Directive 17: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Page 8

  Neither man saluted. The mechanic’s face was familiar but Murray knew the pilot by name. “Is she flight ready, Lt. Torgeson?”

  The pilot stuck a finger in one of the holes that dotted the fuselage. “You bet. Got plenty of air conditioning, too. We should probably wash the blood out of the cabin, but I guess there’s no point. The next batch will just mess it up again.”

  Munger had obviously been infecting this man with his special brand of fatalism. But Murray refused to feed that particular beast. Aware of Ziminski’s admiration for her, she said, “As long as one human is breathing, this is our planet.”

  The mechanic stood a little straighter, as if tapping a long-dormant patriotic streak. But Torgeson fished his aviator shades from his breast pocket and slid them on, hiding his eyes.

  To the mechanic, she said, “Is she refueled?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a Southern drawl. “Full up. We got maybe a thousand gallons of treated JP-8 left after this batch.”

  “What happens when we run out?”

  “We can burn diesel in a pinch, but that will really cripple the performance and probably shorten the life span of the engine.”

  Torgeson’s upper lip curled in a sneer, as if she was interfering with man’s work and should stick to her paper pushing. “Takes most of a tank to get to Wilkesboro. We’ve got fuel at the camp there, but I doubt anyone will be alive by the time we get back.”

  So he’s waiting for Col. Munger. I wonder if he knows.

  “Have you heard of Directive Seventeen, Lt. Torgeson?” she asked.

  He adjusted his sunglasses and glanced at the mechanic, who pretended to study the rotor shaft. “Sure. I mean, I haven’t memorized it or anything, but I get the gist.”

  “Cpl. Ziminski,” she said, and the soldier stepped beside her. “Can you please recite it?”

  Ziminski snapped his heels together and stood at attention. “‘Earth Zero Initiative, Directive Seventeen: The ranking administrator or officer of any unit is hereby granted full authority to commandeer and utilize any resource, equipment, material, or personnel for the goal of defeating the enemy and furthering the survival of the human race. Any person or persons refusing this directive shall be sentenced to death.’”

  “Thank you, Corporal.” She pointed her pistol at Torgeson. “Consider yourself commandeered.”

  Torgeson’s mouth fell open. “But Col. Munger—”

  “—won’t be joining us. He’s got other plans.”

  The engineer began backing away but Murray flicked the pistol barrel toward him. “You’re coming along for the ride. Sounds like we’ll need to nurse this baby the best we can. How soon can we be in the air?”

  “If the engine’s warm, maybe five minutes.”

  “Let’s make it four.”

  Torgeson’s head swiveled toward the cavern entrance as if expecting the colonel and a band of soldiers to come pouring out. “I’m waiting for orders.”

  “I’ll give you your orders when we’re airborne. I’m the ranking officer here, and I’d rather not carry out a death sentence. I don’t think we have any more chopper pilots available.”

  Ziminski ushered Torgeson into the cockpit while Murray waved the mechanic into the cabin, where he quickly belted himself in. Ziminski settled in while Murray joined Torgeson in the cockpit.

  “Grab some air,” she ordered Torgeson.

  The pilot started the engine. As the RPMs increased and the rotors began making slow turns, a couple of soldiers came out of the cavern entrance. Murray wondered if they were part of Munger’s lot. She thought of the two officers trapped in the command post. The caverns featured so many arteries the men would likely be there for hours before someone realized they were missing.

  As the chopper lifted off, more soldiers came outside and sentries along the mountain slope stood and watched their flight. Murray gave them a salute.

  “Take us south,” Murray said. “To the camp near Wilkesboro.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It didn’t take long for Goldberg to comprehend Kokona’s intelligence.

  After his initial shock at her speech, she made quick work of explaining just how superior she was and why they needed her to enter the Blue City. Rachel sheepishly explained that she’d been pretending the baby was otherwise normal and harmless because she was afraid Goldberg would kill Kokona. Now, as they circled the Blue City from the edge of the dying woods, Rachel wondered what would happen once they got inside the dome.

  Would Kokona’s hold over her become even more powerful, or would other Zaps drown out any telepathic signals? Would Rachel become susceptible to their communal mind? Or would she be able to ditch Kokona forever once she was focused on dominating any other babies who might be ruling the city?

  Kokona sensed her excitement, well aware that something here was interfering with their special bond. But if Kokona felt threatened, she hid it behind her usual arrogance.

  “I still don’t see any way to get in,” Goldberg said. If he felt strange talking to a mutant baby, he disguised it well.

  We’re all playing games. The first one to fool everyone else wins.

  “I’ll be able to tell when there’s a weakness we can exploit,” Kokona said.

  “This is bullshit,” one of Goldberg’s men said. His words were muffled by a gas mask, paranoid over the strange fallout in the area. They were all clearly uneasy about Kokona, as if she were some kind of witch or demon.

  “If we don’t figure out what’s in there, we might as well just head back down to Florida,” Goldberg said. “And how many of us would die on the way?”

  “You’d better take a boat,” Kokona said. “Half of it is underwater now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The solar storms shifted the magnetic poles. Much of the ice caps were moved into warmer temperatures. Global temperature was already increasing, thanks to our plasma sinks and the heightened electromagnetic activity in the atmosphere. Sea levels have risen by at least six feet, based on our calculations, and perhaps by as much as ten feet with storm surges.”

  Rachel wasn’t sure whether Kokona was bluffing or not. The weakened telepathic link cut both ways—although Rachel was now able to hide her thoughts, so was Kokona. Worse, Kokona seemed to possess the ability to project artificially contrived thoughts to cover up what was really on her mind.

  “The scientists said we were destroying the world,” Goldberg said. “But that was just a different kind of arrogance. It looks like the world’s destroying us before we get the chance.”

  “That ain’t the biggest problem,” said the man in the gas mask. “Kill the Zaps and then we can worry about big-picture stuff.”

  “If you kill the Zaps, how are you going to control their plasma sinks?” Kokona said. “The energy will amplify in an accelerating loop until the electrons compress and the temperatures rise to critical mass. That could trigger a detonation a hundred times more powerful than a nuclear weapon.”

  “Maybe,” Goldberg said. “But I have to wonder why you want inside that dome so bad. Why would you help us when you know we want to kill all of you?”

  “I can’t survive out here,” Kokona said, smiling up at Rachel. “My carriers always let me down.”

  “I don’t know what she’ll do,” Rachel said to Goldberg. “She’s killed humans and Zaps alike. I guess she tolerates me because I’m both. That, plus she can’t walk.”

  Kokona’s little mouth pursed into a moue of disapproval. “Did you ever consider that I’m the only reason you’re still alive?”

  The dome was visible through the desiccated trees only a few hundred yards away. The creek appeared to originate from inside the city, as its torpid waters flowed from a series of alloy pipes set just below the base of the dome. It was impossible to tell whether the flexible material continued underground, but beyond the curving blue walls the grass, flowers, and shrubs appeared to thrive in strips of urban landscaping.

  Lightning crawled over the d
ome’s surface but didn’t quite reach the ground before shrinking away. The electrostatic bolts acted almost like brilliant blue rain streaking a hot windshield, racing down and quickly evaporating to nothing. The energetic flashes made no sound, but tension hung in the air like a building storm.

  “The pipes,” Kokona said. “It’s a way in.”

  Goldberg surveyed them with his binoculars. “Their flow is about half capacity. We don’t know where they come out, or what happens if the whole city decides to flush at once, but I don’t see a better option.”

  “We gotta wade through Zap sewage?” said the man in the gas mask.

  “Zaps rarely eliminate bodily waste,” Kokona said. “We consume very little protein. We babies love our breast milk, but we derive energy from external sources.”

  “Probably some kind of industrial waste,” Goldberg said. “Can’t be much worse than what we’re breathing.”

  “Okay,” said another man, lifting his checkered kerchief up over his mouth. “Even if we wanted to go in the pipes, that’s a lot of wide-open ground to cover. You saw how fast the drones got after that crow. How do we make it there without getting seen?”

  “What worked once might work again,” Kokona said.

  “What do you mean?” Goldberg asked.

  “A decoy. Something that will draw the attention of the monitors.”

  “Sorry, I’m fresh out of crows.”

  “One of your men is a smoker. So he has matches. And this vegetation is so dead and dry that one spark will set it off.”

  “I doubt a fire would burn through that dome,” Rachel said, still trying to figure out Kokona’s motives. She remembered how Goldberg’s band tried to burn them alive in the van the night before. It was a primal weapon, and her fear had been intense despite her Zap physiology.

  “The Zaps may not know that. They will simply respond to a perceived threat.”

  “That might put them on the alert, though,” Goldberg said. “A wildfire springing up out of nowhere?”

  “These are strange days,” Kokona said. “When you play with atoms, you have to expect a few side effects.”

  “Okay, Sammy,” Goldberg said to the man in the kerchief. “Move about fifty yards to the east, there at the bottom of the slope where the trees are thin. Get the fire going with whatever you can find—twigs, fallen branches, leaves.” He fished in one of his many pockets and came out with a grenade. “Incendiary. Only use it as a last resort, because we’re almost out.”

  Sammy’s brow furrowed. “Why do I gotta be the one to set it?”

  “Because you’re our pyromaniac. Just use that old Playboy magazine you’ve been carrying around for toilet paper.”

  “That’s company, not asswipe.”

  “Sacrifice it for the cause. You don’t have to wait around, either. Once you get the job done, you can high-tail it back to camp.”

  “We won’t have any backup,” complained the man in the gas mask. The third man nodded in agreement.

  “My mother taught me to never have a backup plan, because that means you’re accepting the possibility of failure,” Goldberg said.

  Rachel was busy crafting her own backup plan—she didn’t intend to enter the Blue City. She didn’t care if Kokona went with Goldberg’s patrol. She had no loyalty to either side. Let them all die together. But Goldberg would kill her without hesitation if he thought she would abandon or betray them.

  Human when you want to be, Zap when necessary.

  “All right, move out,” Goldberg said to Sammy.

  After Sammy slipped into the hushed ghost of a forest, Goldberg led Rachel and the others to the high yellow weeds and briars that marked the edge of the open plain. The meadow was waist high, and they would be able to wade through it like a pond. They smelled the smoke before they saw the flames, the brusque, acrid odor covering the swampy stench of the creek.

  Goldberg waved his two companions forward and then ordered Rachel to enter the meadow. Rachel crouched low, Kokona snug in the makeshift papoose. Goldberg followed close behind, crawling on his hands and knees. He was slowed by his rifle, which he worked back and forth with each forward planting of his hands.

  “Don’t even think about making a run for it,” Kokona said.

  “You want the city,” Rachel answered. “I’m happy to give it to you.”

  “Will you help me kill these humans once we’re inside?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  The blue dome rose above them, growing larger as they neared. The brilliant lightning seemed to run not across the surface of the dome, but inside the actual material. The large bubble now looked more organic than manufactured, like the translucent body of a jellyfish. Rachel wondered if the dome itself was alive, the latest miracle material manufactured by the Zaps.

  The black smoke rose overhead, shielding the high clouds and the flickering aurora. The sky took on a rose-colored shade, and the first wave of heat reached them.

  “Hurry,” Goldberg said. “It’s spreading faster than I thought it would.”

  There was still no sign of activity from the dome. Either the Zaps hadn’t detected the fire yet—which seemed unlikely—or else they considered themselves impervious to the destructive power of the flames. Rachel expected the Zaps to send out some drone birds for reconnaissance.

  “One other possibility,” Kokona said. “No one’s inside.”

  “And you can have it all to yourself.”

  “That’s the inevitable outcome either way.”

  Goldberg rose and peered over the tops of the softly swaying weeds. When he ducked back down, he said, “Fire’s spreading fast. Make a run for it.”

  The two men leading the way had reached the creek and were within fifty yards of the dome. They waited until the others caught up. More details of the city were visible now—the sleek buildings had few windows, most of them narrow to allow in little light. Each of the four antennae featured a delicate, lattice-like structure where tiny lights winked off and on.

  Rachel was mesmerized by the lights. The clean, empty streets that appeared to be fabricated from the same burnished alloy as the buildings. Aside from strips of landscaping that appeared too uniform to be real, there was no sign of life. No vehicles, no animals, no Zaps.

  “I’m going to love it,” Kokona whispered.

  The flames were crackling, and behind the sound came a faint hissing, like crickets or bees. It seemed to fill the hills surrounding the desolate valley.

  “What’s that?” Goldberg asked, coming up behind them and sweeping his rifle around looking for targets.

  “Oh, no,” Kokona said.

  “Kokona,” Rachel said. “Tell us.”

  The wet rattling grew louder and the parched meadow came alive with movement. The first Zap came out of the trees, making a strange clicking sound in its throat as it sprinted awkwardly toward the dome. Its hair was short, tangled, and oily, only a few scraps of soiled clothing clinging to its body. Its withered shape was genderless, but it was lean and sinewy and dark.

  Behind it came more Zaps, glittery-eyed and twitching, faces drawn and mouths open as if issuing screams that carried no air. These were like the primal Zaps of the early days, violent and mindless threats that sought destruction in all its forms.

  “They’re not supposed to be here,” Kokona said.

  “You knew about these?” Rachel asked.

  “I should kill you right now,” Goldberg said. “But you’re getting us into that city first.”

  The first wave of raging Zaps poured onto the plain, dozens of them, pink, brown, tan, gray. Many of them were nude, with no visible genitals, skin shrunk tight around their skeletal frames but somehow bursting with energy. They were still a couple of hundred yards away, approaching the dome from a different direction, but Goldberg didn’t wait. He pushed past them and splashed into the creek, where his comrades were already wading toward the pipe in knee-high water.

  “Stop them,” Rachel said to Kokona.

 
The baby shook her head, eyes wide. “I can’t. They’ve broken away from us.”

  “You mean you can’t control them or communicate with them?”

  “They’ve gone rogue.”

  “Why are they here?”

  “Why were they ever anywhere? To destroy.”

  Rachel wrapped one arm around Kokona, wondering if the baby was lying, and then jogged to the creek. Its water was iridescent green-blue, rainbow ribbons of contamination coating the surface like skin.

  Between the fire and the horde of rampaging Zaps, Rachel figured slow death from disease or poison was the best alternative.

  She eased into the warm, greasy water.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Goldberg, twenty feet upstream, waved at them to hurry.

  The other two members of the patrol waited by the pipes, pressing into the muddy stream bank as if to make themselves invisible. The sibilant battle cry of the raging Zaps filled the valley like locust wings from a Biblical plague.

  “Keep my head above water, no matter what,” Kokona said.

  “I couldn’t kill you if I tried,” Rachel replied.

  “Don’t even think about trying.”

  “Why are you so afraid of your tribe?” Rachel slogged another step forward, her boot sinking ankle-deep in the hidden muck of the bottom. The more she tried to hurry, the deeper she sank. She couldn’t help but think of the tentacled monster that had attacked them in the water near Stonewall.

  “That’s not my tribe,” Kokona said. “Not anymore.”

  Rachel took a step forward and the bottom wasn’t there. She was too far away from the bank to stop the fall. She pitched forward and the water was up to her neck in seconds. Kokona was submerged, trapped in the papoose, little bubbles rising as she tried to scream.

  As Rachel struggled for balance, the hiss grew nearer. She was below the tops of the weeds and couldn’t see over them, but the Zaps couldn’t be more than fifty yards from the dome. Even though they were approaching from the opposite direction, they would eventually come near the stream.