Moon’s jaw slightly gaped as he glanced at the paper. In his hands, the thick document even felt legitimate, expensive, as if the world were running as normal. The letter thanked him and Yorgey for all they had done and asked to continue the fight and help the thankful nation get back on its own two legs, to help do all that they could to find the cure.

  Captain Thompson spoke as Moon read, while Yorgey looked over onto the same presidential letter. “As I was explaining, we will fly you boys to his house in Maryland, where you will transfer the sample and give him a fresh vial of your blood. That is your mission, short and sweet.”

  Moon looked up from the letter and nodded. “That’s fine, sir. When would you like us to leave?”

  “Immediately, guys. As always, time is not on our side, but first, we need to talk about the state of the nation and what you should expect if anything goes wrong along the way,” Captain Thompson explained.

  On the wall of the briefing room were no less than ten large-screen plasma monitors that were mostly blacked out. In the center of the room was a large, circular table, reminding Mark Moon of the old fabled Knights of the Round Table.

  “Gentlemen, this is where the brains of Command meet. We war-game and discuss tactics, while most of the screens you see on the wall contain other higher-ranking officials and sometimes even POTUS,” Captain Thompson explained. “But now, we are a skeleton crew like most other installations and safe zones across the country. Rarely do we possess the capability to fill those screens. We, much like the modern news that used to give us daily intel, now make do with what we can get, even if it is weeks old.”

  “Are you saying the intel for Doctor Halbrook’s whereabouts is old?” Moon asked as he sat down.

  “Aged, yes. But it’s the best we have. In the recent past, you men were shit out of luck for air assets. Now those are plentiful, or at least more plentiful than before. And now, intel is what falls behind; it’s what my teenager nowadays would say was no cap—meaning that it is, or was, of low quality and uncool. But it’s the best we have. I mean, radios still work and sat phones are next to godliness,” Captain Thompson explained. “But what you need to understand is what lies between here and Chevy Chase, Maryland—4704 Falstone Avenue, to be exact. That’s where the doc lives, and fittingly enough, it’s within walking distance to his CDC office.

  “We can fly you straight to the campus, and then you’ll simply walk next door, hand off the sample, and Agent Moon will give a fresh vial or three of blood, then you’ll simply fly out. The rest will be up to Doctor Halbrook.”

  “Sir, we follow, but what’s between here and there that has us sitting here on pins and needles?” Moon replied.

  Captain Thompson looked out the window over the saltwater harbor his ships were moored in. It was a hard fact admitting that most of the country had fallen, that the United States was holding on by threads and even the President himself was in hiding.

  “Men, some of this you are aware of—hell, some you’ve experienced firsthand. But I’ll break it down like a shotgun for you. Our government has largely fallen apart, with the exception of a handful of safe zones, one in which you are currently sitting within. The Carriers are as rampant as ever, but adding to the chaos are factions of evil men rising up. One in particular that seems to be gaining momentum is a jack-hole that goes by the name Vargo.”

  Moon knew that name. Josh Allman had told him about that man and how he never had the pleasure of killing him.

  “This Vargo character is bad news and has threatened to take a nuclear silo. Now, we all know that’s most likely big talk for a man trying to create a name. But the intel we have is he may be looking to establish a fortified zone near a silo. That’s all we know about him.

  “But these types of criminal factions appear to be a dime a dozen,” he explained.

  Moon and Yorgey looked at each other, both men instinctively deciding not to speak about Vargo, but instead listen to all the information the captain had in hand.

  Moon spoke. “Sir, we understand survivors associated with law enforcement, national guard, soldiers, and veterans have all been working to keep some semblance of law and order or peace. We’ve seen the roads, the abandoned cars, the bodies, the uncontrollable fires. We have seen the death and destruction of once-lively cities. We know power out west is nonexistent, and here, you operate on a flimsy grid and emergency power sources. Hell, even our radios took a shit near ground zero. That was an issue, I won’t lie.

  “We’ve seen firsthand that the undead population are in dense areas and massively concentrated. We believe they even coordinate their attacks. Right now, I would assume they most likely outnumber the living, am I right?” Moon asked.

  Captain Thompson sighed and huffed, releasing a bit of stress. “Estimates right now are that only twenty percent of the population remains. That’s somewhere in the ballpark of sixty million Americans left.” He hung his head and looked back out at the ships in the harbor. In that moment, he wondered how his family was doing. His eyes then shot to an older picture, framed, on his desk of him and his wife, who, in the picture, was holding his baby daughter.

  “Sir,” Moon began again. “We are fully aware that once we leave this base, we are almost solely on our own. And in that aspect, I’ll ask that we take a sat phone for each man, but also how about I volunteer a sniper to go with us, just in case?”

  The captain knew that out of all of the men in Moon’s team, only he and Yorgey emerged from the Atlanta lab. He also knew that he had two snipers on an aerial platform dealing death to keep them safe. That left four men in total. He thought briefly about the logistics before he answered and realized four men would be safer than two.

  “Sir—” Moon started to speak again but was cut off.

  “I wanted to think about that for a moment, and I agree, four was my plan all along. Two for security, but if you’d like your snipers with you, I understand and agree you should have them. Even a Little Bird can handle four men, but I’m not sure what aerial platforms we have that can get you there. But I’ll check and have an answer by lunch. For now, I say go tell your other men, pull the gear you’ll need, and get ready to go. Unless you or Director Yorgey have any other questions?” Captain Thompson explained.

  His heart was in the right place, but Moon had a funny feeling about the mission. It was too clean, presented, too easily. Nothing in the collapsed world had been a cake walk, so why would this mission be anything less? His mind turned to the men he had lost and knew there were only four of them left: Yorgey, Allman, Tag, and himself. He hated to risk their lives any more than he already had, but it was their job to perform. They literally got paid to go into harm’s way, so others may live. Then the Protocol 9 motto slipped from his tongue as he stood up. “Sir, there’s no other questions or options at this point. Understand, we come when called, serve in silence, and fall for those we may never know. My men will be ready. I’ll make sure of that.”

  Captain Thompson stood up and shook both men’s hands. “Your phones will be hardwired directly to me, and I’ll make damn sure you have what you need. Be safe, but if you can’t be safe, be deadly!”

  “Roger that, sir!” Both Moon and Yorgey answered as one, then turned and left the room.

  Chapter 3

  The Vibe

  Mark Moon

  Naval Air Station Key West

  Boca Chica Keys, Florida

  “What’s your take on all that, Will?” Moon asked as the men stepped from the building, making their way toward the barracks.

  Yorgey took a deep breath and huffed, blowing air through his cheeks as he looked left and right, making sure they were alone, that no looky-loos were nearby. “Mark, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. My gut doesn’t like this. It’s too neat. This mission was presented in an almost Christmas-like package, and it curdles my stomach.”

  “That was my thought as well,” Moon replied. “Captain Thompson isn’t a bad man. Hell, I have no doubts that he will do everything he can to help us succeed, but at the same time, I wonder how much time he’s spent in the dead zones. I don’t think he’s trying to pull a fast one, but I also don’t believe he’s had much adversity lately.”

  “Dead zones are catchy…”

  “That’s exactly what they are. The Carriers are all dead. They just don’t realized it yet. Henceforth, dead zones… But back to the point. I feel iffy on this one.”

  “Iffy?” Will asked. “Like you don’t want to go iffy?”

  “No, not at all. Iffy like this thing has a high chance of going sideways on us really quick,” Moon replied. “For face value, we most likely will land a bird at the CDC offices in Chevy Chase, then walk one block in. Seems simple, but I want us all prepared and geared up for a standard raid package. Breathers are optional, but I want them accessible. I’ll bring the sample. If you can prep some breaching gear, bring the shotty, and some C4, but don’t build anything out. Just have it in case we need to blow something up.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have Allman pull some comms, and Tag can prep the sniper gear,” Yorgey replied.

  “Can you brief the others? I’ll go pull four sat phones for us,” Moon asked, delegating tasks so they could get the show on the road. He was also aware that they had to prep night vision, weapons, ammo, and make assignments. Nothing had been a walk in the park, and eight men had been killed in action the last time they hit a CDC campus to prove it.

  Moon walked off with the ocean breeze still pushing his dark brown hair across his forehead. If he looked close in a mirror, he would see a little salt-and-pepper gray beginning to show through. His mind was on business now. He knew Yorgey would give the other two a warning order and prep them for the mission as he moved through the propped-open door to the headquarters building.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a mid-twenties sailor asked, her tone soft and inviting.

  “You sure can, ma’am. I know the commo cage doesn’t carry sat phones, but can you direct me to logistics, so I can get prepped for a mission?”

  “Sat phones are with psychological operations, second floor. Take the stairs on my right, your left. And good luck, sir.”

  “Why not logistics?” Moon questioned, more for curiosity than anything else.

  “We are way short on people, sir, so we combined a ton of things. Basically, we all wear multiple hats now. In a few hours, I’ll be slinging food at the chow hall, then tonight, I’ll help out in the laundry.”

  “Keeps you busy, I’m sure,” Moon replied.

  “Honestly, sir. I’m just lucky to be alive. The world is shit, and at least in here, I have a chance. I may not make it another week or even a month, but at least, until that time as the Lord sees fit to call me home, I’ll have hot water and food—not to mention a real mattress to sleep on,” she replied. “It seems like you’re prepping to leave the wire, so to speak. I feel for you, sir, and I hope you make it back.”

  Moon was shocked at her honesty but happy she was comfortable enough to relatively speak her mind. That was a rare quality with lower-ranked enlisted personnel, but more so with women, who typically toed the standard operational procedure line. He found it refreshing and hoped he would indeed see her again.

  The stairs were dimly lit, and a breeze descended on them as if a window were open on the next floor. Within a few moments, he had made it to the second floor and noticed a sign directing him two doors down on his left, to where he could find psyops.

  Knocking first, Moon pushed the door open and saw a small waiting room with chairs that lined the wall like a doctor’s office. Pictures of naval vessels, ships, and sailors hung on the wall. The counter was partitioned by a transparent window he felt was Plexiglas that slid open when they needed to assist someone and a locked door to the left of it.

  Then a man came into frame on the other side of the counter, and he indeed slid that Plexiglas divider open. “How can I help you?” he bellowed as he grabbed a stack of papers and turned to place them on a desk behind him.

  Moon noticed the man was a chief petty officer, so he addressed him by rank. “Chief, I hate to bother you, but under the direct orders of Captain Thompson, I need to sign out five satellite phones.” Moon really only needed four, but he had learned the hard way that it was better to have and not need than to need and not have.

  The cynical chief stared at him briefly and then turned to walk away without saying a single word. The man hadn’t as much as squeaked as his boots stomped off.

  Moon’s eyes rolled back and forth, wondering what the hell the chief’s problem was, and then like a magician, the man emerged with five fresh and shiny sat phones, all stacked up inside a small cardboard box, which he proceeded to push across the counter at Agent Moon.

  “Sign here, boss,” the chief said as he slid a clipboard with a single piece of paper attached to it over to him.

  Moon grabbed the old-fashioned brown clipboard before it slid off and into the floor. His eyes trained on the paper, he signed it with the attached black ballpoint pen, and before he could even look up, the man had vanished again.

  Moon found his behavior odd, but at the end of the world, was it really odd, or was the chief petty officer overworked and doing the absolute best he could before he found himself snapping under the stress?

  At least Moon had his sat phones and could move forward with mission planning and prep now.

  Moon took a short detour on his way to the barracks to meet his team, turning on the trail that led to the eastern shoreline Yorgey had found him drinking coffee at earlier in the morning. He picked up one of the phones and smiled. He now held a black Iridium 9555 satellite phone that fit snuggly in the palm of his hand and looked just like an old-time, original-generation Nokia cellphone.

  Moon powered it on and waited a few seconds for the satellites to acquire the signal. He didn’t have any family left that he wanted to call, nor many friends; most of those had been killed in action. Not to mention, other than his own, he only had one number memorized—the number for the old man neighbor who had his dog.

  Typing in the digits, he stared at the screen, then hit send. His heart raced. Would he pick up or not? Moon thought about hanging up now, not wanting to face the possibility the old man was dead and that would endure his dog was, too.

  Taking a deep breath, he held the phone to his ear, and all of a sudden, a tone began to ring. At least the satellites are still operating, he thought to himself. Then on the other line, he heard an audible click as the call picked up. “Who the hell is this?” the old man demanded.

  Moon smiled from ear to ear. In the back of his mind, the money he had spent on that sat phone he had given the old man for his birthday had been well worth it now. “Hey, you old fuck. How’s my dog?”

  “Moon, is that you?” the old man asked. His tone was as angry as always. It seemed that the old man had been crabby every day of his life.

  “It’s me, you old goat. How’s Porsche? You guys surviving?”

  “Look here, asshole, there’s freaking monsters everywhere. Why aren’t you in the woods with me, trying to hide?”

  “Long story short, but I got called back to serve, so I’ve been pretty damn busy.”

  “Is this line secure? Damn it, are we safe to talk?” the old man questioned, his tone thick with paranoia.

  “We are secure, my friend. Did you eat that fish I left with you?”

  Static slipped into his ear briefly while the old man spoke. “It was delicious, and I’m still shocked that your dumb ass caught such a fine fish. You must have found it dead, floating in a canal, ’cause I know you’re really a shitty angler.”

  “Glad you’re in good spirits, old man⁠—”

  “Look, you left that mutt with me, so she’s mine now. Never liked that name Porsche, so I call her PP now. I even got her a little doggy bed, but the bitch keeps getting in my bed at night anyways. She’s as stubborn as my first three wives.”

  Moon smiled as tears flowed like a river. His face slicked with the salty wetness as the sun shone off his cheeks. He got the answer he had needed. For months now, he had worried and wondered about his dog—not so much about the old man, but rather if his dog Porsche was okay, if she was still alive.

  “You still there, dipshit?” the old man asked. His tone was increasingly harsh and thick with stress.

  “I am. Where are you at? Are you still at home, or have you moved?” Moon asked.

  “You are stupid, aren’t you? I knew the military messed you up, but now you’re just being thick. The cities are swamped with the undead…like the ocean came inland a few hundred miles, but instead of bringing suffocating water, it brought flesh-eating men and women who think they’re goddamned velociraptors!”

  “You headed for the mountains, didn’t you?”

  “Now you’re thinking! You know exactly where I’m at, and you can come, too, but the dog is mine. Abandoned property is what she is…or I should say was, ’cause she’s mine now!”

  Moon smiled, wiping the tears from his eyes. He indeed understood where the old man was, in his cabin up in the West Virginia mountains. That old man had a metric ton of property, was a prepper, and had no neighbors to speak of. Moon knew the old man was safe and so was his dog, most likely eating deer meat and living high on the hog.

  “See you when I can, old man, but until then, try not to be too much of a pain in the ass for anyone you may come across.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry your fuzzy britches about that. I haven’t seen a soul in weeks, and I aim to keep it that way. So, when you do come, you might want to call beforehand, so I can give you a safe path in, if you get my drift.”

  “Sounds good, my friend. See you then.” Moon hung up and smiled. Porsche’s wellbeing had weighed on his soul, and now he felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of him. He wholeheartedly believed that he’d never see his dog again, but if by some chance he made it out alive, he damn well knew he’d head to the mountains to see her and his old friend.