Particle Z (Book 1) (9 page)
Mike walked woodenly back to his friends. His world rocked; he no longer had a home and had no idea where Julian was taking them. So overwhelmed by Julian’s words, he had neglected to ask for their intended destination. In one day, everything he had known and worked for was gone.
His friends looked up at him with hope in their eyes. Slowly that hope faded as they saw the hopelessness in Mike’s eyes and the slump to his shoulders.
“That bad, Mike?” Reid asked
“Worse than you can imagine,” Mike said.
He slid down onto the steel floor, now covered with blankets Marlee had found somewhere to make herself and the others comfortable. He was dreading the task of giving his closest friends news that would forever change their lives, removing all hope for a future that no longer existed. It took a while and he answered every question as best he could. Once finished, the look of desperation and horror on their faces was hard for Mike to stomach. He knew they were having the same inner thoughts. Family members and friends were lost forever. Most of all, their very way of life was gone and each knew chances of survival were slim.
Davis walked up to give Mike a quick update. “We’ll be landing in about an hour; as soon as you hear the announcement please strap in.” He hesitated to make sure his message was received before turning and leaving again.
“Davis,” Eric called.
Davis paused and turned back. “Yes?” he said with his matter-of-fact military demeanor.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe, a new beginning maybe,” was all they got before he turned and left for good this time.
Mike looked at the tired faces around him. “Let’s get some rest while we can. My gut tells me sleep will be a rare commodity in the days to come.”
Sleep was elusive for Mike after learning that modern science’s brightest minds, in their arrogance, had FUBAR’d the planet. When he finally drifted off to sleep, it seemed like only minutes passed before the signal came to prep for landing. He rose then gently shook Marlee to urge her into one of the jump seats before making sure everyone else was up and ready for the landing. Mike estimated they had only been in the air a few hours, his instincts telling him they must still be near the East Coast, perhaps further inland and away from the major population centers. Julian was careful and well-prepared.
“We’re landing at the Greenbrier Valley Airport in Lewisburg, West Virginia,” said Davis, who had come upon the group without anyone noticing.
“Lewisburg?” Marlee asked, having never heard of the small West Virginia town before.
“Julian has access to a secure facility and we need a safe place to regroup and figure out what information we have is valid and what’s not at this point.”
“What’s in Lewisburg?” Mike asked. He remembered watching news reports about an old Cold War bunker hidden somewhere nearby. The History Channel was a perennial favorite of Mike’s.
“The Greenbrier Resort, although it’s actually in White Sulphur Springs about twelve miles southeast of the airport. It’s Small Town USA so we don’t expect much activity.”
“Funny time for a vacation, but after today we need one,” Reid quipped.
Davis never missed a beat as he responded to Reid with a completely straight face, “The maid service is killer where we’re going.”
“That’s not funny, man,” Reid said with a look of chagrin.
The rest of the group burst out in howls of laughter. Rare it was when Reid had his own wit turned around on himself. Davis let a small smirk escape from his typically stoic face as he turned and walked back the way he had come.
“Be ready for anything,” Mike warned the group as they each braced for what they hoped would be a smooth landing.
This is a big aircraft to put down at a small town airport
, Mike thought as he heard the sound of landing gear extending downward then locking into place.
Less than ten minutes later the aircraft touched down smooth as silk and the pilot brought the behemoth to an impressively quick stop.
Short runway; the pilot has talent
, Mike thought.
“Get ready,” Julian barked from somewhere forward in the aircraft.
The vehicles were loaded and ready to go by now; someone in black fatigues ran past and hammered the switch to drop the cargo door then ran back to the Humvee.
Mike climbed topside into the MRAP’s turret with Davis and watched as the cargo door dropped slowly, revealing a gloomy darkness and a landscape unknown to him. The driver hit the lights as soon as the door was resting on the ground, spilling a bright white light over a dawn that wasn’t quite finished yet with the prior night. The MRAP’s illumination revealed a greeting party that sent shockwaves through everyone in the lead vehicle. Laid out before them were hundreds of Changed converging on the aircraft from all directions.
“Back, back back …” Julian screamed at the driver but Mike knew it was too late to change course now.
The MRAP came to a sudden halt as it hit the concrete runway. The driver of the bus directly behind instinctively attempted to avoid a collision and glanced off the motionless MRAP, skidding off the side of the ramp. The bus landed on its side with the grinding of steel and the shattering of glass impossibly loud in the early morning air. Whether it was from the sound of the crash or the smell of fresh blood from those injured inside the bus, the Changed, or Zs as Julian’s men called them, swarmed the bus and the helpless occupants trapped inside.
Davis whipped the twin chain-guns toward the bus, but there was no way to avoid killing the buses’ occupants as well. Before he could fire a single round, Julian yelled, “Hold your fire.”
“Say again,” Davis called back down.
“Hold your fire, Davis,” Julian ordered again. “We have limited ammunition and I can’t jeopardize the mission for people that are dead already, copy that?”
Davis looked like he was going to be sick; he glanced back at the bus and choked out a reply, “Copy.”
He swiveled the gun away from the bus and turned his head as the Changed started sliding and clawing their way into the bus through the broken windows. Some of the people trapped inside screamed in agony, while other started to cry and beg for help, pleading in the most gut-wrenching way for mercy in the moments before they were ripped to pieces. Mike looked up and his eye caught the back wheel of the bus still spinning slowly as the bus rocked under the carnage transpiring inside. It was inappropriate, but Mike stared to sing to himself …
and the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round
before averting his gaze.
“Move out NOW!” Julian yelled at the driver. The MRAP jumped forward once again, plowing through the throngs of Changed attempting to overrun the remaining two vehicles. Luckily weight and size were on their side, and the huge six-wheeled MRAP was able to plow through the smaller crowd not distracted by the poor souls inside the bus, some screaming still as their disembowelment or worse was perpetrated.
The lumbering MRAP with just the Humvee behind now raced off toward the main terminal. As they neared the terminal more of the Changed shambled out, hearing the high-pitched whine of the MRAP as it split the quiet morning air. Mike, from his vantage point on top of the MRAP with Davis, was amazed at how well-kept this small West Virginia airport was.
Must be an executive airport or something; looks like a place rich or important people visit
, Mike thought.
As they drove down the main roadway and away from the terminal they came to a perfectly manicured entrance with a simple white sign letting people know they were arriving or exiting the Greenbrier Valley Airport. The airport used a row of four residential-type mailboxes set in a rocky landscape bed, making it appear even more small town and rustic. Mike found it somewhat sad when the MRAP turned left onto Route 219, according to the sign he was staring at, and mowed down the mailboxes, destroying some gardener’s pride and joy.
“What are we looking for?” Mike asked Davis
“Interstate 64.”
Mike rolled his eyes and said, “No, what are we doing here, what is the real purpose of our presence in this town?”
“Oh, we’re headed to the Greenbrier Resort; there’s a secure bunker under the hotel. It was built during the Cold War to house Congress or some shit like that. Some investigative reporter blew the lid on it back in 1992 and the government was forced to declassify its existence and remove the bunker from service. Now the resort uses it as a tourist attraction, but the bunker’s still intact. Mr. Fairchild purchased the resort and a sizable chunk of land surrounding the resort a few years back.”
Mike tried to decide if this was a good or bad development for them and Marlee in particular.
****
They had only been driving a short time when they passed a dated brick building on the left with lettering designating it as the “West Virginia Department of Highways District Nine Maintenance Yard.” Amazingly, there was a road crew hooking up snowplows to some of the State Highway trucks. Davis called in for a stop and the MRAP pulled into the yard.
“Boy, we’re glad to see other people out and about that don’t want to do no killin’,” one of the crewmembers shouted to Davis. “Where’re the rest of your boys?” he asked, thinking Davis was part of a military detachment.
“We’re all that’s left and running on fumes,” Davis called down. “What’s up with the snow plows this time of year?”
“People gone crazy here in these parts,” another crewmember yelled up. “We’re fixing to clear the streets of those nasty fuckers. Townsfolk are locked up tight in their homes, but they’re a persistent bunch,” he explained, looking back toward the huge plows with a smirk on his face.
“Where can we fuel up?” Davis asked the original crewmember whom he took to be the one in charge.
“Lot next to this one,” he said, pointing next door. “Take a right after the blue adopt-a-highway sign then take a left into the fill station. Gate is open and the pumps are on,” he said, looking a little harder at the MRAP, perhaps noting the gold logo against the flat black exterior.
“Thanks. Once you clear the streets, get people to a secure location; a house won’t keep those things out for long unless it’s fortified. They’re dangerous and can only be taken down with a blow to the brain, and no matter what … don’t get bit.”
“Oh, we figured that one out the hard way.” Then the crewmember turned and walked to one of the plows.
****
Mike heard the entire conversation and was impressed with the crewmembers’ blue-collar resilience. The world was going to shit and they were headed out to git-er-done. Leaving the highway crew behind, the gas pumps were easily located.
Davis stayed topside while the others fanned out and kept a watchful eye on the area around the pumps. The refueling went off without a hitch and they were back on the road within minutes, headed down the Interstate entrance ramp eager to get to their destination a few short miles away. When they left the fuel station Mike decided not take his perch topside with Davis; instead he remained below to keep warm and get some rest. The mountain air was crisp and cool compared to the sauna Florida was.
“Mike, what’s the real deal with this bunker?” Eric asked.
“Julian needs to figure out how far this shit’s spread,” Mike said in a hushed tone, looking at Julian, whose eyes were closed at the moment.
“I’m still not sure about all of this,” Eric replied.
“What choice do we have at this point?” Mike asked him.
“There’s always a choice,” Eric whispered back, but they both knew without speaking the words aloud that they needed to see where this ride was taking them. If Julian and his people turned out to be trustworthy, then they had hit the equivalent of the apocalyptic jackpot. Julian was the CEO of a mega corporation, well-provisioned and armed to the teeth. They could have done much worse. As for the future? Well that would be a tale only time would tell.
Julian cracked an eye open. “Wise choice, fellas.”
Ignoring Julian’s comment, Mike looked outside. It was odd they weren’t running into any traffic or the Changed for that matter. It was obvious from the disastrous encounter at the airport and discussion with the road crew that the area had been overrun. Julian must have been thinking the same thing, because he told the driver to slow down then called up to Davis, telling him to look for anything suspicious. After exiting the Interstate and as they neared the resort, it was now clear why the road had been empty. Starting at least a mile out from the main entrance, the road leading to the Greenbrier Resort looked like a used car lot. Cars were everywhere now. Everyone within a fifty-mile radius had converged on the Greenbrier and its famous bunker.
“Fuck me,” Julian cursed.
“No, it's not just you … we’re all fucked,” Reid said, sounding stressed again.
“Find a defensible location off the road,” Julian ordered the driver.
“Yes sir,” came the automatic response.
The MRAP came to a stop about ten minutes later. This time Mike did go topside and looked around. It was a good spot, he decided. They were well off the road, tucked away in a copse of trees, and according to the satellite map, the Greenbrier was less than a quarter-mile distant.