Captain Tyler Greaves

  Launch Control Room

  “Marchek, I know I’m in charge, but what’s our play here? I’m open to suggestions,” Captain Greaves asked his second-in-command, Lieutenant Colton Marchek. They had been underground and sealed inside the launch control room for nearly seventy-two hours. In the corner, they kept an emergency ration of supplies, both water and food. They had drilled for countless scenarios over the years, most of them involving whether to ignite the ICBM into orbit or not, but in the case of a hostile takeover, they had only trained a handful of times before the outbreak.

  Greaves thought hard on the subject. Even in the playbook they now had open—a thick, three-ring binder with what to do in case of scenarios—the answers revolved around their security and a quick-reaction force, which they knew was no longer a part of the picture.

  “Captain, I don’t think we answer. Right now, they are assuming two of us are in here, and I don’t want to confirm or deny anything that could help them. So, if you want my ideas on the matter, we ignore them for the time being.”

  Greaves took a moment to think as he thumbed the pages of their rather thick, standard operational procedures binder. In the background, he could hear the man on the other side of the door, speaking again through the intercom, but he simply let his thoughts drown him out. Each page spoke of security forces responding to eliminate the threats, that under no circumstances would they leave their duty stations. The unit’s motto was translated to: If you wish for peace, prepare for war. And that was exactly what they were prepared for, a nuclear confrontation, not an armed takeover.

  “Get Command on the horn!” Greaves told his young lieutenant and then rolled his chair to a new desk and checked the monitors. Each screen showed different camera views of separate areas, but all were black and white. Outside the vault, as they called the launch control room, he could see a rather tall and muscular man wearing a ballcap and stripped down, camouflage fatigues. Then the man craned his neck to look up at the camera as if he were staring dead at the launch control officers. His lips moved, but Greaves had muted the intercom. Greaves’ jaw dropped open as his eyes took note of the scars on the big man’s face, and he wondered what the hell had happened to him.

  Marchek was on the direct line to HQ when he lifted his head up and then pointed to the other security monitors covering the remaining parts of the facility. “They have taken everything underground, Captain.” He leaned over to the wall and broke a small piece of glass covering a red plunger inside of the emergency box. The glass shattered, and then he pushed the distress button. Internally, red lights flashed in the ceiling. But outside of the vault, everything remained civil and kosher, as to not force the intruders into doing something rash.

  Greaves glanced over and noticed the only remaining security force was that of a young private’s body, crumpled in the hallway floor like garbage. Then it hit him that they were truly all alone. He also fully understood that the US government would stop at nothing to keep the silo from falling into nefarious hands. And in plain English, that meant he and the lieutenant were dead no matter what decision they made.

  Against his better judgment, Greaves unmuted the intercom and then spoke directly to the man. “You and your men are trespassing on United States government property, and a QRF has launched. You have very little time to leave in peace or face the wrath of our mighty military!”

  Chapter 14

  In or Out

  Vargo

  90th Missile Wing

  Minuteman III ICBM

  Launch Facility

  Raymer, Colorado

  Vargo stood back and tried not to laugh. He knew he was being watched, and in due time, he would remove that ability from the men inside the launch room, but until then, he needed them to see how serious he was. Vargo had always believed a vision of hell was most certainly deeper than an explanation of it.

  “Boss, the joint is clear. We own it all,” Tate explained. “What else can we do, sir?”

  Vargo smiled and scratched his ratty goatee. “Take the rest of the guys and get some food. Eat up, drink their swill, but leave me one guy for security on the silo itself while I deal with the two heroes in the control room.”

  Tate nodded and made it happen, assigning a man to security and then disappearing out of sight.

  Vargo stared back up to the camera and tried to put on a smile across his repulsively scarred face as he pushed the intercom talk button. “Trespassing, you say. No, son, those words are wrong. You see, we are here on behalf of the people of this great nation. The ones left, that is. The ones that have not been infected. We are here representing their interests.”

  “Sir, a QRF has just launched out of Fort Collins—” Greaves tried to bluff, but Vargo was too keen on his actions to believe anything the man said.

  “No, son, there’s no QRF. We made sure of that before we came to visit you. Now, I know you have cameras, and I suggest you first look out toward your gate guards and see what’s left of them. Go ahead, I’ll wait. I have nothing but time…but you don’t. In three more days, you’ll run out of water, and depending on how fat you bastards are inside of that coffin, you’ll most likely starve to death in a couple few weeks. That, we also have time for.” Vargo was thinking of his next move and felt it should remain civil…for now. At the point they were at, he felt he would get more flies with honey.

  There was no immediate response, but Vargo stood patiently staring into the camera for the time being. He was playing chess, while the launch control officers were playing checkers.

  Vargo pushed the talk button again. “Son, your country has left you here to die, both of you. But I can offer you your only way to live. Open the blast door and walk away a free man. It’s really that simple. We need something that only you can provide, and if you don’t, we are prepared to stay underground with you until the meat on your bones has liquified.”

  Vargo stood back, crossed his thick arms over his chest, and waited for a response. The nice-guy act would only last so long. He even caught himself looking down to his lever-action Marlin he still held. He wanted to kill those officers so badly, he could taste it.

  Then Tate walked up and handed him two cards before walking away.

  Vargo smirked and stepped back to the intercom and pressed the talk button as he viewed the cards. “How about that? Inside the— Well, isn’t that cute, the cards say that the launch control room is called the vault. So inside the vault is one Captain Tyler Greaves and Lieutenant Colton Marchek. I hate to say this, Marchek, but that name sounds Russian. How did you get the clearance to man the missile?”

  “Captain, they know our names now!” Marchek said. “We can’t stay in here forever, boss. What if they send men to our homes?”

  Greaves thought about his house and of the fire that had burned it down. He thought about the family he used to have and knew it would make no difference for him what the militant man on the other side of the door did. He would stand his post until he was dead. “It must be nice to still have some family around,” Greaves said softly. He didn’t mean to say it but simply couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up⁠—”

  “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have said what I said, either,” Greaves apologized. “It’s good for you that you do still have Maddie and Olive.” His lips stopped him from saying anything else as his heart ached for his wife and son. The collapsing world had been hard on everyone across the nation, and he was no exception.

  Greaves took a deep breath and clicked the talk button. “Sir, you are about to be confronted by some really nasty armed men. I suggest you beat feet and exit the silo or risk the full wrath of the United States military.”

  Vargo laughed at what he was hearing. In his mind, it would be a waiting game. They had accomplished the hard part, accessing the silo. Now it was no more than a matter of time. But in the interest of time and more so for his amusing pleasure as he killed the ticking clock, Vargo turned to the young soldier lying dead in a crimson pool of his own blood.

  He stepped back from the camera, over to the soldier, and dragged him further out into the center of the floor, while also making sure the launch room officers could clearly see what he was about to do.

  Shuffling his feet back to the intercom, he pressed the button and spoke. “I know you can see me. This is your last chance to open the vault door and walk out of here free men. I give you my word that no harm will come to you.”

  He stood there and waited for some semblance of a response, but none came.

  Vargo pushed the intercom button again. “Or, plan B, if I have to come in there, I’ll gut you like the pigs you are!”

  Vargo leaned his rifle in the corner and pulled out an old hawkbill electrician’s knife. Without pause, he leaned over, and as if he had performed the task a hundred times before, he cut the dead man’s stomach wide open, slicing him from hip to hip, allowing his intestines to puddle out like soggy ropes and red mashed potatoes for the launch control officers to see.

  Chapter 15

  A Dark Friend

  Mark Moon

  Leaving the Bunker

  4704 Falstone Avenue

  Chevy Chase, Maryland

  The reappropriated and city-owned steel manhole cover hinged open like a door to a world that gave even the hardest of men trepidation. Fresh dampness slipped in with the air as Mark Moon held his Glock 17 up, covering the area around the entrance to the bunker, while also stepping back into the doctor’s basement.

  Sweat slipped from his brow as he used his weapon’s light to shine the blank gray concrete walls while Rico Tag and Allman finished their climb, ultimately stepping out into the world again. Moon held security on the bottom of the stairs they would need to ascend and motioned for Allman to shut the bunker entrance.

  He knew what needed to be done, and the plan was simple: get topside, check for signs of Director Yorgey, and call for extraction. Based on the ETA of their chopper, Moon would make the call if they even attempted to find their missing man. There were a lot of moving parts, but at least the men had accomplished their mission, and now the fate of the world was in the hands of Doctor Halbrook. They had successfully passed the baton. Strangely, though, having the responsibility lifted from Moon’s shoulders didn’t give him any relief. On the contrary, he was nervous about leaving, period. He had a gut feeling that, mentally, the doctor wasn’t coping well with the isolation. Maybe it was also the collapsing society or a combination of both, but Moon also understood that most men were feeling the effects of the Ares Plague in different ways. For Moon, his response to the happenings across the nation was to throw himself into his work and pray for the best. That was his slice of the proverbial pie and all he focused on. And no matter what his gut instincts told him, he had done all he could, and it was time to leave and allow Doctor Halbrook to take it the rest of the way.

  With the hatch sealed, Moon led the men up the stairs and back into the living room. Just as they had on the way into the house, the men were now clearing that ground level, ensuring no Carrier had snuck in behind them while they had been in the bunker.

  He pushed into the kitchen. The bottom level had been cleared, and Moon cracked the back door to peek before they exited. The coast was clear. No one or nothing was in sight. But he did take heed that they had overstayed their welcome, as the sun was beginning to drop below the horizon.

  “Allman, check your mapping system. Is Yorgey still pinging?” Moon asked. Even with the sun setting, if he had a slight chance to find his friend, by God he would. But again, he had to weigh the totality of the circumstances. The good thing was that their part of the mission was over. They had successfully taken the sample to Doctor Halbrook and given him a pint’s worth of blood vials. So if they had to risk everything for Yorgey, he would be willing to. Although he wanted the other two men to have a say in it as well.

  “He’s moved since the last time we checked… Oh, hell, boss. He’s not far from us at all. Honestly, we just need to backtrack a bit and hit that wooded park skirting a creek bed.”

  Moon nodded and peeked outside one last time. “Well, you guys make the call. My original thought was to call for extraction and then go get him. That way, even if we were in contact, we could move and the choppers could come to us. We wouldn’t be waiting for a ride. But the sun is going down. We all know what happens at night with the Carriers⁠—”

  “Yeah, they mostly come out at night, mostly,” Tag replied and snickered. His alien reference wasn’t lost on the others, but in the moments, they both simply shook their heads.

  “How far is he from us, exactly?” Moon asked.

  “Maybe half a mile or so,” Allman replied.

  “I think I know what you guys will say, but I need to hear it. Tell me what you boys want to do and don’t bullshit around the bush with me,” Moon said.

  “It’s not a hard answer, boss. I won’t leave this town without him,” Allman replied.

  “There’s nothing to go back for anyways, Mark. Let’s go get our guy and then blow the joint,” Tag replied.

  Moon nodded. He knew that would be their answers. Internally, he knew it was the right call, even if it meant they all died in the process. “We come when called, serve in silence, and fall for those we may never know.”

  “Hoorah,” both men said softly as they readied themselves to leave the house.

  “I’ll make the call, but once I do, Allman, you have point, so lead us to Yorgey,” Moon replied and then adjusted his radio, deep in his pouch and attached to his chest rig, assuring himself that he was on the command channel. “Command, this is Team 3 actual, we are a go for extraction. I repeat, we are ready to exfil, how copy?”

  The channel squawked, and then a lovely women’s voice replied. “Team 3, this is Command, birds are inbound, ETA twelve minutes to LZ Charlie. I repeat, primary LZ is no good, and Charlie is cold at this time.”

  Moon turned to the guys with an understanding they could hear Command through their comms as well. The primary LZ had been a road intersection one block north of the target location, and the secondary had been along the road they had parachuted onto in front of the commercial buildings, but they were no good. “Did they just tell us to head to the pool for exfil?”

  Allman nodded. “I bet they found a drone to fly over and give them eyes on. If they are shit canning the primary and secondaries, then the Carriers are already out and about. It’s going to get spicy real fucking quick!”

  “I hope it’s an armed Reaper,” Tag added.

  Moon agreed, then answered Command. “We copy, twelve mikes out… Any word on Yankee-Oscar-Romeo-Golf-Echo-Yankee?”

  “That’s affirmative, Yankee is on the move without comms, how copy?”

  “We copy,” Moon replied, understanding that he must have lost his radio while being towed. Quickly, Moon had a thought and pulled out his sat phone…then tapped Yorgey’s number. The phone echoed an audibly tone in his ear. He listened to it on and off, just like a dial tone. But nothing else happened. Yorgey never picked up. Moon thought he must have had it powered off.

  Allman led the group, nearly jumping down the three concrete stairs into the grassy back yard. They had already discussed the best route, and Allman had agreed to keep the men traversing the backyards, avoiding the road at almost all costs. They only had four yards to trample through before they would push into the woods attached to the Williard Neighborhood Park.

  The first chain-link fence they crossed rattled like a string of old tin cans, but the men kept moving. A rusted red-and-white tricycle sat precariously in the center of the yard next to a shed with two open and faded white doors.

  The sun was rapidly disappearing from the sky now, giving the men a feeling of accelerated time. Before leaving the doctor’s home, they had had twelve minutes to be at the LZ, but it didn’t seem like they had enough time left for what they were trying to accomplish. As if time had sped up and then, out of nowhere, a Wanderer could be seen stumbling in the back yard of the third house they had to move past.

  Allman had a fence between himself and the infected woman—malnourished, shirtless, and missing fingers. As he hopped the fence, Allman motioned for the men to hold fast, and they spread out along the fence, covering the rest of the yard and home with their M4s.

  The Wanderer was wearing a skirt, and as Allman approached, it was facing away, staring aimlessly off at the setting sun, as if it was just waiting for something else to happen. Allman rotated his rifle behind his back; he had to kill the woman, but silently, or else risk alerting other Carriers in the area to their position.

  Allman yanked out a three-inch fixed-blade Dalton knife, a Protocol agent’s silent choice when noise was a factor of survival. With speed, stealth, and accurate violence, he skipped up behind the infected woman, pulled her head to the left with his gloved hand, and then pushed the blade deep into the right side of her exposed neck and cut outward to the front. It was so fast, the Wanderer had no to time to react.

  Even though Allman wasn’t sure that tactic would keep an infected person down, permanently, he knew it was the quietest option, that as the female fell to the ground, drowning on her own arterial blood, she would be silenced and unable to alert any other Carriers to their presence.

  After re-sheathing his knife, Allman lifted up his rifle and continued to move where they needed to go. His actions had been so profound in killing that woman; he never missed a beat, nor did he hesitate for an instant. As a sniper, he typically had killed men at a distance, and that desensitized him to death and the act of killing. But when it was up close, killing tended to become more intimate, more personal. And given his target to be an American citizen, a female at that, it was amazing that, even after all the hardship and death, he had performed his job flawlessly.