” Blake asked.

“My first choice was the White House, sir. Then we tried the Pentagon, Fort Meade, the National Reconnaissance Office, even the CIA at Langley.”

“When you say tried…”

“We attempted an incursion at each facility, sir, but we were unsuccessful.”

There was a pause, and David continued. “How many people did we lose, Admiral?”

“Thirty-four, sir.”

“Let’s have a moment of silence, please.”

A minute ticked by, and Blake spoke again. “We thank you and your people for your sacrifices, Admiral.”

“Thank you, sir. It’s our job.”

“And you do it well. What are our other options to find the codes?”

“You’re not going to like it, sir.”

“No doubt.”

“Well, we know where there are some codes that are most likely accessible if we can just get to them in the football, sir.”

“Well, shit,” Blake said.

“The football?” Belkins asked. “What’s the football?”

“Seriously?” Blake said, and Graves heard him laugh. It took a herculean effort for the admiral to keep from joining him.

“Also known as the nuclear football, sir,” Graves answered. “It contains all the mechanisms and codes for use in launching our country’s long-range missiles, including nuclear ordnance, sir.”

General Anderson groaned. “But that means…”

“Yes, sir. Bunker Five. President Marnes or his staff will have that, sir.”

The ruckus he’d been expecting finally came. Everyone talked over everyone else. He just sat there, waiting for it to blow over while looking at the early morning Norfolk sky out the window. Finally, the others calmed down, at least somewhat.

Anderson came back on the line. “I knew you were going to say that. Ideas?”

“We’ll have to go over land to get there. There are no aircraft here that are working or salvageable, due to exposure to the salt air for more than a decade. My current plan is to sail up the Potomac as far as we can with the
Texas
and some transpo ships with Humvees and whatnot. We won’t get far by sub, given the river’s depth, but it should get us around the worst of the infested areas. Then we’ll find a way to take the bunker by force. It won’t be easy, and I’d prefer to do it another way, but that’s about the only way we could come up with. And it’s still a damn sight easier than going back to the Pentagon, though we’ll be going right past that too.”

“Well, this is a fine pickle we’ve found ourselves in, isn’t it?” Anderson sounded tired to Jeremiah. He hoped the man was in good health. He’d always liked the old sailor.

“We could always just leave them buried,” one of the governors said, maybe Tate. “They’re not going anywhere.”

“Are you sure of that?” Blake replied. “Absolutely sure? Because if you’re not… Well, you heard Graves, and he’s right. We’ve already got our Hunters here tracking all over the area for a hint of any more after the one we discovered before. They’ve killed two, and we think there may be more. This is a prime task for all our people now. If bitten by one of these things, you’ll turn in a minute, maybe two. With a few of them, we might be able to contain it. If a whole bunker—thousands of them—got loose? It’d be a new Z-Day all over again.”

Tate’s voice quavered a bit. “I see what you mean.”

“We have to make damned sure there’s none of them left. We have to exterminate every last one, and for that to happen, we’ve also got to take out the source: Bunker Four. If we don’t get rid of Dagger and his people too, we’ll always have to worry that he or his people could create more of them. Just like the prions, we can never be one hundred percent sure. He could have backup samples or whatever stored offsite, but at least this way we’ll have the main source and the people who know how to make it work.”

“We’ll have to coordinate the strikes,” Anderson said. “On Bunkers Four and Five. It’s a safe bet Dagger has people in Bunker Five. If he gets wind of the attack before we’re ready, he could make our assault on Bunker Four ten times as hard.”